Bug Park by James P. Hogan

Eric looked away and noticed Corfe and his companion for the first time. He gestured with an arm to usher them closer. “Hey, Doug. Why are you standing there as if you don’t know us? It’s a party. What are you up to tomorrow afternoon? I could use a bit of help at the house. Kevin and Taki want to bring these young ladies over to see the Park.”

“Aw, gee. . . .” Corfe looked apologetic. He motioned toward the man with him. “This is Ray Young, an old friend of mine. I knew him when I was with a marine radar company up at Bremerton for a while, just after I came out of the service. We’d just decided to get together tomorrow.”

Ray threw up his hands. “Hey, Doug, don’t go messing things up on my account. We can make it some other time. I’m not planning on emigrating anytime soon.”

“What were you planning on doing?” Eric asked Corfe.

Corfe shrugged. “We hadn’t exactly decided. Sink a few for old times somewhere, probably.”

“Then that’s easy,” Eric said. “Nice to meet you, Ray. How would you like to come along and join us at the house too?”

Corfe looked at Ray as if to say it was a thought. “You’d find it interesting, Ray,” he promised. “And we could still take a few beers out on the water. Eric’s place is right on one of the inlets.”

Ray made a play of hesitating, then nodded. “Well sure, if it’s not imposing on anyone. Thanks, I’d like that. . . . Thanks very much.”

“What kind of things will we be doing?” Avril asked Kevin.

He moved his eyes to Taki, then back. “Did you ever try parachuting?” he asked her.

Janna looked alarmed. “Hey, wait. That sounds dangerous. I’m not sure I—”

Kevin grinned and shook his head. “Not our way. You’ll just love it. Trust us.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

One of the seminar organizers standing at the rear of the auditorium made a T with his hands to signal time almost up. Vanessa acknowledged with a nod and turned her attention back to the bearded man near the front, who had another question. With his plastic bag packed with papers and brochures, and a wirebound pad on his knee that he had been scribbling in continually through her talk, he looked like a dedicated stalker of conventions.

“Dr. Heber. About side-effects again. Are you aware of the item in Science News this week about four more cases of neural disorder reported among DNC researchers?”

“Yes, I have read it.”

A pause. “Do you have any comment?”

Vanessa did her best to convey skepticism without appearing complacent. “What qualifies as a neural disorder?” she replied. “Just overt dementia? Can it be suggestions of stress and not enough sleep? Or anything that strikes the person doing the survey as abnormal? . . . And four out of how many? Was a group size established, or did it just cover anyone they could rope in? And if we do know the size, and what a ‘neural disorder’ is, how many would we expect in a similar-size group from some other section of the population—the people in this room, for instance? . . . You see my point. Without controls and a measurable criterion to compare them by, nothing is really being said. Superficially it sounds scary, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“But if it was shown to be significant . . .” the bearded man persisted.

Vanessa looked at him and sighed inwardly. Why did people ask questions that could have only one answer? “If it were proved to be a problem, I’d agree it was a problem,” she said. Appreciative laughs here and there greeted her answer. Although a couple of hands were still raised, she seized the moment to wrap things up. “I’m sorry, but we have had a time signal from the back. There is something else about to start in the room. If there are any more points, I’ll take them out in the lobby area outside. Thank you all for your interest.”

There was a polite round of applause. Seats creaked, and a mumble of voices built up as the audience began standing and dispersing toward the doors. Vanessa recovered her carousel of slides from the projector and collected her notes. As she stepped down from the dais, a gaggle of people who had come forward escorted her to the exit amid questions and proffered calling cards.

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