Alone in the cellar of a derelict apartment building in New York�s East Village, Sarah Jordan watched a spider on a web. It had not moved in twenty minutes. Nor had Sarah. She had waited. Her eyes had adjusted to the faint light provided by a flashlight with a red bulb.

The male spider ventured a foreleg toward the next strand. Sarah kept as motionless as the female waiting in the crevice between two bricks where the web was anchored. The ritual had resumed.

The male�s approach is infinitely cautious. He negotiates the web in a series of delicate movements and spins a special thread on which to coax the tenant female. He telegraphs his presence by tapping the signal thread that leads to her lair. She studies the vibrations. One fault in the rhythm, one spasm of panic, and she reacts as if he is prey, she kills him savagely.

Sarah, twenty-three, wore cord pants, two double-knit sweaters, and a leather jacket for this. The dirt and darkness of the cellar did not trouble her. She combated the cold with layers of clothes, things more practical than pretty, thermal underclothes, and woolen socks that reached her thighs. She kept her red-gold hair tied in a brown silk scarf her father had thrown out three years ago. He did not know she had hooked it out of the plastic Salvation Army sack. Probably he would not notice if he saw her wearing it. In Queens last summer he had passed her on the street. She had shouted after him, and he had continued walking as if she were some streetwalker calling him Daddy out of malice.

The gutted blocks of the Lower East Side were ideal locations for Sarah�s work. The arsonists and vandals had practically destroyed the ecology. Here it was, rising from ashes. The spiders were pioneers.

The male diligently worked at the thread he had inserted in the web, strengthening it to take the weight of the heavier female. Abruptly he plunged downward and was suspended on a line below the web. This was not an accident. The female had emerged speedily from her crevice.

She moved straight to his silk bridge and examined it. In a moment she let herself hang from it in a submissive attitude, legs loosely bent.

The male, when he saw this, toiled slowly up his line and climbed onto the web. He approached her with stealth until only an inch separated the pair. The next move would be crucial. There was a point when caution would succumb to passion. A crazy, perilous scramble to coition.

From another world, someone said, �Chicken.�

The voice of a child, thick with the contempt of one scrap of half-formed humanity for another.

�You�re chicken. Scared. Go call your momma, Henry Dickinson!�

�Lay off, will you, Ruby?� put in another. �We don�t know if he�s chicken. Give him a chance. You�ll do it, won�t you, Henry?�

Sarah now recalled some children playing on the next block. They had been swinging Tarzan-style on ropes suspended inside the shell of a burned-out house. She had walked another block east to find a place free of disturbance. It was bad luck that they had come this way. She could hear the scuff of their feet directly overhead.

There was no movement on the web.

�Tell her you�ll do it, Henry. Show her you ain�t scared. Each of us guys had to do it sometime.�

�He�s scared out of his shoes. Anyone can see that.�

�Ruby, will you get off his back? Listen to me, man. You want to join the Demons, right? Okay. Prove you ain�t chicken by going down there in the dark while we shut the door and count to a hundred. Stick it out and don�t holler and you�re in.�

�He won�t do it. He�s terrified of the dark.�

�Who asked for your opinion, Janet Delac?�

�There could be rats down there.�

�Spiders.�

�Spooks.�

�Jeez � that�s just the point. You ready, Henry?�

A thin voice asked, �How do I know you will open the door when you reach a hundred?�

�You have to trust us, don�t you, jerk? If you want to join us, you have to trust us.�

�Okay. Start counting.�

�Not till we shut that door.�

Already Sarah had reached for the switch on the flashlight. If that terrorized child was coming down into the cellar, the blood-red bulb would likely shock him into hysteria. The discovery that the cellar was occupied could bring on a fit.

She heard the door being tugged open. Gray light burst in. Her heart pounding, she looked for someplace to hide.

�All the way down, Henry. No standing on the top step.�

�I heard you.�

The door slammed.

Sarah had backed into the darkest corner, to the left of the stairs. The cellar was rectangular, without recesses or furniture to give cover. She pressed against the wall, feeling its chill even through her layers of clothes. She could see without difficulty. Please God, the boy�s eyes would take time to adjust.

Upstairs they were counting in chorus. She heard him descend the stone stairs. His steps kept time with the count, as if that gave him courage. Twelve, and Henry Dickinson was in view.

He was black, not much above four feet tall, and wearing a light-colored T-shirt and jeans. From the way his hands groped in front of him, she knew he could see very little. After reaching forward with one foot to make sure he had reached floor level, he stopped, looked over his shoulder both ways, folded his arms, and began to whistle. There was no tune in it.

Sarah breathed more easily. The boy was facing away from her and the count had reached thirty.

At forty-five, Henry Dickinson stopped whistling and inclined his head slightly to one side as if he could make out something ahead. He unfolded his arms and rubbed the side of his neck. He took two steps forward.

In front of him was a pile of coal. On it, in the place where Sarah had left it, was the flashlight. He reached forward and pressed the switch.

He must have known what it was, but he was startled. He gave a strangled shout of surprise and stepped away.

If he turned around, he would see Sarah for certain.

He did not turn around. He lifted one foot off the floor and pulled off his sneaker. Gripping it tightly around the heel, he raised it above shoulder level.

It was not the red bulb that had alarmed Henry Dickinson. It was the small male spider, now alone on the web.

She could not allow it to happen.

Without a word Sarah was on him, one hand taking the wrist that was poised to deliver the death blow, the other clamping his mouth. So impetuous was the action that the back of the boy�s head crushed into her breast and she gasped for breath.

In as calm a voice as she could raise, and with her hands still gripping Henry Dickinson, Sarah whispered, �It�s okay. No one�s going to hurt you. I didn�t want to scare you, but I couldn�t let you kill the spider. Promise you�ll keep quiet and I�ll tell you the reason. I want you to let go of the sneaker to show me you heard and understand. Okay?�

He dropped it at once.

She released his wrist. �Now, shape up. I�m nothing to be scared of. Just take it easy and we�ll talk.� With her hand still lightly over his mouth, she moved around to face him. Then she withdrew the hand.

Henry Dickinson�s forehead had creased and his lips were pressed into the shape of a dime. His toes located the sneaker. Without taking his eyes off Sarah, he lifted his foot and helped the heel inside.

�You hate spiders?�

He made no reply.

�Just don�t like being down here with one?�

A shrug.

�I�m going to let you in on something. If anyone tells you they have never been scared by a spider, they�re lying. Don�t buy it. I�ve seen a gorilla scream for his life when a spider appeared in his cage. A full-grown gorilla, Henry. People are no different.�

He didn�t look too impressed.

�It�s natural to hate spiders, but you can get to tolerate them. You can even get to like them a little. Not long ago I was terrified of them. I really mean that. I wouldn�t go to bed at night before I had checked every part of the room � ceiling, walls, floor, under my pillow � to make sure I wasn�t sharing it with a spider. Yet here I am in a dark cellar stopping you from killing one. Isn�t that crazy?�

Henry Dickinson nodded.

Sarah continued talking to the child, trying to make him understand what made this spider�s life indispensable, but with one part of her mind she was listening to herself. Something was wrong and she could not think what it was. �Every living thing abandoned this place. Fire drove out everything. The heat and the smoke and the destruction turned it into a desert. If nature wants to reclaim the place, she has to start over. This web tells us that the process has begun. It means a female spider has decided the cellar is habitable. She has spun her web, and now she waits in that crevice there, between the bricks. She�s a colonizer, Henry. Her instinct � you know what that is?�� her instinct tells her that one of these days a fly will come by and get trapped in that web and provide her with food. But something else has happened. This one, you can see, is a male. He has found the web and he knows there is a female here. You see the thread he�s moving along? He built that himself on her web, to interest her. But that�s dangerous work, because if she mistakes him for a fly, she�ll kill him. The moment she appears, he drops down on a thread, just to be sure. If she hangs from the silk bridge he made, he figures he could be welcome, so he climbs up again. I�ve been watching a long time, and she�s already come out once. He won�t give up. And when he gets there, if he�s careful, she�ll let him climb on her back and they�ll mate. That�s nature replenishing itself.�

As if he had not heard a word, Henry Dickinson said, �The counting stopped. It never reached a hundred.�

Sarah felt a tremor of concern. That was what she had dimly perceived through her discourse. The children upstairs had gone silent.

�You can bet they put the bolt down,� said Henry. �Punks!� With the cool of an old campaigner he went slowly up the stairs and leaned against the door. �You can�t trust no one.�

He kicked it twice, shook his head, and rejoined Sarah. �Want to try?�

It was solidly made. The fire had soiled the paint job but left the structure unimpaired. She could not move it. �Maybe if you yelled,� she said, and realized as she spoke how futile the suggestion was. Henry�s friends obviously had gone.

�How long was you figuring to stay, lady?�

She smiled. �Do we have any choice?�

�They�ll be back before dark, I guess. Do you have long-life batteries in that flashlight?�

�I have no idea.�

�It�s kind of faint. That�s why I mentioned it.�

�That�s deliberate. The spiders wouldn�t care for a bright light.�

�Don�t get the idea I�m scared of the dark, lady.�

�It hadn�t crossed my mind. Actually, I was thinking of things I should be doing this afternoon.�

Of lunch with Vicky. She wouldn�t fret when no one showed up at the campus cafeteria. Theirs was a casual arrangement, something that had more or less become slotted into Tuesday yet could as well be Thursday, when they both had the same hour free. Vicky had majored in philosophy and was writing a doctoral dissertation they had never discussed except in the most superficial way, because they had so much else to talk about. They shared a healthy contempt for men that Vicky fueled with weekly bulletins on the experiences of the two girls who shared her apartment. Sarah had met one of the girls and knew the other by sight. Privately she believed � and so did Vicky � that they deserved to burn in their emotional hell, but only sympathy and concern was ever voiced over the lunch table. It could wait.

She was scheduled to meet Don Rigden at two o�clock to exchange information on their research. This was of no importance. They had fixed it casually this morning when she had happened to run into Don on the library steps. He had asked if they could meet at eleven, as they had the previous week. She had been glad of the chance to tell him she would be out observing at the East Village site. She refused to be tied to a regular time. It did Don no harm at all to be reminded of her independence.

�He�s ugly,� said Henry Dickinson.

�What do you mean? Oh, yes� � she had seen his eyes on the spider � �I guess that�s true. But you can get used to them. Actually, the males are not as ugly as the females. They�re smaller and better-proportioned.�

�His eyes shine.�

�That�s the flashlight. They wouldn�t shine if I turned it off.�

�Don�t turn it off, lady.�

Sarah shook her head. �Take a close look at him � he won�t move. He�s more scared of the female than he is of us.�

�Why does he have so many eyes?�

�He needs them all. See how his head is attached to his body? He can�t move it like you and me to look at things. So he has four eyes at the front and two on each side.�

�What did you come down here for? Was it just to watch spiders?�

She nodded. �It�s part of a study I�m doing.�

�You�re too old for school.�

�College.�

�They sent you down here? They have a groovy place up near Harlem. Didn�t they tell you down here is dangerous?�

Don had, only this morning. The burned-out buildings on the Lower East Side were no place to be doing Ph.D. research, he had said. She had asked him if he knew someplace else where spiders could be seen adapting their life-style to colonize a habitat where an earlier ecology had been wiped out. He had made some smart-ass remark about modifications in her own life-style if a floor fell in and crippled her, but he knew how important it was to both their projects to monitor what was happening in that cellar. Sarah had a pretty good idea that he was hinting that he should come with her. If so, it was an infringement of their agreement, and she would defend her independence like a tigress.

