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into the bottom drawer of the desk. It took some doing, but she finally managed to get the drawer closed. "You're welcome to shop around for a different psychiatrist," she told her sister very calmly, "but the only bill I'm picking up is the one from Dr. Estabrook."
    A charged, furious silence greeted that bit of news. And then the phone went dead in Guinevere's ear as her sister hung up. Smiling wryly, Guinevere replaced her own instrument. Then, with five minutes left on her lunch hour, she quickly dialed the office of Diane Estabrook. She was put right through by a receptionist who knew her well. She ought to, Guinevere thought. It was Guinevere Jones's name on the monthly check that paid for Carla Jones's therapy.
    "Hello, Gwen." Diane Estabrook's warm voice came on the line. "Heard from Carla already, have you?"
    "How did you guess? Did you really cut off the Valium?"
    "Of course. She's been on it long enough. We all know it. I started it only to help her get through the initial trauma. There was never any plan to keep her on it for more than a few weeks."
    "I know you're right," Guinevere said. "It's just that things have been so much more pleasant while she's been on it!"
    Dr. Estabrook laughed. "I can imagine. Things have been more pleasant for me during the past few weeks too. You should have heard the language in my office this morning when I informed her I was not renewing the prescription. But she has to take charge of her own life, Gwen. If she won't do it of her own accord, then we're going to have to force her to do it. She's become obsessed with that incident a few months ago. She's using it as an excuse for everything from failing to look for a job to chronic depression."
    "All right. Thanks, Diane. Just thought I'd get the facts straight before I went home tonight."
    "Yes, well, don't let her take it out on you, Gwen. You've got your hands full running your own life. Still paying Carla's rent as well as my bill?"
    "You'd better believe it. It's worth every cent just to keep her from moving in with me!"
    "Good. Whatever happens, I hope you won't offer her that alternative. She's got to be made to stand on her own two feet. Sooner or later you'd probably better tell her you won't be picking up either tab much longer."
    Easy for you to say , Guinevere thought as she hung up the phone. For a moment she conjured up an image of Carla as a homeless waif, forced to seek shelter at one of the gospel missions along with the other picturesque Seattle derelicts. Carla might just be capable of acting out the whole scene for the sake of its dramatic impact.
    "Hey, Gwen, any doughnuts left?" Larry Hixon sauntered through the door, tossing aside an empty can of cola.
    Guinevere eyed him with an affectionate smile. "A chocolate one, I think. You're going to have to watch the calories, Larry."
    "I know." He patted his stomach. "Programmer's paunch." He threw himself down in front of his littered desk and idly tapped a couple of keys on his terminal. "I think I'm eating too much because of incipient depression."
    "You should meet my sister," Gwen muttered wryly.
    "Huh?"
    "Nothing. My sister's feeling a little depressed lately, that's all. It just occurred to me that the two of you have something in common."
    Larry brightened. "Oh, yeah? She into computers?"
    "Unfortunately she's not into anything at the moment. She used to work as a secretary, but..." Guinevere let the sentence disintegrate. It was not a safe topic around StarrTech. "Still worrying about finishing the game? Can't you go any farther without Cal?"
    "Yeah, I could, I suppose, but I didn't want to mess with Cal's end of things. This was supposed to be a joint effort, you know. He'd be pissed when he got back if he thought I'd gone on ahead without him. It's just that we were so close to finishing this week. I thought we'd be done by Friday. I want to get the program out to a software house. I'm sure it'll be snapped up right away. It's brilliant, even if I do say