Once Jamora was out of earshot of Smoke's voice, she breathed a sigh of relief. But then she stopped in the middle of her living room, suddenly feeling hesitant about how to approach Lagash. So, instead of calling him to her by using her neural implants to signal his Golden Collar, she decided to go looking for him.

She began walking toward the kitchen, and as she did, she found herself remembering how she had felt when she first came home from the hospital. She had walked around "her" house, hoping something would ring a bell, and feeling forlorn when nothing did – even though her doctors had warned that her memory wouldn't come back. But now, as she walked down the hall, she found herself noticing how familiar and comforting everything had become. She had bought some new furniture, and decorated the walls with holographs of astronomical subjects. Now, this house really did feel like home.

Was she going to find out it really wasn't, after all?

Jamora followed the smell of baking bread to the door of her kitchen. Sure enough, she saw that Lagash was there, peering into the oven. As she stepped into the spacious room, with its stone-flagged floor and large windows that spilled morning light, Lagash must have heard her footsteps. He turned and smiled at her. He removed his oven mitts and apron, leaving his magnificent, dark-skinned body clad only in a loin-cloth and a few bits of jewelry. His long, tightly curled black hair was done up in many small braids, and held back with an aqua and gold headband that matched his loin-cloth.

"There you are! I hope you slept well," he said. Then he grinned. "Or had a refreshing night, anyway."

As Jamora met his eyes, she felt a sense of dislocation. She felt almost as though leaving Smoke's presence and entering Lagash's was like stepping through a Stargate – leaving one world and entering another. She found herself just standing there woodenly.

Lagash's grin faded. He had always been very sensitive to her moods. Sometimes he seemed to know what she was feeling before she did herself. "Darling?" he asked, stepping toward her. "Is everything all right?"

Jamora almost laughed. "No," she said. "Nothing's all right." She sank into a chair at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands.

Lagash was instantly beside her. She heard him pulling out another chair.

"What is it, darling?" he asked.

The sympathy in his voice was so very familiar. Throughout the past eleven months, Lagash had been her rock. He had been a constant, caring presence that praised her progress, comforted her when she felt discouraged, and provided daily, practical assistance in a myriad unobtrusive ways. Even more than her doctors, he had enabled her to stay afloat, and eventually learn to swim, in what had at first seemed terribly unfamiliar waters. And he had been so patient and understanding about her initial refusal to have sex with him, and so sensitive and tender when she had finally felt ready. Having sex with Lagash had been a healing experience. Could all that have been just an act?

When she turned to him, she had to blink away tears. Lagash's expression grew even more concerned. He took her hand.

"Mora," he said. "What's upset you? How can I help?"

Looking into his large, expressive brown eyes, Jamora found it impossible to believe his concern wasn't genuine. She shook her head. "I don't know how to say this, Lagash. But I have to try. Because it's driving me crazy."

"You know you can tell me anything, Mora."

"Have you been entirely honest with me?" she asked, carefully watching his expression.

He gave her a wry look. "I certainly try to be," he said. "Can you give me a hint as to where I might have been remiss?"

Jamora sighed. She needed to just say it. "It occurs to me," she said, "that since I have amnesia, maybe somebody thought it would be a good idea to give me an Ashoran identity."

He seemed taken aback. "I don't understand," he said.

"Am I really Jamora Daughter-of-Reshesa?" she asked, her voice growing stronger.

Lagash seemed stunned. Jamora was watching him like a hawk, but couldn't see anything in his reaction that hinted at deception.

"Mora," he said, sounding bewildered, "who else would you be? I don't understand why you're asking such a thing."

Jamora squeezed his hand, and gazed desperately into his eyes. She found herself blinking away more tears, and forcing her words out through a painfully tight throat. "Please, Lagash! Maybe you think lying to me is somehow in my best interests, but it's not! I want the truth. I need the truth!"

Lagash seemed distressed and confused. "I don't understand what you're talking about, Mora."

Jamora took a deep breath. "When's the first time you ever saw me, Lagash? Tell the truth!"