Henry Dickinson sneezed. He was not dressed for survival in a cellar. Sarah took off her leather jacket.

He backed away, shaking his head. �I�m okay, lady.�

�Not for long in this place. You�ll need this. It�s all right. I have two sweaters on.�

Grudgingly he allowed her to drape it around his shoulders.

Just over a year had passed since Jerry Berlin, professor in the Department of Ecology, had called her into his office to give her the shattering news that Don, who had just begun graduate work, had already been granted approval for a Ph.D. study that substantially overlapped hers � the project she had sweated over for two years. �Isn�t that great?� Jerry had blundered on like the bull elephant he could be when there was something in view. �You two can work together on this. No reason why you shouldn�t set up joint experiments. The trend in research is definitely toward a team approach these days. You do know young Rigden, I suppose?�

She knew him. In each year�s batch of students there is always one whose fame spreads like wildfire among the coeds. Don Rigden was the guy of arrogant good looks who of all things had danced a flamenco at the Amnesty International club disco. Devastatingly serious, he had got away with it and become a legend overnight. It seemed he was born on the West Coast, but his mother was from C�rdoba. His people had five Spanish restaurants in Los Angeles, where he had learned to dance and play the guitar. So various coeds went into a Spanish phase. They put up their hair and wore calf-length skirts over white lace petticoats. No one went so far as to use castanets or to fix flowers in her hair, but the effect was sufficient. Up to a point, it worked. He dated numbers of them. As idols should, he betrayed no partiality, except toward his studies, which increasingly claimed him. He had graduated with the highest grades in his class. Sarah was unimpressed. She had put him down as an exhibitionist: she refused to believe that a blond-haired man had Spanish blood and she suspected his name was not Don at all. That was too pat by half.

After Sarah had made it blazingly clear she resented being palmed off on a student straight from graduation after she had completed two years� graduate research, Jerry had tried his peacemaker bit. He had poured Sarah a scotch and confided that this boy was by far the best brain of his year, certain, if he chose to remain an academic, of heading a department before he was far into his thirties. Jerry�s plan, he told her, was to put the careers of his two most brilliant students into overdrive by inviting them to work on closely associated projects. That way, the university would stake out an area of investigative research identifiably its own, and Sarah and Don would be assured of top priority in funding and resources. Okay, if the concentration of two minds on similar problems led occasionally to a little friction, the outcome might just be some sparks of pure genius.

The heady mix of flattery and scotch had proved too strong for Sarah. She agreed to meet Don Rigden before the end of the week and work something out. But she had pressed her seniority hard. Don had fallen in with her proposal to restrict the area of cooperation to well-defined limits, leaving them free to pursue their researches independently. Maybe he had figured she would soften in time, but she was guarding her rights like a union boss.

Henry Dickinson said, �He dropped down again.�

�I saw. Keep still, and we may see the female examine the web.�

�Can�t they hear us talk?�

�It�s unlikely. They develop the senses they need most. They have a strong sense of touch, so they may pick up our voices through vibrations, but that won�t bother them.�

�What are you doing?�

�Making a note of the time.�

�Why?�

�Routine. When you monitor animal behavior, you have to keep a record.� This was a distortion of the truth. The mark she had made in her notebook was of no scientific interest. If the boy had not been there, she would not have bothered. The mating ritual of Argiopidae was fascinating, but familiar. The significant thing had been locating them in the cellar. But by giving the impression she was proceeding with her research, she hoped to convince Henry that she was indifferent to their predicament. In reality, she was sick with fear. She hated being trapped. She always slept with her bedroom door ajar. As a child, she had sometimes been punished by being locked in her room. It was worse than a beating.

One thing you could say for Jerry Berlin: he was no ivory-tower professor. He never missed a chance for publicity. A credit on one of the national TV networks was potentially more valuable than a dozen learned articles in the scientific press. So Bernice, the department secretary, had been given the morning off, and her office had been converted to a dining room. Trout with almonds, Barsac in hand-cut glasses, and a waitress from the caterer would use up most of the hospitality allowance at a sitting. This was a private luncheon not because the cuisine in the senior dining hall was unsatisfactory but because Jerry didn�t want to expose his guest to the opportunism of other departments.

As a first-year research student, Don Rigden was pleased, yet still a little puzzled, to be the third in the party. �One of my newest and most promising graduate students. An original thinker,� Jerry had said, introducing him, but then the professor so monopolized the conversation, chronicling the department�s achievements since 1970, that Don had ventured nothing more original than a request for the vegetable dish.

Instead he studied Gregory Laz, a compact, dark-suited man with a reddish beard and deep, contemplative eyes, more the stereotype of a philosopher than a whiz kid from TV. While Jerry talked, Laz worked fastidiously at his food, separating the fish entirely from the bone before putting the fork to his mouth. He had the knack of appearing to take an intelligent interest in what was being said without contributing more than a few monosyllables. His gaze rarely shifted from his plate, so when he looked into space instead, it gave the impression that deep thoughts had been provoked.

Over coffee Don was suddenly conscious that Laz had addressed a question to him, cutting clean through what Jerry was saying.

�Do you watch TV, Don?�

�Not a lot.� He grinned. �There are other claims on my leisure time. Besides, I find that my research takes so much��

�Yes. I heard about it from Professor Berlin.� Laz spoke as if Jerry, who had stopped in mid-sentence, were no longer there. His words came slowly and his voice was pitched low, so that you had to lean forward to listen. �Do you know anything at all about my work?�

�Practically nothing. I was told you made a highly successful series on human aggression. I missed it. I�m sorry.�

Laz made a dismissive gesture. �Okay. I�m not looking for fans. I�ll tell you about it, because it has some bearing on what I want to discuss with you. I�m an independent producer. Up to last year I sold exclusively to public television. You�ll appreciate that the commercial stations don�t go overboard for science documentaries. I guess my work for public TV would add up to forty or fifty hours of screen time. That was a good foundation, but I�m ambitious, Don. I wanted to reach a bigger audience. Last year I put together my series on aggression, Who�s Master? which I figured had enough muscle to try on one of the major networks. NBC agreed to run it as a pilot. The response was positive. The series was broadcast in fringe time and made an appreciable impact.�

�I�ll testify to that,� Jerry said. �I saw all but one of the programs myself. Boy, they were sensational. How you got your cameras in some of those places I�d give a lot to know.�

�We kept fifty-three percent of our audience over the six weeks, which is better than average,� said Laz to Don. �The secret is in the presentation. Program One was crucial, make-or-break night, so we planned it as the hard sell. We used all the best film sequences we had, covering the whole range of confrontation situations. It didn�t matter that we used them again in the later programs. They could stand a second showing. Programs Two to Six each covered aggression in a special context � among kids, in the family, at work, in sports, and in crime. We were shooting for a big audience, so we went for action sequences. I don�t use actors, Don. We showed them the real thing each time. People laying into each other is compulsive viewing. But this wasn�t gratuitous violence. Through the commentary we analyzed how circumstances influence aggressive behavior, and we showed the connection between one form of violence and another. I won�t pretend it was profound, but we made our points and we made them vividly.�

�It must be more effective than the discussion approach,� Don commented.

�A mass audience won�t watch stiff people in soft chairs,� said Laz, and it sounded like a slogan he had rehearsed to impress the chiefs at NBC. �My series did okay in the ratings and the advertisers liked it. The marketplace is everything in commercial TV, and this mix of real action and hard comment was just right for them. NBC liked it enough to commission another series.�

�You bet they did!� said Jerry.

�What�s your subject this time?� Don asked.

�Same formula,� answered Laz. �I want to stay in the area of human relations and touch them on a raw nerve. That�s why Who�s Master? succeeded.� He took a sip of coffee, then gave a faint smile. �Come on, Don. What�s the logical follow-up?�

The question that interested Don was why all this was addressed to him, but he hazarded a response. �Maybe aggression en masse. I mean, organized violence, through terrorist movements and guerrilla fighting to total war.�

Laz shook his head. �Good thinking, bad TV. That kind of thing has had saturation coverage. People are up to here with it. The same goes for sexual aggression, in case you thought of that. What is there left to say about sadism and rape? If you want to know, I�ve moved over from aggression. I�m on the other side of the coin. I mean fear.�

�You�re interested in the victim now?�

�Exactly.�

�I like it,� said Jerry.

Laz seemed not to be seeking approval, so Don gave none.

Jerry asked, �What�s your approach this time?�

�I start, as before, by giving them a foretaste of the series, using all my best footage. Program Two takes up where the last series left off, showing how fear can be a response to the aggression of other people � parents, school bullies, the boss, the police. In the next program we look at fear of self, the problems of guilt and responsibility. That�s difficult to film, but I have some ideas for it. Program Four is a surefire winner: fear of the unknown, the whole supernatural bit, the knock on the door at night and the creaking stairs. Then we move on to the fear of events outside our control, cataclysmic things like a plague, or nuclear war, or the Second Coming. That leaves one more, and I think you�ll see what I�ve been leading toward, because I plan to end the series with a program on unreasonable fears.�

�What do you mean � phobias?�

�You got it. Phobias.� Laz looked directly at Don and studied him for several seconds. �Beginning to see where you come in?�

Don held the look and said nothing. He didn�t particularly care for Laz or his ideas. There was an assumption in the question that might need to be challenged before much longer.

Laz looked away and said, �Phobias are a great subject for popular TV because they�re within everyone�s experience. It may be mice that have us running up the wall, or snakes, or cats. There are people who won�t go near the sea. Or walk down a particular street. Those are common phobias. Since we started researching this series, I�ve discovered people can be scared by the weirdest things. Would you believe indoor plants? Or shampoo? I�ll tell you mine. It�s cats. I�m uncomfortable anywhere near one. My friends who have them have learned to lock them up when I visit. That�s a minor inconvenience. In some people�s lives, the phobia dictates just about everything they do.�

�Like agoraphobia?� said Jerry.

�That�s an example, yes. It just has to be mentioned on a phone-in, doesn�t it, and the switchboard gets jammed. All those thousands across the nation serving a self-imposed prison sentence in their own homes. Incredible. It�s a big subject, Don. Part of the problem with a phobia is, things get out of proportion. It�s an isolating condition. You begin to think you�re the only creep in the world who is terrified by moths and butterflies. But if you saw a guy on TV with a thing about cigarette smoke or shadows, it could help you come to terms with your own problem. Let�s be candid: my series won�t be therapy, I�m simply letting some light into a dark area of people�s lives.�

�Greg, we�re all in the same business,� said Jerry, positively evangelistic. �Tell us how we can help.�

�You want to use the spiders?� said Don.

Laz nodded. �It�s probably the most common of all phobias. I have to include some spider sequences. You happen to have one of the best collections in New York.�

�Not as good as the Bronx Zoo. Why not go there?�

�Insurance. Zoos have all kinds of restrictions. I figured if you people would cooperate, I�d have a better opportunity to get the shots I want.�

Clearly Jerry had already given Laz the run of the department, but that didn�t stop Don from expressing reservations.

