interest. If Kier had to guess, he would have said that Tillman knew who he was. He addressed Mr. Hanson directly. “I’m Kier Wintripp. My niece is a surrogate mother. She just delivered. We believe it would help her to show her the baby for five minutes, then we’ll give the child back.”

“We can’t let surrogate mothers start telling us how long they want the baby,” Hanson said. “It’s not their baby. They only carry it.”

“A deviation from that policy might be a good thing in this case. I believe it would help my niece, and it would solve some potential problems for all of us.”

“I’m sorry. We don’t deviate,” Hanson said.

“Excuse me,” Tillman interrupted, “I’d like to understand what you mean.” Tillman’s voice was deep and smooth.

“I mean following the policy risks disrupting our peace.”

“Maybe you could explain that for me.”

“Well, two thousand Tiloks might take a sudden interest in your clinic, and they might all happen to show up at once, making their arrival look remarkably like a demonstration. Of course, the press from miles around would come. That would generate news articles, I’m sure, about the wisdom of surrogate mothering and things of that nature.”

“What exactly do you want, Mr. Wintripp?”

“Five minutes of the baby’s life in the arms of the woman who gave birth to him.”

“We can’t give in to this,” Hanson protested.

Tillman gave him a sharp glance, and he quit talking.

“Five minutes. Then the child goes back to the nursery, and you’re out of my hospital.”

“I’m out of your hospital when I’m through visiting my niece.”

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