"But I've told you about that, Mora. I've told you how we met. We met one day in Great Park, over twelve years ago. I've pointed out the spot! I was going for a jog, and so were you. You started pacing me. When I ended my jog, you did too. You struck up a conversation. You asked to go out with me, and I said yes. A few months later, you asked me to marry you. And I said yes again." He smiled. "It's not a particularly special story. We just very quickly hit it off. And we've done very well together. Haven't we, Mora?"

As he said this, he looked up at the wall. And Jamora followed his gaze to one of their wedding holographs. There was one in almost every room of the house. There they both stood, smiling happily, arms around one another. She wore the traditional red wedding costume, with it's tight-waisted, tiered skirt and open, bare-breasted jacket. Lagash wore a red loin-cloth, and an elaborate gold pectoral generously studded with diamonds and rubies. More jewels glinted from Lagash's belt and arm-bands – and from the horned wedding crowns they both wore, which invoked the fecund power of the Sacred Bull. As she gazed at the holograph, Jamora noticed that they both looked younger. About ten years younger…

Jamora closed her eyes, feeling her head start to pound again. Her suspicions suddenly seemed absurd.

"Mora," said Lagash. "Why are you asking such questions?"

Jamora looked into Lagash's familiar face and said, "It's Smoke. My new concubine. He claims he knows me! He says I'm not an Ashoran at all, that I really come from the same patriarchal world as him!" After the words burst out of her, Jamora bit her lip. She hadn't meant to reveal that. She'd meant to keep asking questions!

Lagash looked incredulous. "Goddess!" he cried. "I know all patriarchal males are liars, but that's a truly outrageous fabrication!" He took Jamora's shoulders and held her eyes, looking intensely worried. "When you told me you'd Claimed a concubine," he said, "I thought it was a good thing. I thought it showed you were regaining a healthy attitude toward men. But if this wild male is going to upset you like this, maybe it'd be better to return him to the Bureau of Liberation."

"No!" yelled Jamora. She shook off Lagash's hands and stood up. "I don't want to return him. I can't! They'd kill him!"

Lagash looked up at her with a stunned expression. "Mora," he said, "are you telling me you actually Claimed a male whose psych profile was so bad he was recommended for termination?" Lagash looked as if he were trying to squelch his reaction – to make his appalled disbelief a little less obvious. "Darling, I'm sorry – but what were you thinking?"

As Jamora looked into his face, her frame of reference seemed to shift even more. To Claim a male like that was crazy, wasn't it? Especially for someone like her, who had experienced terrible abuse at the hands of patriarchal males. What had she been thinking?

"If this male was recommended for termination," Lagash continued, "he's probably a psychopath. And psychopaths can be charming and charismatic. And clever. They just have no conscience whatsoever." Lagash stood up. "Darling," he said, his face full of concern, "I beg you to reconsider. This male is probably very dangerous."

"Jack isn't a psychopath!" she yelled. Lagash gave her a startled look. It was obvious he thought she was behaving very strangely. And she was, wasn't she?

"Mora," he said, "You've made such tremendous progress. You've come such a long way toward being yourself again. But – and I really hate to remind you of this, Mora, but I have to – you're not there yet! Dr. Lishet hasn't yet given you a clean bill of psychological health. To tell you the truth, she described your mental state as still 'fragile.' " He shook his head. "It frightens me to see what a powerful influence this wild male seems to be having on you. It isn't natural! He's taking advantage of your weakened state of mind!"

Jamora's head was pounding. And she was distressed to realize that she'd begun to shake again. She wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes. She needed to get a grip on herself. She needed to think clearly…

"Wait a minute!" she cried, opening her eyes and fixing Lagash with a steady look. "Smoke acted as if he knew me the moment he set eyes on me. He started telling this story before I told him about losing my memory. And without knowing that, why would he make up that kind of story? Why would anyone? That doesn't make any sense!"

Lagash frowned in puzzlement for a moment. Then he said, "Didn't you mention that this male was picked up on Atrosia?"

"Yes," she said.