�Most of our spiders are being used in long-term ecological experiments, Mr. Laz��

�Greg to you, Don. Listen, I don�t want to foul up your research program. I thought maybe you would have some spiders you were not working with at this time. For my purpose, the larger the better.�

�What would you want to do with them?�

Laz fingered his beard and grinned amiably. �I�m glad you asked. This is just an idea of mine, but I�d like to see if we could work it out somehow. Did you see the early James Bond movies?�

The question surprised Don. �Who hasn�t?�

�Exactly. Everyone and his brother has seen them sometime. Myself, I�ve seen them all three or four times. That�s the result of too many long-haul jet flights. Don, what I�m saying is this: the shot everyone remembers is Sean Connery waking in the night to find a tarantula crawling up his arm. He has to lie dead-still while it creeps across his chest. Remember? Then he leaps up and beats it to death. I figure it would make an impact if we could re-create that scene � but with a difference. When the tarantula is nicely on its way, the guy puts out his hand for it, picks the thing up, sits up, and tells us spiders needn�t scare people at all. What do you say � do you buy it?�

�I guess it�s visually dramatic,� Don said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

�You have tarantulas in your lab?�

�The name �tarantula� is generic for any of the larger mygalomorph spiders from the tropics. We have some that I guess would meet your requirements.�

Laz grinned. �Big and hairy. You�ve got the picture, Don.�

�You came to the right people.� Jerry beamed.

�There�s another thing,� said Laz. �Don, I want to ask you to appear on my show. I�d like you to do the Sean Connery bit�

Don laughed. �You�re kidding. You need an actor for that.�

�I�ve never used an actor yet,� said Laz. �I happen to know you don�t mind handling spiders, because I�ve already asked Jerry. That�s why I wanted to meet you. All you need do is sit up and say something reassuring about spiders. There�s a fee for this, of course.�

�Sorry. Not interested.�

�You�re not? What�s the problem, Don?�

�Look, I�m an ecologist, not a circus performer. Plenty of people don�t object to handling spiders. Why don�t you ask someone else?�

Jerry pushed his coffee cup aside. There was a hard edge to his voice. �Just a minute. Let�s not rush this. Greg, I assume you will run the usual credits at the end of each program, listing organizations that cooperated in the making of the film?�

�Of course, Jerry.�

�And you would probably list this department?�

�Emphatically.�

�Thanks.� Jerry turned to face Don. �Listen, I hope I don�t have to spell out to you what this could do in promoting our work. We�re talking about a series commissioned by one of the major networks. Millions will see it. You�ll be introduced as a doctoral candidate at this university, this department.�

�Yes, but you heard what he wants me to do. Christ, I hope we aren�t that desperate for publicity.�

�Are you questioning the way I run this department? Because if you are��

�I�m simply saying that I can�t see how this relates to my research.�

Without raising his voice, Jerry said, �The hell with your research.� He turned away and put his hand firmly on Laz� s forearm. �Be assured of our full cooperation, Greg. This is a project we�ll be proud to be associated with. Now, if you have time, I�d like you to look over the department, meet the inmates � the eight-legged ones, that is.�

�Jerry, that�s a nice offer, but not now. I�ll tell you why. I have a small production team � two cameramen in particular � who will want to check everything out before we start shooting. You people are in for a bellyful of TV. I make it a rule to keep the disruption to a minimum, so, if it�s okay with you, I�ll do the tour later in the week with my team.� He carefully refolded his napkin and placed it on the table. �Besides, I sense that you gentlemen have things to discuss.�

Sarah�s Ford Pinto zipped along State Highway 208 toward New York City. Traffic was light at six in the morning, and she could make the forty-mile run from Bear Crossing, New Jersey, in little more than an hour, even allowing for mountain roads at the start and the toll at the George Washington Bridge as the commuter traffic into Manhattan began to build. A bonus of being a graduate student was that you could take days off when other people were at work. So this Wednesday, as usual, she had driven alone to the small town on the shores of Lake Pinecliff that was known to a select few as one of the best locations on the East Coast for hang-gliding.

Gliding elated her as no other experience did. She had discovered it the previous summer on vacation at Redondo Beach, California, saved through the winter, and bought her own Rogallo in March. After days spent observing the diminutive world of spiders, the sensation of space and height was exhilarating. There were private moments high above the green slopes when she cried out in ecstasy. Essentially, she had discovered, it was a sport that inspired a sense of self-awareness without depression. There was, too, the consciousness of danger. It raised the adrenaline and triggered the senses into vivid perceptions. After a day�s gliding she always stayed overnight at the town�s one motel, awoke refreshed, and drove back to the city, where she breakfasted out, usually eggs and bacon, griddle cakes, and coffee, more than she ever prepared in the room where she lived.

Mentally ready for a full day in the araneology lab, she arrived so early that she had to get the keys herself, usually a technician�s job.

Bernice, Jerry Berlin�s secretary, cooed with pleasure at being interrupted. Her main contribution to the running of the department was keeping everyone informed of what everyone else was doing. In the course of a week it was remarkable how many staff and research students came her way on the flimsy pretext of consulting the phone book, borrowing scissors, or looking at the schedule. Bernice was forty-three and into her third marriage and claimed she could handle anything. Most of the time she sat behind her Olivetti handling plastic cups of coffee and relaying information.

�Great to see someone in this place isn�t on Valium,� she told Sarah. �Generally it�s after ten before the first one crawls in. Coffee, honey?�

�I just came for the key to Lab Five.�

�Plug that in, will you?� Bernice was busy already, separating two cups from the supply on the bookcase behind her. �To your right, honey. There should be a spoon here somewhere. Jesus, since Jerry used this office as a dining room, every damn thing has been missing. You heard about the visit from Greg Laz, the TV producer? I told Jerry straight they can have their lunch someplace else when they come back today. He says he�ll take them out.�

�They�re coming in today?�

�The entire unit, as I understand. Camera crew, sound people, lights. You weren�t by any chance planning to work in Lab Five? Sweetie, forget it.�

Sarah controlled her anger. �Nobody told me this was scheduled for today. When was this arranged?�

�They phoned early yesterday. I thought everyone had heard. Didn�t your research partner tell you? He�s in it, for God�s sake.�

�I was off campus yesterday. I�m never here Wednesdays.� Sarah had heard that Berlin was angling to get the department on TV. She had not attached any importance to it. So many of Jerry�s overtures to the media came to nothing. �You say Don Rigden is involved?�

�Didn�t you know? Jerry brought him in for lunch last week with Laz. A cozy little threesome right here.�

Sarah felt the blood rise to her cheeks.

Bernice was quick to follow with, �Don�t ask me why Jerry asked him. I thought you had two years� seniority. If anyone here is qualified to go on TV and talk about spiders, it must be you. You might not have wanted to do it, but it�s nice to be asked. I don�t know how you see it, honey, but it strikes me that equality of the sexes still has a long way to go in this college. Do you like your coffee strong? This time of day, I do. What is it with Don Rigden � a communication problem? Funny, I get along okay with the guy. I guess men find it easy to relate to me.�

Sarah occupied herself with the kettle, declining the strong invitation to unburden her thoughts about Don. All she said � and it was enough for Bernice � was, �We have a satisfactory understanding about research.�

�Sure you have. That�s obvious. Jerry regards you two as his Super Bowl team. What beats me is why Don should go to lunch with Laz and not mention it to you.�

�It isn�t important.�

�I mean, it�s not as if it was anything personal, like whether he sleeps with his girl. Who is she, that dark-haired one with the face of a fifteen-year-old who tags after him? Meg someone...�

�Kellaway.�

�You know her, then. I believe it�s cooled lately. I had it from Della, who works in the dean�s office, that there was definitely a relationship there a month or two back. Maybe she was rushing him. I always think of Don as a guy who values his freedom. What do you say?�

�I�ve never thought about it. What time are the TV people expected? I�d like to get some time in the lab before they take over.�

�Jerry said not before ten-thirty. They plan to shoot here this morning, with Don showing them around the lab, and in Don�s apartment this afternoon.�

�His apartment?�

Her eyes shining, Bernice confided to Sarah the proposal to re-create the scene from Dr. No. �I understand he isn�t crazy about the idea. You bet he�ll do it, though. Jerry was laying it on the line to him in here on Monday morning. I didn�t hear exactly what was said, but you can get the drift from the tones in their voices. Don is no pushover, but Jerry has all the trump cards, doesn�t he?� Without pause, Bernice switched to other developments in the department, and Sarah stopped listening. The monologue was self-fueling. Bernice�s visitors were never so reckless as to give anything in return.

Sarah despised Bernice for her compulsive gossiping. It was oral incontinence, the more to be deplored because of the privileged position she held. Jerry should have fired her years ago.

Once acquired, confidences should be kept. Sarah herself gathered information, but she used it for her own purposes. She had a number of contacts � they were not really friends � female, observant, and discreet. She had cultivated them with care. They talked to her because she was a sensitive listener, appreciative of what they had to say. Compiled, compared, and intricately linked, their news provided her with a network of intelligence reaching into each area of university life her interest had penetrated. It gave her confidence and a secret sensation of power. More practically, it was a safeguard against surprise. She could face anything at all except the unexpected.

This was why the news that Jerry had invited Don Rigden to do the TV program had shaken her. By a freakish combination of circumstances, it had escaped her until this morning. She had neglected to take an interest in Jerry�s wooing of the TV people because she had assumed he would grab at any interview that was offered. The choice of Don, without even the courtesy of informing her, had hit her like a whiplash. As the senior research student, she was entitled to be consulted, whatever her potential as a TV performer � and how could Jerry judge that? It just reinforced her feeling that the day Don had been launched on graduate research, her own status had dropped ten points.

She was still smarting when she left Bernice and let herself into the lab. In an effort to subdue the hurt, she picked up her clipboard and began to record developments in the glass cabinets ranged in rows along the benches. This catalogue of births, molts, deaths, and significant behavioral changes was a daily task essential to her project. It could be completed in forty minutes. This morning she was in no hurry. She was determined that she would still be engaged in it when Jerry brought the TV crew to the lab. She would leave them no doubt that there had been a serious breakdown in communication.

The humiliation continued to hurt. If Jerry had overlooked her because he was prejudiced against women, as Bernice had suggested, she would have been more angry than injured. Inwardly she knew there was another reason, a failing of her own. She had allowed Don to steal the initiative in their research. In the spirit of the proposal to cooperate closely, she had made a gift to him of her results. Two years� work. For him it had been a springboard. Already he was investigating a promising new hypothesis her preliminary results had suggested. To be just, he had several times offered to report progress on the work, but she had taken only a token interest. She had kept aloof in the belief that it would conserve her seniority. Instead, it had allowed Don � whose brilliance she could not deny � to take credit for progress she, left alone, would probably have made not long after. The impression had grown, and evidently got through to Jerry, that Don�s participation had breathed life into an otherwise moribund project.

She was going to be more positive from now on.

Jerry opened the door at ten-thirty-five. He could not fail to notice Sarah taking notes at the case containing Lycosidae, but he said nothing to her. He said, �Gentlemen, the place is at your disposal,� and the six members of the TV crew filed in, bearing a camera, cables, and lights.

Sarah turned and stared at them.

Jerry went on. �I guess you need time to set up your gear. I told Don Rigden to be here by eleven. For the present, if you need anything, Miss Jordan is here and I�m sure will be happy to assist.�

Sarah said flatly, �I would if I knew what this is about.�

�Hell � didn�t I tell you?� Jerry was clearly embarrassed. Not, she suspected, on her account.

The bearded man she took to be Laz intervened smoothly. His voice was soft, yet there was authority in it. �Professor, it will be my pleasure to explain to Miss Jordan why her lab is being invaded.�

Jerry thanked him and withdrew.

As the others started setting up the equipment, Laz crossed the lab to where Sarah was standing. He spread open his hands and grinned. �Would I be right in assuming you actually know all about us, but you didn�t hear it from an official source, and that remark of yours was more a reprimand than an appeal for information?�

She confirmed it by smiling.

