Bug Park by James P. Hogan

Slight though it was, his weight was sufficient to make the edge of the plastic dip suddenly, taking him by surprise and spilling him out onto a surface of matted ropes covered in tangles of wiry fibers. The lip of the bag sprang back and hung above him, high and inaccessible.

“Very clever,” Taki’s voice remarked. “Now how are you going to get back in?”

“Shut up. If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.”

The woman was Vanessa, standing with her back to him and talking to someone that Kevin couldn’t see. The room had a luxurious, expansive feel about it even from Kevin’s diminutive perspective, with opulent furnishings and gold inlaid designs set into wood-panel walls—but just at that moment he wasn’t of a mind to ponder on such details. He was out in the open below the plastic bag, which was resting on a bench seat covered in a coarse, hairlike fabric, its back buttressed by cushions, extending away like a long cliff to a padded arm. If Vanessa turned back to get something else from the bag now, she couldn’t miss seeing him. He picked himself up from where he had tumbled, and scurried into a hollow between two of the cushions. Sure enough, Vanessa turned, and a huge arm came down, causing Kevin to pull back into the darkness of the hollow. She took the green folder and straightened up the bag, speaking over her shoulder to her companion at the same time.

“I don’t think he’s going to change his mind about it, and we can’t risk being too pushy. Honestly, I’ve made all the suggestions that I think would be prudent.”

Kevin had a glimpse of a man with yellow hair, wearing a red shirt, as Vanessa turned away again. “Then we’ll have Phil go ahead and draw up a codicil. It’s probably the safest way, anyhow. . . .”

“It’s your mom,” Taki said illuminatingly.

“No! Really? My God, it is! I’d never have guessed. How do you figure these things out, Taki?”

“Well, excuse me. Jeesh. . . .”

The thing was to get away from the seat and the bag, the whole area where people were likely to be moving. Beside the arm of the bench was a U.S. flag furled about a polished wooden staff that stood attached to the wall by a brass bracket. Beyond was what looked like the end of a wooden wall cabinet, ornamented with carvings and shell inlays. Kevin thought it might be possible to get up onto the cabinet by climbing the folds of the flag. He exchanged the blade for his other claw hand again, then set off, worming up behind the cushions to get to the top of the seat back. The fabric afforded easy holds on both sides. His biggest problem was with protuberances of the mec’s body catching in the threads.

Kevin waited until Vanessa had her back to him again, blocking the man’s view, and then raced along the top of the seat and leaped into a fold of the flag, kicking the prong-tipped feet into the weave and gripping blindly with the claws. The flag was made of flimsier material than the seat cover, with a harder, finer-woven thread more difficult to grasp. He steadied himself, then started climbing—or, more accurately, floundering—his way upward through a near-vertical billow of stationary surf, unable to avoid making tremors that he prayed wouldn’t give him away. Taki, for once, seemed to appreciate his predicament and kept quiet. Eventually, Kevin reached the top part of the mast where the folds became tighter and easier to wedge into, and made the last few inches to the top of the cabinet by bridging across the angle between the end and the wall.

The man with Vanessa was asking about new theoretical work on neural dynamics.

“You stick to organizing the finances,” Vanessa said. “That’s what you’re better at. Don’t worry about the scientific side. Leave that to me.”

“I was just curious.”

“I think you might find this more interesting.”

“What is it?”

“Open it and see. . . .”

At last, Kevin had reached his haven. The top surface of the cabinet stretched away before him safe and secure in shadow, high near the ceiling. Along its length were carved heads and figurines, ornamental pieces in copper and brass, decorative plates, and a couple of replica dueling pistols mounted on plaques. To Kevin they looked like an avenue of gigantic sculptures staring down over the void. He moved cautiously to the edge and settled in the darkness behind the base of one of the figurines to observe the surroundings fully at last.

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