limp, faded, and stinking. She hesitated, looked at the visiphone, then impulsively pulled a chair over out of the line of sight of the viewing plate and gently set the little boy on it. She pulled the respirator from her face, pressed the button under the blank visiphone disk. The plate lit up and hummed faintly. "Patrol Office," Jane said. There was a click and a middle-aged, square-faced man with blue-coated shoulders appeared. "Patrol Office," he repeated. "This is Jane Grant. I work at the Elite Cafe. Has anyone lost a little boy?" The patrolman's eyebrows raised slightly. "Little boy? Did you find one?" "Well—I—I saw one earlier this evening," she faltered. "He was sitting at the edge of the street and I took him into the cafe and fed him." "Well, there aren't many children in town," he replied. "Let's see." He glanced at a record sheet. "No, none's reported missing. He with you now?" "Ah—no." He shook his head again, still looking downward. He said slowly, "His parents must have found him. If he was wandering we'd have picked him up. There is a family that live around there who have a ten-year-old kid who wanders off once in a while. Blond, stutters a little. Was it him?" "Well, I—" she began. She paused, said firmly, "No." "Well, we don't have any reports on lost children. Haven't had for some time. If the boy was lost his parents must have found him. Thank you for calling." He broke the connection. Jane stood staring at the blank plate. No one had reported a little boy missing. In all the maddening confusion that was New Reno, no one had missed a little boy. She looked at the small bundle, walked over and slipped off his respirator. "I should have told the truth," she murmured to him softly. "But you're so tiny and helpless. Poor little thing!" He looked up at her, then around the lobby, his brown eyes resting on first one object, then another. His little chin began to quiver. The girl picked him up and stroked his hair. "Don't cry," she soothed. "Everything's going to be all
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