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fifteen
minutes.
    "Right on schedule."
    Dr. Alston pulled up a chair and sat
down on the far side of the control room, fanning the air with a
manila folder every time some of Verran's cigar smoke drifted his
way.
    Half an hour later Kurt slapped his
palm on the top of his console.
    "There goes the last of them. They're
all down."
    Verran nodded his approval. Amazing
how well those inducers worked. No one could hold out against them
for long—unless they were on anticonvulsant medication. And The
Ingraham's pre-invitation screening process culled out any such
kids long before the first invitation was sent.
    "Excellent!" Dr. Alston said, rising
and moving to the center of the control room. "Let the music
begin!"
    "Gimme a break," Verran muttered as he
nodded to Elliot.
    Elliot began to work the switches on
his own console, and soon "the music," as Dr. Alston called it,
began to filter through the occupied dorm rooms.
     
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
    "How can you guys eat?" Quinn
said.
    Tim looked up from his blueberry
pancakes. They were, quite literally, melting in his
mouth.
    "Are you kidding? These things are
fabulous. I'm going back for seconds."
    Matt was already back on line,
rejoining the bustle around the buffet area. The morning sun shone
brightly through the tall windows, but Tim's shades filtered the
glare. All around them The Ingraham hopefuls clustered at scattered
tables, creating pockets of nervous chatter or pools of silence.
Tim watched Quinn grimace as she picked at her shredded
wheat.
    He said, "Why don't you try something
a little more substantial? The scrambled eggs look
good."
    She pressed a hand over her stomach.
"Please. They're not even real eggs."
    "Sure they are. They're egg
whites—real eggs with the yolks removed. Looks like anybody who
goes here will be on low cholesterol, like it or not."
    "I'm all for that," Quinn
said.
    Tim swallowed another bite. "No
smoking, low cholesterol food...looks like they wasnt us to live
forever."
    "Makes sense, doesn't it? They're
investing a lot in their students."
    Tim studied Quinn out of the corner of
his eye. She looked good this morning, dressed in a Navy blue
sweater that deepened the tint of her eyes, and white slacks that
hugged the curves of her buttocks. Tim decided he liked those
buttocks. Her short, strawberry-blond hair looked just right; she
wore a hint of eye make up, just enough to draw attention to them.
She looked well put together, but then watching her fidgety hands
he could see the stress she was putting on herself. This test was
too important to her. Tim had an urge to put his arm around her
shoulder, hug her close, and tell her don't worry. But he didn't
know her well enough for that. Yet.
    "Didn't you sleep well?" he
said.
    "Like the dead. Which is weird,
because I'm usually up and down all night before a big test. But
last night I hit the pillow and that was it till morning. Maybe
they put something in the food."
    "Maybe," Tim said. He'd slept like the
proverbial log himself, but he'd expected to. He'd had next to no
sleep the night before.
    "So we're all well rested," he said.
"And if you're well fed you'll do better on the test."
    She shook her head. "My stomach's in a
square knot. I—" She broke off and stared toward the far end of the
caf. "Say...isn't he somebody?"
    "Most people are," Tim said, looking
around for who she meant.
    "No, I mean somebody
famous."
    He spotted him. Tall, lean, striding
toward the curved stairway with Dr. Alston. Tim lifted his dark
glasses for a better look. Strong features, dark hair graying at
the temples, distinguished looking in a tailored gray
suit.
    Matt returned then, carrying a plate
heaped with scrambled eggs and hash browns. He cocked his head
toward the newcomer.
    "Isn't he—?"
    At that instant the name
clicked. "Senator Jefferson Stephen Whitney," Tim said. "Or I guess
I should say, former U.S. Senator Whitney."
    "And I'll bet he was in that private
helicopter that just landed," Quinn said.
    Tim