Lagash looked at her sadly. "The only people who deal with the Atrosians," he said, "are the ones who buy slaves from them. If this male has a relationship with the Atrosians, it's possible he really does know you. It's possible he saw you on Atrosia, when you were their prisoner. And if he saw what the Atrosians were doing to you – if he saw the state you were in – perhaps he'd have reason to suspect that your memory wasn't intact." Lagash's face acquired a pained expression. "Perhaps he knew it for certain when you failed to recognize him. Perhaps he participated in what the Atrosians did…"

Jamora's stomach lurched. She ran and leaned over the sink, but only dry heaves ensued. Her stomach was already empty.

When she straightened, she became aware of Lagash standing beside her. "Darling," he said, his voice gentle and full of sadness, "I'm so sorry." He put a hand on her shoulder, but she edged away from him. She suddenly felt a powerful need to get away from Lagash. To get away from everyone.

"I'm going out," she said. "I'm going to Great Park."

"I understand, darling," he said. "You need to get away and think, don't you?"

Jamora nodded, but didn't look at him. She still felt nauseous. She had to get out! It was becoming a compulsion. She had felt that compulsion before, over these past months – the desperate need to get away by herself and try to process everything that was happening.

"Will you be all right driving?" asked Lagash. Jamora nodded again. She was already heading for the door.

But then she stopped. She turned to Lagash and said, "Leave Smoke alone. Don't hurt him." Even as Jamora said the words, she felt confused. Why was she still concerned about him? He was probably a psychopath! An enormous lance of pain hit her skull, just about splitting it open. She had to get out of here! She desperately needed to find a quiet space where she could try to glue the two halves of her mind back together.

"Of course I won't hurt him, Mora," said Lagash. "You know I would never do anything without your say-so. Don't worry! I'll take care of things on this end. I'll see the wild male gets some breakfast, and I'll call in sick for you. Just go to Great Park! I know that's what you need right now. But, darling… perhaps you should put on some clothes first?"

Jamora was mortified to realize that she was still stark naked. And she'd been about to burst out the door like that! She really was losing her mind. Again. "Yes," she said, her voice faint. "Guess that'd be a good idea." Lagash gave her a reassuring smile, and Jamora felt a little better. Lagash had never let her down.

Jamora hurriedly threw on some clothes from the closet in the spare room, and then made a beeline for the door.

###

The man whom Jamora knew as "Lagash" watched through a window as Jamora got into her ground car and drove away. As soon as she was gone, he used his data-wristlet to put in a call. A holographic window opened, hovering in the air in front of his face. It was mysteriously black, except for some blinking characters at the bottom that said:

PAGING SUPERVISOR FOUR

After a few minutes, a woman's face appeared in the holographic window. She frowned at him. "Agent Eleven," she said, "what do you think you're doing? You know you're not supposed to contact me here, except in an emergency!"

"Exactly," he said. "We have a disaster on our hands. Apparently, that concubine that Subject Twenty-Six just Claimed is someone who knew her well in her former life."

The woman's mouth dropped open. "By the Sacred Bull!" she exclaimed.

"This morning," said Agent Eleven, "Subject Twenty-Six flat-out asked me if her name was really Jamora Daughter-of-Reshesa!"

"Goddess!" cried Supervisor Four.

"I nearly had a stroke," said Agent Eleven. "In all my years with the Program, I've never had a Subject question her identity so directly! But I managed to come up with a story that provided an alternate explanation for the male's behavior – and put him in a very bad light. I think I allayed her suspicions."

"Good work," said Supervisor Four.

He shook his head. "I don't think it'll last, Supervisor. Right now, she's confused and very upset. She went to Great Park, which is something she does when she needs to think. But I strongly suspect that once she calms down, she's going to start questioning her identity again. Because you know the Erasure Process only erases conscious memories. There's always a subconscious residue. Her subconscious is going to start telling her that this story I spun isn't true."

"We have to separate her from this male immediately!" said the Supervisor.

"I agree," said Agent Eleven. "But despite the doubts I introduced into her mind, she didn't seem willing to part with him. And he is her concubine. If he were just an ordinary chattel-male, we could manipulate things at the Bureau and get him recalled. But you know what the Law is like when it comes to concubines. It's next to impossible for a woman's sacred Claim to be nullified unless she chooses to rescind it herself."