�I�m Greg Laz. Come and meet the others.�

The transformation was incredible. From nonperson to VIP in seconds.

�This is Ed Cunningham. He�s the narrator. The voiceover.�

�And the shrink,� added Cunningham, a neat, silver-haired man in an expensively-cut gray suit. His eyes glittered amusedly. �In my occupation you learn to admit to it before someone else points a finger at you. I didn�t catch your first name, Ms. Jordan.�

She told him.

Laz completed the introductions. The last one made a point of stepping forward and formally shaking her hand. Under this guy�s cheesecloth shirt was a deep-tanned torso, and he wanted it appreciated. He had a silver ingot slung from his neck. He was only average in height and nothing special in looks, but that didn�t inhibit him. �Rick Saville.� He squeezed her hand. �They warned us it was scary in here, but you don�t scare me at all, Sarah.�

She gave him a level look. �What�s your function on the team?�

�What isn�t? Research, continuity, catering liaison��

�Rick is my production assistant,� Laz cut in. �Sarah, I was told you keep some of the larger varieties of spider here. I don�t want to interfere with your research, but if we could shoot some film, say, of a tarantula on the move, that would make a dramatic sequence.�

She took them to the cases containing the tropical mygalomorph spiders. �These don�t figure in our current research, so you�re welcome to use them. The biggest specimen we have is the Lasiodora klugi in there. He�s from Brazil, and we christened him Pel�.�

No one came too close as she stood with her hand on the case.

�Hairy,� said Saville.

�Does he bite?�

�All spiders have fangs, Mr. Laz.�

�Yes, but is this one dangerous?�

�Not if you treat him with respect. Would you like me to take him out?�

�We�ll get ourselves organized first. If it isn�t too much trouble, I�d like you to show Ed and me around the lab. What exactly are you researching here?�

She told them about the project as they walked around, explaining how readily spiders adapted to environmental changes. She showed them how she compared specimens subjected to extremes of temperature with control groups. From their questions, they seemed genuinely interested, so she told them the story of the volcanic eruption on Krakatoa, the greatest in modern times, when two thirds of the island was destroyed and the flora and fauna were annihilated, and how nine months later not a blade of grass was visible, but a small spider was found there. �It must have traveled on a thread of gossamer, carried by the wind for ten miles, maybe twenty. A true pioneer. That was 1884, and there are now over a hundred separate species of spider on Krakatoa.�

�So, no place is safe from spiders,� said Cunningham, the psychiatrist.

�You can find them anyplace, from the tropics to the north coast of Greenland.�

�Bad news for arachnophobiacs. Yours is a field of study most of us wouldn�t contemplate, because we find spiders repellent. Obviously you don�t.�

�Once I did. They scared me a lot when I was a kid. I overcame the fear by studying them. If you become familiar with anything, its capacity to frighten you is lessened.�

Cunningham nodded. �That�s a point I intend to bring out in this program. What exactly made you face the fear?�

She smiled. �Kids go through some abominable stages growing up. I got in with a tough crowd who would have given me hell if they had found out my weakness. I knew I had to conquer it myself, so I forced myself to look at a small garden spider in our backyard. I observed it for hours, and came back the next day to see it again. Finally I was confident enough to coax it onto a piece of paper I was holding. By degrees I got to know what a spider really looked like. To a frightened person it�s just an ugly dark thing with lots of legs that moves fast, but when you really get close to one and see the way it�s made, how many eyes it has and how it uses those legs, you start to accept it for what it is, not what your fears have made it. In the end I think I had more affection for that spider than I had for my tough friends. Later I read some books about the behavior of spiders. I still kept a sheet of paper beside me to cover up some of the illustrations as I came to them, but in time I managed without it. Well, here I am.�

Laz turned to Cunningham. �Ed, I don�t know what you�re thinking, but I�d like to get Sarah on film. This is too good to pass up. If we had you walking through the lab with her, discussing her attitude toward spiders as a kid and how she conquered it, we could get it on the hand-held camera. With some shots of the cabinets, it would make a beautiful sequence.�

She felt a surge of excitement, but she controlled it. �Just a minute,� she put in. �You�re going to film my colleague, Don Rigden, not me. How will he feel if he comes in and finds the camera on me?�

�No trouble. We can film him just like we arranged. Your interview is extra.�

�I�m not sure I agree to it.�

�Why not, for God�s sake? There�s nothing to it. You simply move through the lab talking to Ed like you just did. We�ll pay you the standard fee. We can make that more if you pick up a spider.�

Cunningham, quick to sense that this wasn�t the moment to talk money, said, �The purpose of this series is to help people overcome basic fears. Your experience is ideal for this. You can convince the viewing audience that there is a way to remove irrational fears from their lives. That�s no bad thing to do, Sarah.�

Laz added shrewdly, �It beats me that Professor Berlin didn�t tell us about you at the outset.� Before Sarah could respond, he called across the room to Saville, �Rick, we�ll need a Sneaky-Peepy. Ed is going to tape a sequence with Sarah, moving through the lab.�

�Terrific!� Saville called back. �The minute we came in, I knew we had to get this lady on film.�

Sarah knew that if she was going to refuse, she had to make it clear now. She was under no obligation to these people. Their attempts at persuasion hadn�t impressed her. They didn�t give a damn about people�s fears. They would come up with any reason they figured would secure her cooperation. The only honest remark had come from Rick Saville. They wanted to use her because she was a girl and it was weird to find a girl working with spiders.

So why did she keep silent and let them set up the equipment?

It was because of Jerry. He had not considered her for this. The automatic choice had been Don. Right: she would show them both that she wouldn�t be bypassed so easily. She had resolved to be more positive. This was the first challenge.

The cameraman asked if they would walk the sequence through before the take, but Laz decided that would spoil the spontaneity. He preferred to let the conversation take place unrehearsed and have the camera record it first time out, even at the sacrifice of some technical smoothness. A few imperfections in the camerawork would underscore the realism. Any serious blemishes could be edited later.

A small battery-operated mike was attached to Sarah�s lab coat and a light meter was held close to her face, and minutes later she was at Ed Cunningham�s shoulder, walking between the benches toward a hand-held camera. In response to his questions she described the fear she had of spiders as a small child, and how she had conquered it by steeling herself to sit and watch a garden spider. She stopped at a case of Argiopidae and pointed one out, showing the subtleties of the orb web, with its structural threads made of a silk different in texture from the viscid spirals on which the prey are caught. She talked animatedly of the versatility of spiders as web builders and hunters.

As they moved forward again, the cameraman backed away from them, holding the lens steady a short distance from Sarah�s face. She felt no nerves. She addressed herself to Cunningham, not to the TV audience, and he skilfully fueled her enthusiasm with his comments and questions.

The film crew worked unobtrusively. Only Rick Saville, whose job it was to see that the cameraman had an uncluttered passage, intermittently caught her eye when he dipped across their path to flatten a cable to the floor.

The one difficult point to negotiate was the end of the bench at the north end of the lab, where they had to turn to come back. An arc lamp was positioned just out of camera view, but close enough to present a hazard to the cameraman�s backward movement. He managed to get around it without mishap, and so did Cunningham and Sarah.

The accident was caused by Rick Saville.

He had guided the cameraman around the end of the bench by standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder. This achieved, he stepped aside to let them pass, then suddenly noticed he was going to be in the shot. He jerked away, without appreciating that the adjacent bench with its glass cabinets of spiders was immediately behind him.

His back thumped the nearest case and sent it sliding across the polished bench top. As it reached the edge and tipped, Cunningham, who was nearest, flung himself across the bench and attempted to stop it. The lid was gone, but he got a grip on one edge of the case and took the weight as it fell, certainly preventing it from smashing. But it was still too heavy to control.

It hit the ground on its side and spiders raced out of it and across the floor.

�Christ, what have I done!� said Saville in panic. His hands went to his face like a frightened child�s.

Sarah moved at full speed around the bench to where the upturned case lay. The glass was cracked but unbroken. �Help me, one of you!�

Cunningham was nearest. Between them, they righted it on the floor and replaced the lid.

Saville lunged out with a foot as a spider ran under a radiator.

�Don�t do that!� ordered Sarah in a spasm of fury. �Can�t you understand they�re terrified? If you can�t help, for God�s sake stand where you are and leave them to me.� She snatched up one of the jars used for transferring the spiders between cases.

�These aren�t poisonous, arc they?� Cunningham asked.

�They won�t harm you.� She brought the jar down over one that had not moved far from the case. �Will you hand me another jar from the bench beside you, Mr. Laz. Everyone please keep perfectly still. The case has seven sections and there was a spider in each. One is still inside. I have just trapped another. And I don�t want the others harmed.�

Laz, in a subdued voice, said, �Keep shooting, Tom.�

Sarah was too concerned for the spiders to care anymore about the film. So long as everyone cooperated by standing still, she stood some chance of recovering the runaways. A Tegenaria atrica is a fast mover. It can cover more than three hundred times its body length in ten seconds. But it is not a stayer. After its dash it is exhausted.

She coaxed the one from under the radiator with a ballpoint pen and covered it with a jar on the second try. By good luck another had run for shelter to the same place and a moment later bolted for freedom across the floor.

Without another jar available, Sarah, on her knees by the radiator, stretched the hem of her lab coat flat across the spider�s path. It ran onto it and upward without hesitating. In a swift movement she covered it with her cupped right hand, drawing it up and across the palm of her left to trap it. Normally she avoided handling them, not from aversion but because their legs were so easily damaged.

She carried it to the case, and Saville backed away as she passed. Cunningham was cool enough to move the lid aside so that she could restore the spider to its compartment. It appeared unhurt.

�Neatly done,� he commented.

�There are three more to catch,� Sarah said.

It took almost fifteen minutes to locate them, but, once found, they were swiftly recaptured.

Rick Saville�s cool returned rapidly after that. �Apologize to the spiders for me, would you? I mean, they must have figured this was some kind of amnesty until you caught them again. But Tom has some beautiful film.�

Twenty minutes� tension snapped. Sarah turned on Rick and told him she didn�t give two cents about the film. �Those spiders were part of an experiment it took months to prepare. Do you suppose now that we caught them it�s just like setting up bowling pins again? Have you given one thought to the damage you did to their webs when you knocked down the case? What use are they now as a control group? People like you shouldn�t be allowed within miles of an experimental lab.�

Saville put up his hand defensively. �Easy, man. I apologize, okay? Don�t let�s escalate this into full-scale war. I want to be friends. If there�s anything I can do��

Laz said quietly, �There�s one thing you can do, Rick. Knock it off.�

When Don Rigden came in, there was nothing to indicate the emergency of ten minutes before. He glanced at the lamps and said, �You�re set up already?�

Laz, for his own reasons, was saying nothing about the filming that had already taken place. �Waiting for the star, Don,� he said with a bland smile.

As the film crew started to talk with Don about the way they would shoot the sequence, Sarah decided to leave. She wasn�t there to watch how he performed.

On the way out, she felt someone touch her arm. It was Cunningham. He said in a low voice, �Sarah, I enjoyed our film interview and I hope you did. I�m really interested in the things you were saying. I�d like to talk some more. Would you allow a silver-haired shrink to take you to dinner Saturday evening?�

He put it so sweetly she could not refuse.

The silk sheet rippled and slipped over the shape of the unseen tarantula as it crept closer to Don Rigden�s inert body. Don lay apparently asleep, his bare chest registering the evenness of his breathing. Inches from his left forearm, the creature emerged, dark and alien against the white material. With a squirming action it climbed onto the flesh of his arm.

