it, and long streaks of soot smeared its once-white flanks.
Crown padded closer to the machines and sniffed at them. Dead. No food here. The metal was dull and rust-stained.
That stuff was supposed to be impervious to rust.
Not in the air down there.
There was no danger here, Crown decided. He did not realize that the stench from the machines could hide the scent of a snake or even another wolfcat, perhaps. But there was no food here, either, and Crown gazed up toward the trees at the top of the ridge line above the beach. The sun was going down and the shadows of the forest looked dark and inviting.
He won't be straying very far. Let's terminate. Break contact.
Amanda Kolwezi stared at the screens and instruments on the control panel before her. Frowning slightly, she touched a series of buttons on the keyboard.
She swivelled her chair to look out through the control room window at Jeff, who lay quietly on the couch, the silver helmet on his head and the sensor contacts on his wrist and ankle cuffs.
"What's the matter?" Dr. Carbo asked. He was standing at the far end of the wall-long control board.
Amanda made a clicking sound with her tongue. "He's not coming out of it. It's almost . . . almost . . ."
"What?" Carbo made it to her chair in three quick, nervous strides.
"As if he doesn't want to come out of it." Amanda was watching Jeff's body as she spoke. A smile flickered across his sleeping face.
"Just disconnect," Carbo snapped. "Power down and go through the regular termination cycle."
"I know, but he's not helping. The other times he withdrew before we powered down."
Carbo glanced at the couch. "It won't hurt him. Take the power down slowly. He's been in contact with the animal for more than thirty hours now; withdrawal is bound to be slower."
"Are you sure . . . ?"
"It won't hurt him, even if he doesn't cooperate."
Amanda shook her head, but so slightly that only someone who knew her as well as Carbo did would have caught the gesture at all. "I hope you're right."
She made the necessary adjustments on the keyboard instruments, then fixed her eyes on the couch. Jeff's body stirred slightly. He let out a long sigh, almost a moan, and Amanda realized that she was holding her own breath.
Jeff opened his eyes. He saw the curving metal ceiling of the laboratory. No sky. No breeze. No ocean and throbbing surf. Only the hum of electrical equipment and the flat metallic tang of the ship, with the faint odor of clinical antiseptics laid over his own body scent.
Dr. Carbo's face slid into his view. "Are you okay?"
Jeff blinked. His eyes felt gummy. "Sure . . ."
Amanda came up, smiling, and started to unbuckle his cuffs. "You must be tired. You've had a couple of big days "
"A couple? Oh, yeah, of course." Jeff felt somebody—Dr. Carbo, of course—lifting the helmet off his head. His scalp itched . . . no, tingled.
"Wait a minute," Amanda said softly. "Don't try to sit up yet."
She disappeared from his view for a moment. I wonder what Crown's doing without me?
Amanda came back with a plastic cup filled with an orange-colored liquid. "Here, drink this," she said. "It'll bring your strength back. Hard work, lying on that couch for two days."
"Two days . . . right." Jeff sipped at the drink. It tasted cold and sweet.
"Go on, finish it. Won't spoil your dinner."
Jeff sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch. Amanda stood right beside him, smiling, her hand on his shoulder.
"What time is it?" he asked.
Amanda glanced at her wrist. "Five after six."
Nearly sundown.
"I'll walk you back to your dorm," Amanda said.
"I can make it myself," Jeff replied, but not very strongly.
"You've been flat on your back for more than thirty hours. We've had the vibrators stimulating your muscles, but you might still be a little woozy."
Jeff tried standing up and was glad that she was there to lean on. "Yeah," he admitted. "I see what you mean."
"Come on, I'll make dinner for you. You've had enough
Crown padded closer to the machines and sniffed at them. Dead. No food here. The metal was dull and rust-stained.
That stuff was supposed to be impervious to rust.
Not in the air down there.
There was no danger here, Crown decided. He did not realize that the stench from the machines could hide the scent of a snake or even another wolfcat, perhaps. But there was no food here, either, and Crown gazed up toward the trees at the top of the ridge line above the beach. The sun was going down and the shadows of the forest looked dark and inviting.
He won't be straying very far. Let's terminate. Break contact.
Amanda Kolwezi stared at the screens and instruments on the control panel before her. Frowning slightly, she touched a series of buttons on the keyboard.
She swivelled her chair to look out through the control room window at Jeff, who lay quietly on the couch, the silver helmet on his head and the sensor contacts on his wrist and ankle cuffs.
"What's the matter?" Dr. Carbo asked. He was standing at the far end of the wall-long control board.
Amanda made a clicking sound with her tongue. "He's not coming out of it. It's almost . . . almost . . ."
"What?" Carbo made it to her chair in three quick, nervous strides.
"As if he doesn't want to come out of it." Amanda was watching Jeff's body as she spoke. A smile flickered across his sleeping face.
"Just disconnect," Carbo snapped. "Power down and go through the regular termination cycle."
"I know, but he's not helping. The other times he withdrew before we powered down."
Carbo glanced at the couch. "It won't hurt him. Take the power down slowly. He's been in contact with the animal for more than thirty hours now; withdrawal is bound to be slower."
"Are you sure . . . ?"
"It won't hurt him, even if he doesn't cooperate."
Amanda shook her head, but so slightly that only someone who knew her as well as Carbo did would have caught the gesture at all. "I hope you're right."
She made the necessary adjustments on the keyboard instruments, then fixed her eyes on the couch. Jeff's body stirred slightly. He let out a long sigh, almost a moan, and Amanda realized that she was holding her own breath.
Jeff opened his eyes. He saw the curving metal ceiling of the laboratory. No sky. No breeze. No ocean and throbbing surf. Only the hum of electrical equipment and the flat metallic tang of the ship, with the faint odor of clinical antiseptics laid over his own body scent.
Dr. Carbo's face slid into his view. "Are you okay?"
Jeff blinked. His eyes felt gummy. "Sure . . ."
Amanda came up, smiling, and started to unbuckle his cuffs. "You must be tired. You've had a couple of big days "
"A couple? Oh, yeah, of course." Jeff felt somebody—Dr. Carbo, of course—lifting the helmet off his head. His scalp itched . . . no, tingled.
"Wait a minute," Amanda said softly. "Don't try to sit up yet."
She disappeared from his view for a moment. I wonder what Crown's doing without me?
Amanda came back with a plastic cup filled with an orange-colored liquid. "Here, drink this," she said. "It'll bring your strength back. Hard work, lying on that couch for two days."
"Two days . . . right." Jeff sipped at the drink. It tasted cold and sweet.
"Go on, finish it. Won't spoil your dinner."
Jeff sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch. Amanda stood right beside him, smiling, her hand on his shoulder.
"What time is it?" he asked.
Amanda glanced at her wrist. "Five after six."
Nearly sundown.
"I'll walk you back to your dorm," Amanda said.
"I can make it myself," Jeff replied, but not very strongly.
"You've been flat on your back for more than thirty hours. We've had the vibrators stimulating your muscles, but you might still be a little woozy."
Jeff tried standing up and was glad that she was there to lean on. "Yeah," he admitted. "I see what you mean."
"Come on, I'll make dinner for you. You've had enough
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