"You'll just have to work on her some more, Agent Eleven," said the Supervisor. "Convince her that this male is undesirable and must be sent back to the Bureau immediately."

He sighed. "That's easier said than done, Supervisor – because there's an additional complication in all this. Apparently, this male was recommended for termination. The Subject knows that if she rescinds her Claim he'll be killed, and her subconscious is going to fight that tooth and nail."

"The Subject Claimed a male that was supposed to be put down?" cried the Supervisor. "Why didn't you report that yesterday?"

"I'm sorry, Supervisor," said Agent Eleven. "I didn't know it yesterday. The Subject didn't mention it." He put on an innocently puzzled expression. "Don't you have direct access to that sort of government data, Supervisor?"

The Supervisor looked annoyed. "A great deal of data crosses my desk," she said. "Subject Twenty-Six isn't the only Subject I'm responsible for! You are the one assigned to her case, Agent Eleven."

"Of course, Supervisor," said Agent Eleven, his tone subdued. "I apologize again." Agent Eleven knew that Supervisor Four wasn't as good a manager as Supervisor Three had been. She had a tendency to let details fall through the cracks. But he knew better than to say anything.

The Supervisor had begun scrolling through some holographic read-outs. "Actually," she said, "this may give us an opening. Between the fact that this male was recommended for termination, and the fact that Subject Twenty-Six is still under psychiatric supervision, we may have enough legal ammunition to get this male recalled even without the Subject's cooperation."

Agent Eleven frowned. "I don't think that would be wise, Supervisor. The Subject is very attached to this male – I can tell. She had sex with him last night, and she isn't the type for casual sex. If we take him away from her forcibly, she'll be extremely upset. Especially if it results in his death!"

"It can't be helped," said Supervisor Four. "We must separate them immediately. We can't allow the Subject to continue being exposed to this sort of stimulation to her memory."

"But," said Agent Eleven, "I thought the Erasure Process was permanent."

"It's supposed to be. But we've never had a case in which a Subject was exposed to strong stimulus from her former life. I'm not taking any chances! If the Subject suddenly remembers something, who knows what she'll do? That's why we must handle this situation very carefully. Maintaining the secrecy of the Program must be our Number One priority. And we can start by ensuring this wild male is terminated. The fewer loose ends, the better."

"But, Supervisor," said Agent Eleven, "if we arrange for this male to be recalled and euthanized, Subject Twenty-Six will blame Ashoran society for his death! Her assimilation into Ashoran society will be ruined!"

"Well," said Supervisor Four, "we'll just have to take that chance. If things don't work out, we'll start over."

Agent Eleven felt shocked, but he didn't let it show. "Start over, Supervisor? You mean erase the Subject's memory again?"

"Yes," said the Supervisor. "I'd hate to do that, of course. Subject Twenty-Six is definitely a genius. She's already beginning to make valuable contributions at the Bureau of Defense, and I don't want to interrupt her work. But if she truly realizes that her Ashoran identity is false, we'll have no choice. We can't allow the New Start Program to become public knowledge."

"Supervisor," he said cautiously, "I very much hope we can avoid that. You know how difficult it is for these women to deal with total amnesia. To have to build a new life from scratch! And it was especially difficult for Subject Twenty-Six, due to the unusual exceptions made in her case. The traumatic memories left partially intact."

"You're not going to start harping on that again, are you?" asked the Supervisor, her tone full of warning.

"Of course not, Supervisor," said Agent Eleven. "You explained that the medical team felt it would increase her chances for successful assimilation. You helped me to understand it was done in the Subject's own long-term best interests." Agent Eleven clenched his teeth. "It's just I'd hate to see her go through all that again. After all, doesn't the New Start Program exist to relieve these women's suffering? To enable them to start over as Daughters of Ashora, without the burden of painful memories from their patriarchal pasts?"