When it reached his shoulder, Don moved. He lifted it off with his right hand. He sat up, holding the spider by its body, so that its legs moved freely while he spoke to the camera.

�There�s really no reason to be scared of a spider, even a large one like this. They really � oh, shit!�� I mean rarely bite, and if they do it�s no worse than a bee sting. I�m sorry. The first time the damn spider gets it right, I have to blow my lines. Could we do another take?�

The screen went blank.

�That was take seven,� said Greg Laz. �We tried another four after that, but I guess the spider was tired.�

�Or depressed,� Don murmured.

He was seated in a small screening room in a building near Forty-Second and Lexington. Laz had invited him there to see the previous day�s rushes. Jerry sat beside him. On Jerry�s other side was Sarah. Don had no idea why she had been invited.

Already they had sat through the unedited footage of Don�s interview in the lab. By any standard, it had been a letdown. He was not trained to project his personality, and it showed.

�Remember, these are only rushes,� Laz tactfully pointed out. �The tarantula sequence would look better if we dubbed in some music.� He said it without conviction.

�Let�s face it,� said Don. �There�s nothing there you can use.

Beside him, Jerry Berlin was ominously silent. He had just watched his ambitions for the department sink like water through sand. If his expression was any clue to his thoughts, he suspected Don had blown it deliberately.

If so, he was mistaken. Sure, Don had expressed some reluctance when the project was first discussed, but once he had been persuaded to take part, he had wanted very much to make a success of it. In his imagination he had been through the interview many times. He had rehearsed some pretty clever things to say. When the time came, he had used several. As he spoke them, they had sounded impressive. On film, they appeared to be just what they were � pretentious. He had made the mistake of trying too hard.

Then Laz announced that he had some more film. With no further explanation, the interview between Cunningham and Sarah was screened.

Don was stunned. No one had mentioned to him that they had filmed Sarah. Jerry had not said a word about it. Don glanced his way, frowning. Jerry gave a shrug and looked away.

Don stared at the screen in blank amazement. What he saw was a revelation. It was not just that Sarah spoke fluently and with authority; it was her manner. There was warmth in her words. Her eyes shone. There was no hint of the tight-lipped intransigence he had come to believe was rooted in her character.

The contrast between the two filmed interviews was cruel. It made no difference that Sarah�s had ended in confusion when a cabinet fell from a bench. On the contrary, it had strengthened the conviction that she was in control as she commanded the film crew to stand still while she collected the runaway spiders.

Jerry, so conspicuously silent about Don�s performance, immediately got to his feet to register approval of Sarah�s. �Can you use it?� he demanded of Laz. �What we just saw is exciting television. It�s got to be used.�

Laz nodded. �I agree. Sarah is terrific. A natural. She talks with conviction. She can persuade people that they can beat their phobias. What�s more, as most spider haters are women, they�ll really believe her when she tells them she was once as scared as they are. But just let them see her pick one up in her bare hands to save its life � terrific! There�s no other word. That�s not to say,� he added, �that Don�s isn�t a first-class introduction to the subject. Maybe if we edit a little here and there ... �

Don didn�t need telling that no one would be editing his interview, or the scene with the tarantula. It wouldn�t be worth it. The screening had achieved its purpose: it was clear to everyone that Sarah must speak for the department in Laz�s documentary; no one could possibly object.

What angered Don was that he had been taken for a ride. He hadn�t wanted to do the show. They had pressured him into it. There was no reason why he should have succeeded. He had no training in TV. Yet it went on his score sheet as a failure, made worse by Sarah�s scintillating success.

He was not jealous that Sarah had eclipsed him, but he felt some resentment at the underhanded way she had done it. He remembered now that she had been in the lab early Thursday morning when the filming was done. The arc lamps had been in position when he arrived. To have got Laz to film her, she must have arrived early and convinced him she was worth it. Never underestimate the ambition of a single-minded woman.

Don had been notified that Professor Berlin wished to see him at noon on Thursday. The last time they had talked alone was the afternoon Jerry had almost gone berserk because Don had been unwilling to go along with the James Bond stunt. Possibly that was why this summons came in the form of a typed memo delivered personally by Bernice. After all those things Jerry had said, he would find it a strain to be informal. They both would.

�Honey, I�m no wiser than you,� Bernice told Don when he asked what this was about. �He told me to be damn sure you got it, that�s all. I don�t know what�s gotten into Jerry lately. I mean, if I worked in the Kremlin, I�d have more idea what was going on. Take that TV thing the week before last. Jerry knew it was on. You did. Did anyone else, do you suppose, apart from me? Sarah Jordan sure didn�t. When she came in the day they were shooting, she was ready to spend the morning in the lab. Jesus, was that young lady mad when I told her there was a TV unit coming in to film you with the spiders!�

�You told her that?�

�Sweetie, someone had to tell her. She had driven down from Lake Pinecliff that morning just to get her readings, like she always does on Thursdays. So I filled her in. I figured when she knew what was happening, she would speed up the readings to be through before the TV team arrived, but it seems when they got there, she was still working on it.� Bernice switched to a more casual tone. �I heard they shot some good film of her.�

�Yup.�

�Lucky for Sarah. Will we see her on the tube?�

�It�s possible. You mean, she definitely knew they were coming in that morning?�

�Only after I told her, darling.� Bernice gave a bland smile. �I guess those readings took a little longer to get through that morning.�

Don nodded. As Bernice seemed reluctant to return to her office, he asked, �Lake Pinecliff � where�s that, sweetheart?�

�New Jersey. Thirty, forty miles northwest of here. It�s in the mountains. Sarah goes there every Wednesday. We have a number to call in case she�s wanted.�

�I knew she was out Wednesdays. We have an arrangement. I figured she went home to her folks�.� He said with a sly smile, �What does she do in the mountains?�

Bernice gave a throaty laugh and aimed a mock punch at his chin. �Wouldn�t I love to know! I�ll tell you one thing � whatever it is, she does it in a crash helmet. Once, she parked her car beside mine and I saw it sitting on the passenger seat. You can�t tell me she wears a helmet just to drive a Ford Pinto.�

Don�s estimation of Sarah Jordan was undergoing drastic revision. Where once there had been a pathetically diligent girl so obsessive about her research that she could not even share a joke there were now glimpses of someone quite different: an ambitious, opportunistic, and � on the evidence of her TV interview � a magnetically attractive personality with a secret.

On Monday Sarah returned to Ed Cunningham�s and witnessed a therapy session. The patient was a twenty-four-year-old six-foot-three black. His name was Frank, and he was terrified of dogs. At one point in his early childhood a Dalmatian had put its front paws against his chest and tried to lick his face. The force of it had knocked Frank off balance, and he had cut his head on a stone step. For the twenty-two years since then he had taken elaborate precautions to avoid dogs. He went out only when circumstances demanded, and then his mind was so full of the possible dangers that he sometimes forgot his reason for being on the street. He had lived in New York all his life and never once been in Central Park.

After Sarah was introduced, and Frank agreed that she could sit in, he described his problem for her benefit. Then Ed attached a metal disk to each of Frank�s hands. Wires led from them to an apparatus that Ed explained was devised to measure the electrical conductivity of the skin. A pulsating sound would increase in frequency in response to electrical activity generated by anxiety. Frank had used the apparatus before and understood that it was an aid to controlling his reactions. He was asked to relax as much as he could. Then Ed asked him to listen to a tape that described a number of encounters with dogs. The situations were graded to increase the level of stress each time. In the half hour of therapy they went through the tape three times, and Frank showed a small but discernible improvement.

When he had gone, Ed explained that over a number of weeks the force of the stimulus would be increased, using pictures of dogs, then sound recording and film. Eventually, when the machine � which was only a learning aid � had served its purpose, he would go out on the streets with Frank and they would walk past dogs. It had to be taken in easy stages, but Frank was already responding well. Next time, Ed said, he would like to spend some of the session letting Sarah describe the change in her feelings about spiders. He was confident that Frank would be encouraged by her experience.

Another patient was expected in a few minutes, so Sarah prepared to leave.

�Thanks, Sarah. I really appreciate this.�

�It�s no trouble. I hope I can be useful next time.� Without thinking too much about it, she stepped forward to kiss him, but he had turned away to return Frank�s file to the cabinet. She could not be sure if the move was just to evade the kiss. On an impulse she added, �Friendship is important to me.�

�Really?� He turned and studied her face. �I had the impression you managed very well on your own. Who are your close friends?�

�I�d like to think of you as one.�

�Why not? As we said, a friend and not a patient. But you have other friends?�

�Naturally.�

�I mean, people in college?�

He really meant people her own age. He meant that girls in their twenties didn�t usually make it with men in their fifties. She was afraid he was about to spoil things between, them by saying something negative. She told him in a rush, �I went out with Don Rigden last week. I�m not the lonely person you seem to be hinting at.�

�Don � the guy you do research with? That�s good.�

�Next Monday, then?�

She got into the elevator and smiled back at him. She was glad no more had been said.

When Sarah walked in, her mother was serving Sunday lunch. She had on that old shirt of Daddy�s she wore over her respectable clothes when she was cooking. A period of chaos followed as the steaming saucepans were abandoned so that the place settings could be removed from the kitchen to the oak table in the front room.

Sarah protested that she wanted to be treated like one of the family. Her father, in the vest and trousers of his Sunday suit, complained that the meal was getting cold. He was in the chair by the window. He did not look up from the portable TV.

The air was thick with recrimination when they finally were seated around the table. Was it too much to have picked up a phone and said she was coming? If she had called, there would have been a roast instead of hamburger from the freezer. Sarah made apologetic noises. It was no use explaining yet that she had news for them. Before they were ready to listen to one word she said, she was required to make reparation for failing to come home on the anniversary of Marty�s death. She had to listen to an account of the service at which prayers were offered for his immortal soul. Her mother, despite the distress she had felt at the remembrance of her son and the inexcusable absence of her daughter, had a precise recollection of who was in the congregation and which of them had made remarks, after the service, implying that Sarah should have been there.

While they served up more rebukes with the cold apple pie, Sarah asked herself why she was here. She could have been at Lake Pinecliff, where the conditions would have been ideal, the sun warm enough to create thermals oceans wide. Her parents assumed that her conscience had brought her home, but they were wrong. She had come home to tell them she was going to appear on TV. She didn�t want them to hear about it before she told them herself. She wanted to get their reaction firsthand.

Her achievements at school and college had not made much impression at home. At the stage when she started getting good grades in high school, her brother was officially categorized as a child with an exceptional IQ, and there were meetings with teachers and educational psychologists to see that he was given an intellectually demanding program of study. When Sarah announced that she was majoring in ecology, her father commented that it was a pity she had to get involved with a subject no one in Cherry Hill knew anything about, but presumably professors kept thinking of newfangled subjects to keep up the enrollment. The year she graduated, Marty was accepted at Yale. She got her graduate fellowship while everyone was in shock at the news of his fatal accident.

TV had taken over her parents� lives. They watched it all day long. The commercials fortified her mother�s belief that there was still the superior style of life that her brothers and sisters in Boston were enjoying and that she was denied. Her father watched anything at all. He didn�t need to go out anymore to escape.

Sarah knew them too well to expect them to express any pride in her success. She was not seeking approval. She simply wanted to face them with the fact that their dumb, disappointing daughter had broken into TV without really trying and would shortly become as real in their lives as Barbara Walters or Johnny Carson. All she wanted was to see them chew on that.

