Michael." We shook. "I'm supposed to be a sapientologist but I also
moonlight as the local guide."
"Guide?" She nodded distractedly. "Okay." She peered past me, as if
expecting someone else.
"Oh, don't worry," I said, "the dinos are in their cages."
Her eyes got wide as she let her hand slip from mine. "You call the Hanen
dinos?"
"Why not?" I laughed. "They call us babies. The weeps, among other things."
She shook her head in amazement. People who've never met a dino tended
to romanticize them: the wise and noble reptiles who had mastered
superluminal physics and introduced Earth to the wonders of galactic
civilization. I doubt Kamala had ever seen a dino play poker or gobble
down a screaming rabbit. And she had never argued with Linna, who still
wasn't convinced that humans were psychologically ready to go to the stars.
"Have you eaten?" I gestured down the corridor toward the reception rooms.
"Yes ... I mean, no." She didn't move. "I am not hungry."
"Let me guess. You're too nervous to eat. You're too nervous to talk,
even. You wish I'd just shut up, pop you into the marble, and beam you
out. Let's just get this part the hell over with, eh?"
"I don't mind the conversation, actually."
"There you go. Well, Kamala, it is my solemn duty to advise you that
there are no peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on Gend. And no chicken
vindaloo. What's my name again?"
"Michael?"
"See, you're not that nervous. Not one taco, or a single slice of
eggplant pizza. This is your last chance to eat like a human."
"Okay." She did not actually smile -- she was too busy being brave --
but a corner of her mouth twitched. "Actually, I would not mind a cup of
tea."
"Now, tea they've got." She let me guide her toward reception room D;
her slippers snicked at the velcro carpet. "Of course, they brew it from
lawn clippings."
"The Gendians don't keep lawns. They live underground."
"Refresh my memory." I kept my hand on her shoulder; beneath the clingy,
her muscles were rigid. "Are they the ferrets or the things with the
orange bumps?"
"They look nothing like ferrets."
We popped through the door bubble into reception D, a compact rectangular
space with a scatter of low, unthreatening furniture. There was a kitchen
station at one end, a closet with a vacuum toilet at the other. The
ceiling was blue sky; the long wall showed a live view of the Charles River
and the Boston skyline, baking in the late June sun. Kamala had just
finished her doctorate at MIT.
I opaqued the door. She perched on the edge of a couch like a wren, ready
to flit away.
While I was making her tea, my fingernail screen flashed. I answered it
and a tiny Silloin came up in discreet mode. She didn't look at me; she
was too busy watching arrays in the control room. =A problem,= her voice
buzzed in my earstone, =most negligible, really. But we will have to void
the last two from today's schedule. Save them at Lunex until first shift
