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I hope. We're in trouble if the campus has rats.
The rocks beneath him had not had time to weather. They were sharp and
raw.
Enough of this great native hunter business, he thought. I'll get Arachne
to keep watch on the spot. . . .
Just before he moved, a creature scampered to the highest point of the
bank. It moved with a smooth canny pacing gait. It rose on its hind legs,
its back to him, counterbalanced by its tail. It gazed upward, watching
for predators. Paws crossed on its belly, it turned to survey the land.
It saw Infinity. They stared at each other for a split second, each as
surprised as the other, the creature peering with shiny black eyes
through a black mask of fu r.
It cried out in warning; it dropped to all fours and fled, pacing
quick-footed down the slope and between some rocks.
It was one of Europa's meerkats.
"Damn!" Infinity said softly. He rose from the sharp-edged stones, no
longer trying to hide.
He supposed he should trap it, or even shoot it. It had no business here.
It did not fit this environment. It was a creature of heat and deserts.
Why'd Europa leave it here? he wondered. Or did she leave it? Maybe she
just forgot how many she brought with her. Maybe this one got lost.
The arrival and departure of the alien humans had been abrupt and
confused enough for the disappearance of one small critter to attract no
notice.
I wish we had noticed, Infinity thought. If Alzena knew a weasel was
running lose in her ecosystem, I bet she'd have snapped out of her funk.
I bet she'dve stayed.
In response to Infinity's request, Arachne set a watch on the mouth of
the den, and began a simulation
248 VONDA N. McINTYRE
of what effect the meerkat could have. Infinity decided not to do anything
until the simulation produced results, not even to tell anyone he had seen
the creature. Someone might panic and come out hunting it. Infinity felt
sorry for the meerkat, stranded in an inhospitable environment, a communal
being left all alone.
J.D. descended into the basement of the administration building. Her hands
and her hair reeked with fragrant citrus oil. She had spent the morning
helping sort and store yesterday's oversupply of oranges. Ordinarily J.D.
liked the smell of oranges. After two days of it, though, it was the last
thing she wanted to smell.
That was what she thought until she entered the basement.
She nearly gagged. The stench of rotting AS brains filled the cavernous
room, intensified rather than attenuated by the flow of air pushing past
her. Esther must have turned the ventilation up to maximum, and still the
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sick-sweet odor overwhelmed everything. Including the scent of oranges.
A few ASes stood on one side of the room, hooked up to nutrient feeders.
A larger group stood in ranks, carapaces open but empty. The majority of
the mobile artificials remained in a large ragged crowd that stretched
into the darkness.
Esther glanced up from an open AS.
"Hi, J.D. What's up?"
"Can I help?" She took a long breath through her mouth.
Esther smiled wryly. "It is pretty awful, isn't it? We're trying to get
the bad part done before it gets worse. Still game?"
"I guess SO."
Esther took her to the clump of ASes where her volunteers were working.
"It's not that complicated," she said. "Just nasty."
Stephen Thomas looked up from the AS that had spattered him with grayish
slime.
METAPHASE 249
"And if you need advice," he said, "I consider myself an expert. Hours
of technical experience."
Esther chuckled. She opened the carapace of the housekeeper in front of
them and cleaned out the broken brain. J.D. watched, fighting nausea.
"This is disgusting," J.D. said. "And I have a strong stomach. It doesn't
bother me to eat raw clams. It didn't even bother me to eat sea urchins
or beche de mer."
"Not to mention those things with the legs," Esther said.
"Those were pretty good, honestly," J.D. said. "I don't know about this,
though."
Stephen Thomas shuddered theatrically. "Eating doesn't come into the
equation," he said.
J.D. grimaced. "Sorry. I should have thought how that would sound."
Esther finished cleaning the carapace. "Then you just wash the remains
down the waste digester-" She stopped. "I wish that wasn't what it was
called," she said.
They all laughed, if shakily. J.D. mastered her nausea, took a long
breath, let it out, and snapped open the seal on the next AS. Spores
puffed up from a drying mass of mold mycelia, another strand of smell
added to the tapestry: dry, musty, lingering.
"I'll do my best," J.D. said. She sneezed.
Esther patted her arm and went away. J.D. picked up the vacuum nozzle and
set to work. The vacuum whispered as soft as the mold spores, sucking out
the dead tissue.
Stephen Thomas straightened up and stretched his back. The swimming webs
on his hands had completed themselves. His skin had darkened past gold
to bronze.
"How are you?" she asked. She felt awkward making small talk with him,
especially after last night.
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"Running on empty," he said.
"Oh . . . I thought the party broke up right after . . ."
"We got up kind of early," he said. He hesitated, then continued with the
first real excitement she had
250 VONDA N. McINTYRE
heard in his voice since Feral died. "I found some stuff of Feral's. Some
stuff in Arachne, I mean."
"His stories on the space program?" J.D. said. "Yes. I read them-" Thinking
of Feral made her sad. She had liked him. He had been both sweet-natured
and intense. She had not even minded, too much, when he teased her about
her attraction to Stephen Thomas. She had not even been jealous when she
realized it was Feral's attraction Stephen Thomas would respond to.
Not jealous, but a little envious, she thought wistfully. I have to admit
I was envious.
"Not just his stories. He had another project going. He collected a lot of
research. J.D.-Feral logged his life."
"What do you mean?"
"Not like Chandra. He wasn't built for that. But he kept up a running
dialogue with the computer web. Notes on what he was doing, his
observations, his conversations-"
J.D. remembered some of the things she and Feral had discussed. She felt
herself blushing, the heat rising up her cheeks, uncontrollable. Her skin
was so fair that when she blushed it was painfully obvious.
If I were turning into a diver, she thought, I wouldn't have this problem
anymore.
"What's the matter?" Stephen Thomas asked.
"Nothing!" she said, too quickly. "I mean . . . Feral and I talked about
some personal subjects. I hadn't intended . . . it wouldn't be interesting
to anyone else. I'm sure he didn't bother to record that," she said hope-
fully.
"He was a joumalist," Stephen Thomas said. "You should have known he was
taking notes on everything."
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