It came up in a casual way after coffee, when they were stacking the dishes. Her father already had a golf match going on the portable. �He�s going to buy me a dishwasher,� said her mother. �A Whirlpool.�

�Does he know yet?�

�He sees it on TV most nights. You must have seen it, too.�

�I don�t watch much, but you could be seeing me soon on the tube.�

Her mother put down the plates she was holding. �Sally, what do you mean?�

�Just what I said. I�m going on TV. Look out for a series called Never Fear starting on NBC three weeks from Saturday. I�m in it.�

�I don�t believe it. You?� Her mother eyed her as if she had just got back from Mars. Her lips moved as if she were talking to herself. She crossed the room to where her husband was watching Jack Nicklaus on the long fourteenth. �George, did you hear that? Sally has just told me she is going on television.�

It was like watching a silent film. Their reactions were so histrionic, as disbelief turned to mystified acceptance, that Sarah could hardly keep herself from laughing.

Her father turned down the volume and stared at her.

She described the details of Greg Laz�s program.

�Why should they pick you for a thing like this?� her father asked in a tone suggesting she must have done unspeakable things to be considered for it.

�It isn�t as if you�re anyone special,� said her mother, without malice.

�Maybe you�re not the best judge of that.�

�If Marty had lived, I would have expected to see him on TV.�

�Marty was going places,� said her father.

�I can�t understand how this could have happened,� said her mother, as if the house had caught fire.

They could not accept the fact that the daughter whose existence they had consistently ignored was recognized by the communications medium they revered.

�They�re full of promises, these smart guys who make these programs,� said her father. �When you get there, you�ll find they don�t need you.�

�The program is done. It�s in the can.�

�What did they have you do, for heaven�s sake?� asked her mother.

She told them she had been interviewed by one of New York�s top psychiatrists.

�Psychiatrist?� said her mother. �What do they think you are � some kind of loony? Is that why they put you on TV?�

�If they did, I�ll get it stopped,� said her father. �I�m not having one of my family displayed to America as a crazy.�

�I appreciate your concern,� Sarah said ironically, �but you�ve got it all wrong. This is a program about irrational fears. They talked to me because I don�t have any.�

�I don�t understand you,� said her mother.

�Did you ever really try?�

�What is that supposed to mean?�

�Skip it, Mother, and relax. There isn�t a single thing in the program to upset your fine relatives in Boston or anyone here in Cherry Hill. I keep my clothes on and my language is irreproachable. Okay?� She turned up the volume on the golf commentary. �It�s time I hit the road.�

Driving back, she felt revitalized.

On the first Monday in June, when exams were finished and people were waiting for their grades, talking nervously and loudly in groups over lunch, Meg spotted Nancy Lim alone at a table and took her tray over. It was weeks since they had talked.

�I�m so glad I found you,� Meg said. �I�ve been meaning to thank you every day, but I just haven�t seen you.�

�What for?�

�Your advice � about studying the ways of the Peahen.�

�Oh!� Nancy put her hand to her mouth and giggled a little. �I almost forgot. Did it do any good?�

Meg was so infected by the giggles that her eyes began to water. �It did!�

When their giggling had subsided enough, Nancy said, �Well, what do you know? Do you mean you have something going again with, uh, what was his name?�

�I sure do!� Meg described how her newly cultivated reserve had spurred Don into asking her to partner him in the seguidilla at the Amnesty International concert. �We�ve been rehearsing regularly ever since, and the concert is Saturday. Jesus, I was so scared! He�s unbelievably good at flamenco and he rented this sensational white dress for me. It�s years since I did any dancing. We worked on it, and he was so kind, and I tried my best, but, Nancy, flamenco is murder to learn. After I had got the steps and knew the music, I thought it would come right. How wrong could I be? I was proficient to a degree, but both of us knew it was nothing like it should be, and it wasn�t getting any better. I practically convinced myself I had a block about flamenco.�

�What did he say?�

�He�s a super guy. He kept his cool and went on with the rehearsals. Once when I was really down, he took me out to dinner.�

�He wasn�t dating you otherwise?�

Meg shook her head. �It�s kind of hard to explain. I think I told you before that I shacked up with him two weekends last semester. It meant a lot to me at the time, and I�m positive Don liked me � my body, I mean. Only I was so far gone about falling into bed with this fabulous guy everyone was crazy about that I totally failed to understand his needs as a person. Christ, that sounds corny! What I mean is, Don has a horror of being suffocated by a woman. He needs room to breathe. I got too close. It was lucky for me that I took your advice; otherwise our relationship would have been dead and buried. The dancing is Don�s way of keeping it alive. It�s another chance, and I can�t afford to flunk this one.�

�You make it sound like exams.�

�It�s the most important one I�ll ever take in this place.�

�How do you pass?�

�By showing I care enough to try. And by not making demands. I worked at the dancing so hard I had complaints from the girl in the room under mine. One rehearsal Don didn�t show up, and I was suicidal. It turned out he had to go on an errand for his professor, but he forgot to let me know. I was in real danger of losing him. He made it up by taking me out to dinner, and that was nice, and I almost blew it by throwing myself at him, the strain was so awful. I kept repeating over and over to myself what you had told me.�

�What was that?�

�You don�t remember? The Peahen doesn�t chase the Peacock around the park.�

They both laughed.

�Well, I cooled it, and kept hoping my seguidilla would come right. Last Friday it did. We had a rehearsal as usual in the old Ping-Pong room, and I don�t know why, but suddenly I got it all together � the steps, the arm movements, the poise, the rhythm � all in perfect harmony. I wasn�t even thinking about the problem of managing the dress. I just let it happen and I knew I had it � even before Don kissed me. He switched off the tape and held me and our mouths met and the 1812 Overture was playing in my head. I asked if he wanted to try the dance once more to be sure, but he said he couldn�t be more sure. You know, the way he said it, he wasn�t talking about the dance at all.� Meg smiled contentedly.

�Did you�?�

�The same night. Nancy, words can�t express it. It sounds crazy, but all that waiting and uncertainty paid off. It wouldn�t have been so sensational without it.�

�I�m so happy for you. What happens now?�

�Well, the party�s on Saturday and I just know the dance will go right. We�re not rehearsing again, because we reached the peak and we don�t want to go over. We made no promises, but if I read it right, I�ll be cooking breakfast in Don�s apartment Sunday morning.�

�And after?�

�We�ll see how he wants to play it. Put it this way: the girl in the room under mine won�t get disturbed anymore by dancing.�

Sarah�s life was almost totally taken up with TV. There was so much expertise and talent around at rehearsals that she could not escape the pressure to make herself worthy of it. Naively she had started out thinking she might keep her research ticking along with an hour or two in the lab each day, but after a week she was in Jerry�s office to say it was impossible. He could not have been kinder. He told her to forget about the project for the rest of the summer. He arranged for another student to take over the daily lab check. Any small anxieties Sarah might have had regarding her replacement�s encounters with Don Rigden were allayed when she met the girl; she was six feet tall and a disciple of the Maharaj Ji.

Sarah spent hours on the web trying to think herself into the role of a spider. The mental jump Havelock had demanded was a leap in the dark. Paradoxically, it would have been easier if she had known less about spiders. If she had been prepared to explain their behavior in human terms, as people generally did, she might have convinced herself and Havelock and the viewers of America. But she could not accept that spiders were calculating or malevolent. Nothing in her studies suggested that their behavior was anything but instinctive. The intricate construction of the orb web was programmed into the behavior of the garden spider by evolution. It was not learned; the young spider separated from its mother would build a perfect web without example or instruction. If difficulties were introduced, it made no intelligent response. Spiders were incapable of choice because they were driven by instinct. They could not �think.�

So the jump was from intelligent to instinctive behavior. She could not make it.

She tried explaining the difficulty to Havelock. He said maybe she was trying too hard. He told her to take the afternoon off, get away from the studio for a while.

It was a Monday. She decided to call on Ed. She had missed the last two therapy sessions with the phobia patients.

She could not have picked a better afternoon to visit. Frank was about to brave the city streets and any dogs that might happen to be on them. His face lit up when Sarah walked in. He was really pleased to see her. So with Sarah on his right and Ed on his left, he stepped out along Park Avenue. They walked three blocks, turned left on East Seventy-ninth, and finished the adventure at the Metropolitan Museum, having passed without mishap two Afghans, a poodle, and a Pomeranian. They congratulated Frank and saw him onto a Madison Avenue bus.

Ed suggested they take a walk in Central Park to ease the tension they both had felt on Frank�s behalf. Sarah put her arm through Ed�s and told him how busy she had been at NBC.

�Is that bad?� he asked.

�I guess not. When it�s over, I�ll get back to normal living.�

�You�ll have lost nothing?�

�Some afternoons with you.�

He smiled. �We can catch up. How about the more important things, like your research?�

�That�s okay. Jerry�s being very sweet.�

�He has a stake in this, of course. How about the gliding? Last I heard, you were giving lessons to Don Rigden.�

�He had to take a raincheck.�

�You�re not seeing him at all?� Ed looked concerned.

�We�ll pick up again.� She added, because Ed obviously was angling to know if the friendship had died, �He�s not a quitter.�

�But there�s still a note of reservation in your voice.�

�About Don?�

�Maybe about the whole project.�

�You can read me, can�t you?� She held his arm tighter. �I wish you were part of it.�

�I wouldn�t be much help with this one. It�s not my field at all. Have you been watching Greg�s series?�

�I saw the first two. It�s a lot better than I expected.�

�You saw the clip of our interview in the first program?�

She smiled. �That�s the second time I�ve seen it and I�m still embarrassed by it. I tried so hard to make an impression on you.�

�It didn�t show. You were as cool as any professional, yet totally natural. Haven�t you noticed how people act up when a TV camera is turned on them? I know that I do. And so do the giants of the industry. Carson, Frost � they all have their TV manner. You don�t. You�re totally unaffected, and that�s so rare it could even be unique.�

�It was the circumstances. It all happened so fast, I didn�t have time to gear up for a performance.�

�Whatever it was, it was hypnotic.�

She laughed. �Ed, that�s exaggerating it. Me in my lab coat talking about spiders wouldn�t have that effect on anyone.�

�No? How about Havelock Sloane?�

�Him?� Sarah shrugged. �He�s crazy.�

�Really? Why?�

They turned off the path and down a slope through trees to the lake, where it was quiet, and they sat on a rock and looked at the colors in the water. She told Ed about Havelock�s production. She described the sets and the costumes and the plan to present people as spiders.

