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crossing that land with David, encountering aliens and other strange sights. Perilous and wondrous journeys, with David Kadin at her side.
    Had she said that she loved him? Yes, certainly she did, in a friendly and platonic fashion. The thought of his name brought a glow to her heart, and that was nothing to be embarrassed about—not after all they'd been through, not after the confusing and the frightening situations they'd faced together, and not after the laughs and triumphs they'd shared.
    She imagined him with her now, and found herself confiding in the image of him. They're all crazy there, you know. Every one of them. They're certifiably nuts about this project, and everything being just so, and I don't think even they understand what it's all about.
    Kadin nodded. I can believe it. What was going on today? Was there some trouble between them and you?
    Yes—I was furious with them. They're cutting me off from the project soon. I won't be able to see you anymore—and I'll never see you for real.
    Kadin was silent for a moment, before saying, softly, I wish you could. I'd like that very much, to meet you in person.
    She exhaled, aware of a dull pain in her chest. Soon I won't even be able to see you in the link. She scowled, staring out the window. Kadin, beside her, made no answer. After a moment, she added, They're just using me. I see that now. They don't care a damn about my feelings. She blinked. Her eyes were getting blurry. She rubbed them with her knuckles.
    She was about to speak again, when she realized that Kadin was no longer with her. She was alone in the rocking train, and Kadin was somewhere out there among the clouds.
     
    * * *
     
    "So what the hell am I supposed to do about it?" she asked aloud. There was no one to answer her. She tossed her sister's letter back onto the table and avoided looking at it as she paced the living room. She managed to put it out of her mind for most of the afternoon; but when she'd come home, there it had been on the dining table to greet her. Kink's scribbled words stuck in her mind like barbs:
     
    " . . .Dr. Atkins says he may have less than six months to live. We're all going to have to pull together in this. Jo's home already, helping Mom out, and they want you to come home, too. I would, myself, except that I'm coming up on my bar exams, and for the next couple of months, I won't be able to break away . . . ."
     
    So—their father was ill, gravely ill, and Kink wanted her to make up with everyone and go home. Not because they'd all be there pulling together as a family, and they wanted her, too—oh no, it was because Kink couldn't quite spare the time right now, and she needed a stand-in. And no one else, apparently, could take the trouble to write. Ordinarily it would have been Jo; but even Jo had taken the others' side a couple of years ago, when she'd told them all off, once and for all. None of them had ever wanted her for anything, except when they'd wanted something from her.
    Whatever her choices in the near future, one of them was not to drop everything to go home. Maybe Kink thought her own future was more important than anyone else's, but Mozy didn't see it that way. She stood, feet planted, arms crossed, glaring at the letter.
    Maggie and Mouse, scratching at their feeder, caught her attention. "What's the matter?" she said, peering down. "Oh. I haven't fed you, that's what." She opened the cage door. "Come on out for a stroll." She scooped them out and left them on the table while she unscrewed the water bottle and went to get their feed. When the dispensers were filled, she corralled the sniffing gerbils once more.
    As she straightened up from securing the cage, she felt a sharp twinge in the back of her neck. She was tired and tight all over. More than dinner, what she needed was a long, hot soak in the tub. She walked into the bathroom, undressing as she went. She turned on the tap full blast, heedless of the cost to her water allowance.