"Don't lecture me about the purpose of this Program, Agent Eleven! I'm the Supervisor here. Your purpose is to follow orders." She glared at him. "The former Supervisor may have allowed you to get away with that sort of impertinence, but haven't I made it clear I expect better discipline from my male agents? Regardless of whom their mothers may be?" And Supervisor Four backed up her words by sending a Warning command to Agent Eleven's Collar. The two-way holographic link enabled her to send the command remotely.

Agent Eleven winced at the stab of pain – and instantly covered his other feelings. He gazed downward, looking abashed. "Forgive me, Supervisor," he said. "I didn't mean to give offense." He looked up at her, allowing hurt to show in his face. Allowing his eyes to fill with tears. "It's just that I get so attached to my clients. I don't want them to suffer."

Supervisor Four looked uncomfortable. "Yes, of course. I can understand that. But you still need to follow orders, and show proper respect to your female superiors!"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, his tone humble. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Well," said Supervisor Four, obviously feeling magnanimous, "never mind about that. We have more pressing matters to deal with. You said that Subject Twenty-Six went to Great Park?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Agent Eleven. "My guess is she'll stay there for a couple of hours. Possibly longer. But I can't be certain."

"Very well," she said. She began calling up data displays and manipulating them. "I'll activate the tracing program so we can monitor her location while I put in some calls and get the ball rolling. Yes, there she is. She's moving toward Great Park along Pleasant Boulevard." The Supervisor performed some rapid data manipulation. "We'll need to move quickly. We need to get rid of that male before Subject Twenty-Six returns!"

"Yes, ma'am," said Agent Eleven.

Then Supervisor Four seemed to hesitate. "There's something else," she said. "There's another wrinkle in this case. I was hoping I wouldn't have to tell you about it. I was hoping to spare you the worry. But given everything else that's gone wrong, I think I'd better give you a heads up."

Agent Eleven watched her warily. He had the feeling she was about to drop some sort of bombshell, but had no idea what it might be. "Yes, ma'am?"

"One of your former clients," she said, "is living in Ashora City."

Agent Eleven was stunned. "But," he said, "I thought the Program was supposed to make certain that identity therapists and their former clients were always geographically separated!" Once a Subject was felt to be on her feet, the Program made her identity therapist "husband" available for the next case by faking his death. It would be a disaster for one of Agent Eleven's former clients to run into her supposedly dead "husband."

"Yes," said Supervisor Four, sounding irritated, "that's the theory. Our agents tried to persuade her not to move to Ashora City, but they were unable to do so."

"Who is it?" asked Agent Eleven. But suddenly, he knew. He knew just by the look on Supervisor Four's face. So he had a couple of extra seconds to cover his reaction.

"It's Subject Twenty-Three," she said.

After living undercover for most of the past twelve years, Agent Eleven's inherent talents as an actor had become very finely honed. Playing a role had become second nature to him. Sometimes, especially lately, he had begun to think that perhaps he'd started learning to play a role even before joining the Program – just by growing up male on Ashora. In a split second, he had decided what role to play here. He knew that Supervisor Four had his file, so she would expect him to be upset. He needed to act at least somewhat upset – but he had no intention of allowing her to see what he really felt.

"Her?" he asked, his voice a little choked. "Here?"

Supervisor Four looked concerned. "I realize you probably find the news a bit distressing," she said. "That's why I tried to spare you. I know you asked to be released from the Program in order to settle down as Subject Twenty-Three's husband for real. And I know you were initially upset to be denied permission. But I believe you've come to understand why it would have been foolish to grant that request. Haven't you?"

Agent Eleven nodded, looking a bit forlorn. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "Supervisor Three explained that the Program can't afford to lose me, since I'm the best identity therapist we have."

Supervisor Four seemed a bit unhappy with this response – though it was, in fact, what Supervisor Three had said. "Well," she said, "it is true you've made some valuable contributions. Your mother told me personally how proud she is of your work. She said that being an identity therapist for the New Start Program is probably the most important work any male can do."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Mother has expressed that sentiment to me as well."

