But the stubborn spark still glowed, and Miryam allowed her mind to drift down the long, shining corridor to the room where the younger of the two Geno-Doctors was changing into a white coat. The older man, who wore the gold trefoil of Geno-Sar on his collar, tilted back in his chair.
"She should be just about due," he said cheerfully.
"Yes, Sir," replied the young doctor, sounding the proper note of deference for a man who communed daily with the political elite.
"What do you think of her?"
"Well, Sir, frankly—I was surprised—" The young doctor twisted muscular arms to button the back of his jacket. He had but recently come from the Genetics Sanitarium on the Black Sea, and his face was tanned deep brown. "From reading the weekly reports of your staff, I didn't know she was that—that young—"
Miryam trembled with a hope she dared not recognize, but it was crushed out of her by the Geno-Sar's booming voice.
"Not only one of the youngest—but one of the very best specimens we've had to work with at Center! You read her psi rating?"
"Yes, Sir. Seventy-two point four, wasn't it?"
"Seventy-two point six! Absolutely phenomenal! Closest thing to a pure telepath our agents have ever turned up for us! This could be a big night for Center, my boy.... A big night!"
The young doctor shook his head to clear away the lingering image of a tragic, lovely face against a tear-stained pillow. Miryam was startled to find this image in his mind, and her pulse leaped again.