She felt the kilcane begin trying to outrun the dread.

No.

Stay here.

She looked at Tarkhe.

“Okay.”

Tarkhe waited.

“What does zhis involve?”

“Mostly evaluation.”

“Zhat means nozhing.”

“Memory. Recall. Attention. Perception. Comprehension. Language. Spatial reasoning. Some executive tasks.”

Kimia's ears drew slightly backward.

“Reality?”

Tarkhe hesitated.

“Yes.”

There.

Black hole again.

Kimia pressed one claw into the chair arm.

Not hard.

Enough.

“How?”

“Questions. Visual tasks. Interpretation. He may ask what you perceive and why.”

“So he decides whezher I'm insane.”

“No.”

“Tarkhe.”

“No.”

His voice sharpened.

“He evaluates function. That is not the same thing.”

Kimia looked away.

“Will he know about zhe whiteblood?”

“Yes.”

“Kilcane?”

“Yes.”

“Everything?”

“As much as I know.”

Kimia sighed.

“So yes.”

“Kimia.”

“What?”

“This is not a tribunal.”

“It will feel like one.”

“Yes.”

The honesty helped.

She looked back at him.

“Where?”

“Here.”

“Zhat is worse.”

“I thought you'd prefer it.”

“I do.”

Tarkhe waited.

Kimia hated this.

Hated the fact that he had given her a choice.

If he had ordered it, she could resent him.

Consent made the decision hers.

She thought of the Diet. The aircraft. The Passage. Ieronim. The cameras. The possibility of another computer terminal asking a question while her intention simply disappeared.

Maybe she did want to know. Maybe knowing would be terrible.

Still.

“I might as well take stock of myself.”

Tarkhe's expression softened.

“When?”

“Today, if you agree.”

“Today?”

“He makes house calls for certain examinations.”

Kimia stared.

That made it more real.

Not next week. Not after the Diet. Today.

She drew out the pocket watch.

Looked.

Put it away.

“Alright.”

Tarkhe did not move.

“Make zhe call.”

“You're sure?”

“No.”

“That wasn't what I asked.”

“I know.”

Kimia looked at him.

“Make zhe call.”

Tarkhe nodded.

“Excellent.”

“Don't say excellent.”

“You've got a few hours.”

“For what?”

“To prepare.”

Kimia frowned.

“How do you prepare for someone testing whezher your head works?”

“Eat.”

She stared.

“Water.”

Still staring.

“Do not take anything else.”

There.

Kimia looked away.

“Fine.”

“And tell him what you took.”

“I know.”

“Kimia.”

“I know.”

Tarkhe departed.

The corridor became empty again.

Kimia sat.

Several hours.

Too wired to sleep. Not wired enough to do anything useful.

The half-tablet had reached the plateau and now maintained her there.

She could feel it.

A machine running slightly above rated speed.

No immediate damage. Just unnecessary haste.

Vehm.

The thought came strongly.

Not her room. Not the wardrobe.

Vehm.

A person.

Warmth. Conversation.

She stood.

Went.

Vehm answered only after the second knock.

He looked substantially better than at three in the morning and substantially worse than any physician would have preferred.

His fur had been combed a bit more, and he was wearing trousers now. His waistcoat was still half-buttoned.

On the small table beside the window sat a liter bottle of clear vodka.

About one quarter was gone.