�It�s exciting and original and I�m sure it has popular appeal,� she said, �but, Ed, it isn�t working. And the reason is me. I�m no good at playing a spider. I can�t do it.�

�He wants you to act � is that it?�

�He says it isn�t acting. It�s a matter of learning to identify, and I have an advantage over any actress because I know what motivates spiders and I�ve studied their behavior.�

�So?�

�So I go up on the web each day and try to imagine I�m a spider. They say I�m getting better at it, but I know I�m not. The whole thing is crazy to me. I can�t think myself into the character of a spider, because spiders don�t think. There�s no scientific evidence that they have the power to reason. If a fly hits the web, the spider doesn�t think, �Good, that�s my lunch. I�ll wind some silk around it to stop it from escaping and then sink my fangs into it.� It simply responds to the vibrations on the web. Its behavior is automatic. My problem is that I don�t have that automatic reaction, and never will. But anything else is phony. Does it make sense, or am I crazy?�

�It makes sense,� said Ed. He picked up a stone and tossed it gently into the water. They watched the rings multiply. �Like I said, you�re a totally natural person, Sarah. That was a bonus in Greg�s kind of program. Here, it�s a handicap. Sloane is asking you to do something that conflicts with nature. It�s a problem.�

�It�s impossible.�

�Hold on � I wouldn�t say that. Just for the record, let�s get this clear: you don�t object to playing a spider because it�s a creature people despise?�

�No, that doesn�t bother me.�

�You want to do this program if you can?�

�Only if I can do it convincingly.�

�Okay. See if this helps. Have you considered whether you have anything in common with a spider?�

Sarah frowned. �How do you mean?�

�Seems to me we have to find a starting point. Up to now you�ve gotten nowhere because each time you hit this problem that spiders are motivated by instinct. Let�s forget that and approach it another way. Will you try?�

She could not see how this would help, but she wanted to cooperate. �I guess we have certain instincts in common with them � survival, the sex drive, protection of the young. Is this what you have in mind?�

�No. I wasn�t thinking in general terms. I was thinking of you in particular.�

�You mean I have something in common with spiders? They interest me, yes, but as for what you�re saying ... � Her voice trailed away as she tried to imagine what he meant. �Like my hang-gliding?�

Now he looked mystified.

�When spiders are young, they spin threads long enough to catch the breeze, which lifts them in the air,� she explained. �They travel miles that way. Very high, too. That�s how they migrate. As a form of flight, it�s unique to spiders. Sloane is using some hang-gliding sequences in his film to illustrate how it works. So I guess that�s one experience I share with spiders.�

�It hadn�t occurred to me, but you�re right. My thoughts don�t fit as neatly as that.� He threw another stone in the water. �I�m no authority on spiders, but would you say they�re self-sufficient, for the most part? They make their own way in the world without relying too much on help from their own kind?�

�I see.� Sarah smiled. �You figure I�m a loner?�

�Circumstances made you one, little lady. Am I wrong � or do you keep most people at a distance?�

�Not wrong. It�s a fair parallel. Anything else?�

�Well, there�s the web.�

She laughed out loud. �Come off it, Ed. That�s too much! I live in one room in a brownstone on West Eighty-eighth.�

�Sure. Don�t be so literal. Your web isn�t like the ones in Sloane�s studio. It�s invisible, but it works better than his.�

Still smiling, she took off her shoes and walked to the water to dip her feet in. �Okay, I�m interested. Tell me about my web.�

�As I see it, it�s like this. There�s an area around you � I�m speaking figuratively � that you make damn sure you cover pretty thoroughly. Anything happens, you want to know about it, right? You told me there are girls you meet for lunch, not friends but people who update you on what�s happening around the university. Those are your lines out. You have this network of information. It cross-checks, so you get strong signals if anything comes your way.�

�Like men?� said Sarah, enjoying the game. �All girls make it their business to check out the local talent.�

�Right, but not with your thoroughness. Yours is as tidy as an orb web. Your meetings are regular.�

�They were till I got caught up in TV,� said Sarah.

�So maybe you�re a little unhappy because you feel disoriented. You�re getting out of touch.�

That was exactly how she felt. She had not spoken to Vicky, her Tuesday lunch companion, or Stella (Friday) for three weeks. �Ed, I�m beginning to think there�s something in this. Is there more?�

�I�m not sure. Only you know if this makes sense, but the female spider doesn�t go in for steady relationships with the opposite sex, does she?�

�We are down to basics.� But it was true. The men in her life had been studs. They had come for sex and taken it and gone. And she felt nothing for them. She hadn�t wanted a relationship with any man until Ed came into her life. Broke in, clean through the web. If it had functioned properly, he would never have got near. �Maybe there�s something in what you say. I guess there are parallels I hadn�t thought about till now. But how can this help me?�

He got up and came to the water�s edge. �If you really want to make a success of this program, give up trying to act the spider. You�ve tried and it doesn�t work. Be yourself.�

She approached him and studied his face. �I don�t follow.�

�These things we just talked about are central to your lifestyle, right?�

�I guess so, now that you point them out.�

�You act that way without really thinking about it. You guard your territory, check developments all around you��

�And give no encouragement to guys,� said Sarah with a grin. �You�re saying I don�t need to try because I already have the behavior pattern of a spider.�

�Enough to work on, anyway,� said Ed. �If you look at it positively.�

�Ed, you�re so right! Here I am, trying to fathom what motivates a spider, and I�m running my life on the same principles! This is what I need. It gives me something to build on.� She put one arm around his neck and kissed him lightly. �You know me so well!�

He looked at his watch. �Time I was going.�

Sarah stepped into her shoes and took his arm again. �Havelock should pay you a fee for this. You just solved his biggest problem. Things were getting pretty hairy in that studio.�

He laughed at the aptness of the expression.

�Well, you know what I mean.�

�Sure.�

They crossed a small bridge and picked up the footpath again.

She said, �Havelock calls me Spider Girl.�

�Does that bother you?�

�Not anymore. It did at first. I think I could even get to like it.�

�The media will � I guarantee. You could be stuck with it.�

�There are worse names.�

�Don�t I know it! Mine, for example.�

��Edmund.� Yes, you mentioned that before. It�s almost the only thing you�ve told me about yourself. Why don�t you ever talk about your life?�

He looked away at the crowd around Bethesda Fountain. �It�s my training, I guess. It could complicate things.� His step quickened.

�Only with patients. You can talk freely with friends.�

�Sure � if it comes up.� From his tone, he didn�t expect it would.

Sarah said, �Generally I�m pretty reluctant to say much about myself. Talking to you is different. Exceptional. By nature I�m a very private person. I keep in the shadows, like the spider.�

�That won�t be possible anymore,� said Ed. �You�re out on the web now.�

�True.� She sounded, and felt, dubious. �But I�m still kind of anxious.�

�That�s to be expected. Anyone in public life will tell you��

�No, it�s not stage fright. I know I can project myself okay. I�m apprehensive. I had control of my private world. I don�t have control of this one.�

He stopped walking and turned toward her. �Sarah, you have to let Spider Girl take over.�

�I don�t understand you.�

�As I see it, we have just identified an area of your personality that makes some sense of what you�re being asked to do. You must capitalize on that. Make it work for you. Maybe there are other things latent in your character that you can use. Find out what Spider Girl is like and what she can do for you.�

�I�ll need help.�

�There isn�t any more I can do. It has to come from you. What it comes down to, Sarah, is asserting parts of your personality that you may have suppressed in private life. You�re coming out into the open, so you have to equip yourself. I�m sure you can do it.�

�It�s a challenge. There is one thing you can do.� She took his hand. �It would help my confidence if you were there in the studio the day we start shooting for real.�

�When is that?�

�It should be Friday. But I guess you have patients to see.�

�I do, but� � he started walking again, keeping hold of her hand � �I�d like to help. I�ll see if I can reschedule my appointments. Besides, I want to meet Spider Girl myself.�

�How about that, Doc? Pretty impressive, huh?� said Havelock Sloane.

�Extraordinary,� said Ed Cunningham.

He had just watched the taping of the fly-killing sequence. He had seen it first from the studio floor where Sarah had asked him to stand. Then, at Havelock�s invitation, he had gone into the control room to see how it looked from the camera positioned above the web.

They had tucked Sarah�s hair into a black beret and given her black gloves. From above, under the powerful TV lights, the web was shimmering white and she was a black thing that moved with a speed and ferocity that was startling, frightening, and feral. The biting and binding of the victim was accomplished with horrific conviction.

�Shall we run it through again?�

�Thanks, but no. It made its impact the first time.�

On the monitors now was the reassuring image of Sarah with the beret removed and her hair loose on her shoulders, talking to Rick Saville on the set. They were watching a production assistant untie the drama student who had played the fly. As soon as his arms were free, he touched the back of his neck and then examined his hand. Someone gave him a cigarette. He climbed off the web without assistance. He did not join Sarah and Saville.

�Okay, you guys,� said Havelock through the intercom, �we can use that. We�ll break till eleven-fifteen.� He switched off and swiveled in his chair. �First take. This kid is a professional. I like her commitment. She told me you get the credit for that.�

Ed gave a shrug. �Not really. She�s self-motivated.�

�She was pretty anxious to have you here.�

�So I gathered.�

�You want to join her for coffee? Don�t let me stop you. Judy, my gofer, brings mine back here.�

�Thanks, I�ll stay. I think Sarah has someone to buy her coffee.�

�I�ll get yours sent up, too.� He arranged it with Judy. They were left alone in the control room. Havelock said, �It�s good that she has you as a backup. The pressures are going to be pretty terrifying.�

�I�m not her shrink.�

�She�s not your patient, you mean, but I figure you have an interest in the way that brain ticks over.�

�Sure, I�m interested, but I don�t have the influence you seem to imply. Any advice I give is strictly nonprofessional. She says categorically that she doesn�t want an analyst.�

�Hm. Maybe there was something in her past,� Havelock speculated. �It�s pretty obvious she needs support, even if she won�t accept it on a formal basis. Must be hard for you.�

�It is. This way I get the full emotional dependence you sometimes have to accept from female patients, but I don�t have the structured doctor-patient relationship to help control it.�

�She has a crush on you?�

�You could put it that way.�

�What will you do, Doc?�

�The obvious thing is to back off fast, but I can�t do that while she�s under so much pressure.�

�No. For Christ�s sake, don�t do that!�

�Besides, she interests me. You saw the TV interview she gave me? I�ve no reason to doubt her account of her childhood terror of spiders; in fact I discussed it more fully with her later. Whether we class it as a phobia or a taboo doesn�t matter. She overcame it without outside help, licked it to the extent that she actually chooses to work with spiders and is capable of identifying with them.�

�That really is weird.�

�Yes, but it�s a reaction not unusual in phobia sufferers. We call it �counterphobic behavior.� The patient becomes so attracted to the phobic object that she seeks it out repeatedly. This is often the case when they master the phobia without help.�

�The girl has guts, that�s for sure.�

�She�s quite ferociously determined,� Ed went on. �I can understand the way it happened. The thing that intrigues me is whether there were any side effects on the personality. From my observation of phobia sufferers, I�ve noticed that conquering the fear isn�t always the end of the story. There can be a secondary reaction. You see, the phobia sometimes serves a purpose of its own in keeping the personality in a state of equilibrium. Remove it and you set up a problem elsewhere.�

�You�re losing me, Doc.�

�Phobias, fears, taboos, often represent deep conflicts in the unconscious. The guy who won�t go on the street because he�s terrified of dogs may unconsciously be punishing his wife, forcing her to be the breadwinner and the fetcher and carrier. If you cure the guy, his hostility to his wife may become more overt. The personality gains in one area, deteriorates in another.�

�That figures,� agreed Havelock.