"And I believe your mother also helped you understand why leaving the Program to settle down with Subject Twenty-Three wasn't the right thing to do?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Agent Eleven. And he allowed himself to remember how he had felt when he had been desperate enough to call Mother and ask her to intervene on his behalf, and she had responded by reaming him out. As usual after one of Mother's lectures on his duties as a Son of Ashora, he'd gone into a tailspin of guilt and confusion. Those were the feelings he allowed to show on his face. The secret to being a good actor was to use true feelings to tell a false story. "Mother helped me to see that it was a very selfish wish on my part. The Subject wasn't really in love with me, she just thought she was because I helped her during her recovery process. I had to let her go so that she could truly start living her new life as a Daughter of Ashora."

"Precisely!" said Supervisor Four. She smiled at him approvingly.

Agent Eleven didn't add what else Mother had said. She had made it clear that when the time came for him to settle down and give her granddaughters, she expected him to do it with a real Ashoran woman from one of the other families of the Inner Circle. The Inner Circle controlled the Foundationist Party and a lot of other things on Ashora, and Mother intended that even her granddaughters through the male line would be part of it.

Agent Eleven acted sad but resigned. "As long as Subject Twenty-Three is happy," he said, "that's all that really matters to me."

"Oh, she is!" said the Supervisor. "She graduated from medical school at the top of her class. She has a wonderful life ahead of her! And that's partly thanks to you, Agent Eleven. You helped her to escape her dreadful patriarchal past – one of the most horrific in the records of the Program, and that's saying a lot!"

"So," he asked, "how long has she been living in Ashora City?"

"About a month," said the Supervisor.

Agent Eleven felt shocked, and let a little of that show.

"As I told you," said Supervisor Four, "I didn't want to upset you unnecessarily. Ashora City has ten million inhabitants. The probability that you would run into her by chance was remote. And we've had agents working on trying to get her to move back out." Supervisor Four sighed. "However," she said, "Subject Twenty-Six's case is proving to be full of unfortunate coincidences. You see, she and Subject Twenty-Three have already met. They were on the same evaluation team at the Bureau of Liberation."

Now Agent Eleven was certain the shock had to be showing. That was definitely another example of Supervisor Four's incompetence. She should certainly have been able to prevent two Program Subjects from serving on the same evaluation team!

"You see why I decided it would be best to inform you of this – extra wrinkle."

"Yes, ma'am," said Agent Eleven. Naturally, he said nothing else.

"But," she continued, "back to the matter at hand. Where is the wild male at present?"

"He's locked in the Subject's bedroom," said Agent Eleven.

"Good," said the Supervisor. "See that he remains there. I'll join you at the Subject's residence in about half an hour." Supervisor Four glanced at a read-out. "The team from Euthanasia House should arrive shortly thereafter. We need to ensure they're in and out before the Subject returns home. If she came home while the Euthanasia team was there, that would greatly complicate matters! We may have to cook up a delaying tactic to make certain she stays away. Let me check her location…"

Supervisor Four glanced at a data display – and frowned. She began scrolling more frantically. After a few moments of this she cried, "I don't understand it! Subject Twenty-Six has disappeared!"

Agent Eleven frowned in puzzlement. "You said she was heading toward Great Park."

"She was before! But we've lost her signal!"

Agent Eleven began walking toward the spare room. The holographic window trailed behind him. He stepped into the room and checked one of the bureaus. "I think I know what happened, Supervisor. When the Subject was preparing to leave, she was so rattled she almost walked out of the house with no clothes on. I reminded her to get dressed, but I see her spare data-wristlet is still here."

Supervisor Four was looking a bit rattled herself. "How could you have allowed her to leave the house without her data-wristlet?" she demanded.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am. I have no excuse. I simply didn't notice she wasn't wearing it." Agent Eleven expected to receive another jolt of pain through his Collar, but apparently Supervisor Four was too wrapped up in her worries to bother.

"Without her data-wristlet to amplify it," said the Supervisor, "the homing signal from her neural implants won't show up on our scans! We won't be able to monitor her location!"

"Not as long as she's actually at Great Park," said Agent Eleven. "But once she gets back into her ground car to come home, her personal car electronics will amplify the signal again and it'll show back up. So we'll at least have that much warning."

Supervisor Four's jaw firmed. "There's no time to waste," she said. "That wild male has to go!"