�It�s an effect that bothers me a lot in my practice. I don�t want to solve one problem by setting up another.�

�You think Sarah may have a personality problem?�

�I�d like to be sure that she hasn�t, Mr. Sloane.�

Havelock released a long breath. �Doc, I want you to know that you�re welcome here anytime. Frankly, there�s a lot of money staked on Spider Girl, not to mention my reputation. She�s going to be terrific. You saw. Only��

�You don�t want her freaking out on you.�

�You just said it. If the girl wants a shrink, I�ll pay, no trouble. Okay, it isn�t like that. You�re not operating professionally. But it�s still lost time for you, so if I can underwrite your expenses��

�No way,� said Ed Cunningham. �I appreciate the thought, but it�s out of the question.�

In the last two weeks of August, the pressure eased enough for Sarah to think about research again. She knew the publicity would peak again in October, when Sloane�s program was scheduled for airing, and she worked on her research for at least part of the time before then. On September 2, the Tuesday before Jerry�s party, she arrived at the department building to find Bernice near to tears. �Jerry�s a shit!� she told Sarah. �He knew the technicians would be here over the weekend putting up the webs for the exhibit, so what did he do? He arranged to go off on a fancy yacht for the Labor Day weekend. No one can reach him. They were calling me at home all Saturday and Sunday asking if it was all right to drill into the walls and the floor and the ceiling � as if I was responsible. I said you�d better do whatever is necessary, only don�t leave a mess, and now the dean has just been in to say the cork floor in the main entrance is ruined and there�s a crack in the ceiling and God knows what else he�ll find as he walks around.�

Sarah offered to take a look and, if necessary, to try to appease the dean. She was not acting out of loyalty to the department; personally, she agreed with Bernice�s estimation of Jerry, who was dependable only in one respect: he vanished in the face of a crisis. What mattered to Sarah was to make sure no precipitate decision was made to cancel the exhibition. These were her webs.

As she anticipated, the problem had been exaggerated. Given the size of the project, there was little damage. The dean�s protest was a symptom of shock; the decision to mount the exhibit in the university buildings had been taken midway through the last semester, and the dean�s memory was notoriously faulty. By the time Sarah caught up with him, he was reconciled to the change of scene.

It was spectacular. Now that they were out of that huge NBC studio and mounted in familiar settings, the webs looked markedly bigger and more sinister. The main lobby of the Administration building was dominated by a scaffold web. In the library a sheet web was slung from one side of the second-floor gallery to the other, above the readers� desks. Outside, an orb web ingeniously linked the campanile to one of the tallest lindens on fraternity row; the dean was convinced someone would be killed trying to climb it, so he was having the approach fenced off.

Sarah went looking for the orb web used for her main action sequences � the capture of the fly and the courtship ritual. A campus security officer told her to try the gym. She found a group of NBC people there, supervised by Rick Saville, still erecting the web. He spotted her at once and came over. �You timed it beautifully,� he told her. �Who better to make the decision than Spider Girl? Look, we have to decide how to angle the web. You remember we had it almost horizontal in the studio and used an overhead camera, so you could move around freely? We figure we shouldn�t do that here. We should go for accuracy and have it vertical. Only there�s a problem: it�s too big; or, to put it another way, the gym isn�t high enough. All the other sites are taken. So what would you recommend � should we trim the web by lopping off a couple of spirals, or say the hell with fidelity to nature and have it tilted?�

�No problem,� said Sarah. �You can tilt it as much as you like. The spider adapts the angle to suit the surroundings, and so can you. I�ve seen an orb web in the hollow of a large leaf, absolutely horizontal.�

�I knew you�d have the answer.� Rick hollered: �Okay, fellas, you hear that?� Then he said to Sarah, �They can go ahead now. They don�t need me. How about coffee?�

She felt she couldn�t refuse when Rick had apparently spent his weekend preparing an exhibit that was virtually in her honor. She still disliked what he confidently put across as charm, but she supposed it was understandable that a small man with a forgettable face should overcompensate, particularly working in television. This morning he was in a wine-colored velvet suit and pale-yellow silk shirt, open, naturally, to display the chain and ingot.

She preferred not to be seen with him in the main cafeteria, so she took him to the lab, where they kept a kettle and a jar of instant. No one else was around.

�The scene of my big moment on TV,� commented Rick, looking around. �As I recall, you weren�t overjoyed at the time, but when I knocked over that case of spiders, I also gave one hell of a push to your career as a TV personality.�

�So I owe it all to you,� said Sarah with irony. �And for thanks, all you got was insults. There�s no justice.�

�My reward is seeing you make it,� said Rick. �I�m proud to have had a part in your success. You know, that blond guy your professor recommended really bombed. He was terrible.�

�You mean Don.� Sensing incipient rivalry behind Rick�s remark, Sarah commented, �He�s really nice. Just because people don�t succeed on television, it doesn�t consign them to outer darkness.�

�Sorry. Saville screws up again. He�s your guy, is he? I saw his picture in Time magazine.�

Why did people keep making that assumption? �I just happened to go dancing with him one evening.�

�You and he are not��

�We work together. It�s reasonable to meet socially from time to time.�

�Sure. Why not? I take out girls from NBC. It�s the civilized way to behave. They know I�m not serious. So what will you do now, Sarah? Talk to the spiders?�

�They don�t have much small talk. I was thinking of going back to the gym to see if the web is in place. I�d like to be sure it�s really safe. You know how it is in a gym. All the jocks will want to climb it. Come to think of it, I might climb up myself and see if I get lucky.�

Rick Saville�s eyes widened enough for Sarah to tell that her remark had made an impact. She had said it on impulse, and it was pure self-indulgence. Rick Saville held no attraction for her, but she found satisfaction in seeing him aroused.

When they got back to the gym, the job was done. The web was attached at the top to two of the beam supports at the center and anchored to the lowest rungs of the wall bars. Its white strands shimmered in the sunlight streaking through the windows on one side.

�Is it safe?� she asked.

�Try it. You�re welcome,� said one of the technicians.

She put her hand on one of the radii and tested the tension. The vibration traveled down her arm to her body. She felt a surge of energy like an electric charge. She reached for the outermost spiral and pulled herself up, kicking off her shoes in the same movement. She climbed swiftly to the center and stopped there for a moment, letting the web absorb the shock waves across its surface. It was good to have the pressure of the strands against her body again. It was not the same as when she wore the leotard, but even through the thicker denim the contact was stimulating.

�What�s it like?� Rick called up.

�Just perfect. Why don�t you try?�

�Now?�

�Come on up.�

He hesitated, fingering the chain at his throat.

Someone broke the tension by saying, �There you go, Rick,� and there were grins all around.

Rick had gone pink. �I, uh, figure there�s no need to. I can see from here that the fellas fixed it okay.�

Sarah smiled. �Pity. This may be your last chance.�

Classes began on Monday, September 8, with little to suggest the tragedy of early Sunday morning. Apart from a short paragraph in the Daily News, headed COBWEB DEATH MYSTERY, the only indication that anything had happened was the notice stating that the gym was closed to students. If there were detectives on the campus, it was hard to tell with so many new faces around. Bernice, who might have been expected to keep the department posted, was tight-lipped; all she would tell anyone was that the accident was being investigated and she was far too busy sorting registration forms to have noticed if the police had been in. The webs around the campus created the expected amount of interest for a few hours, and then people accepted them as part of the university scene. There were no reports of anyone climbing on them. Warning signs had made them strictly off limits.

It was early Tuesday morning when Jerry Berlin stopped by the lab to see Don.

�You alone?�

�Sure.�

�Sarah?�

�I haven�t seen her this week.�

�I guess it�ll take a few days. There�s a slight problem. I just got a call from the police. There was an autopsy on Saville yesterday afternoon. They say his injuries aren�t consistent with death by a fall from the web.�

�What? We know he fell. Sarah told us.�

�Right, but I can�t tell them that, can I?�

�What�s the trouble, exactly?�

�The lieutenant won�t specify. He says he wants to interview everyone who was at the party. I�ve already asked Bernice to Xerox the guest list for him. So it�s likely you�ll be questioned. And Sarah.�

Don shrugged. �I think I can handle it.�

�It�s purely routine,� said Jerry, �and it�ll take a few days, even if they have several cops taking statements. There were over eighty people here Saturday night. But it is important that you and Sarah agree what time you left the party.�

�I must have left around twelve-thirty.�

�Yes, but she was around until just before two-fifteen, when the body was found.�

�Okay, if I�m asked, I�ll say we left about two.�

�Will you make sure Sarah says the same?�

�If I see her.�

�You�d better call her. Tell her what�s happening, but don�t scare her. Just make sure you synchronize your statements. It wouldn�t be wise for me to contact her. And, Don...�

�Yeah?�

�If you can manage it, say nothing to her about the autopsy report. We don�t want to add to her anxieties at this stage.�

Don doubted whether Sarah was the anxious type. Even after Saville�s death, she had been well in control. But he agreed to do as Jerry suggested.

Before he left that evening, Don was called to Jerry�s office. One of the detectives was there with Jerry. He looked and acted as if he was senior to the man who had taken the statement. The lieutenant. Probably in his fifties, he was dressed in a good blue suit. He was bald, with smiling eves. He had a couple of gold teeth.

Don had decided the best way to get over the problem of the statement in his pocket was to admit he had lied to keep Sarah�s name out of the investigation. With Jerry sitting in, it was going to be a rough ride.

The lieutenant didn�t bring up the statement. He wanted to know about Meg. She had made an appointment to talk to the police, but she hadn�t kept it. She had left her residence hall at two-forty P.M. and no one had seen her since.

Don tried to cover the kick of fear he felt in his stomach. He admitted he knew Meg, but he hadn�t seen her that afternoon.

The lieutenant asked if Meg had discussed with him what she would tell the police. Don said he didn�t know how much credence to give it, as Meg was undergoing a nervous crisis, but she had told him some things, yes. In response to more questions, he related the story of the jacket outside the gym and the dead spider.

Jerry stared at him blankly.

The lieutenant asked, �What do you make of this yourself, Mr. Rigden? Do you believe it?�

�I wasn�t totally convinced when Meg told me, but later I checked the lab and one of our spiders was missing. I made a search and found its body under a shrub adjacent to the gym.�

�So that much of the story appears to be true. Well, what do you know? A dead tarantula under a girl�s jacket. How about the jacket � did you search for that?�

�No point. Sarah was wearing it when we�� Don stopped.

Jerry said, �Mr. Rigden has already made a statement to the effect that he escorted Miss Jordan home at the end of the party.�

�Thanks, Professor, I�ll handle this in my own way,� the lieutenant said amicably but firmly. �If this really is true, it�s important. Just for the record, we know the man Saville was not alone on the web. He had a woman with him and they had sex. There�s no argument about that. Forensic found all the evidence they need, and plenty more. Seems like Miss Jordan was the woman, and your friend Miss Kellaway guessed as much from what she saw. I figure it�s time I talked to these young ladies. I�m due to meet Sarah Jordan tomorrow morning at nine-thirty, but I�d like to take a statement from Miss Kellaway before that. Would you have any idea where she might be right now?�

�Sorry, but no.�

�You see, you told me yourself that this is a girl in a nervous state. We don�t want to alarm her any more by having a patrolman pick her up. If you could give it some thought, maybe talk to a few people, it might be the best way to handle this.�

�I don�t see the need for this,� said Jerry thickly. �You�ve been given the salient facts. You know it was Sarah on the web with Saville. Why not talk to her?�

The lieutenant said slowly, spacing his words, �Richard Saville didn�t die when he fell from the web. He was already dead.�

�But he broke his neck, for Christ�s sake.�

�Correct. But the autopsy showed his feet hit the ground first. He had two fractured legs. The only mark on his head was an abrasion below the jaw, where the nylon rope had pressed into the flesh tissues. It jerked back the jaw with enough force to snap the spinal cord.� He placed his finger crossways under his chin and pressed upward. �So.�

Jerry screwed his face into horrified disbelief.

�The force was in the tension of the entire web,� the lieutenant explained. �We did some tests.�

�But why did it happen?�

�That�s what I aim to ask Miss Jordan. She�s not here or at home so we�ve put an APB out on her. But I still need that statement from Meg Kellaway.