identifies it whomever created it and set it to work.” Bobby grappled
with that concept for a moment, trying find a way to see it was a part
of the world in which he lived but it simply did not fit. “Okay, Dr.
Gavenall, you’re able envision engineered creatures like this-”
“I couldn’t have envisioned this,” Gavenall said adamant
“It never would’ve occurred to me. I could only recognize it for what
it was, for what it must be.”
“All right, but nevertheless you recognized what it must which is
something neither Clint nor I could’ve done. Sotell me-who could make
something like this damned thing Manfred and Gavenall exchanged a
meaningful look and were both silent for a long moment, as if they knew
the answer to his question but were reluctant to reveal it. Finally,
lowering his game-show-host voice to an even more mellifluous note,
Gavenall said,
“The genetic knowledge and engineering skill required to produce this
thing do not yet exist. We’re not even close to being able to… to
… not even close.
” Bobby said,
“How long until science advances far enough to make this thing
possible?”
“No way of arriving at a precise answer,” Manfred said.
“Guess.”
“Decades?” Gavenall said.
“A century? Who knows?” Clint said,
“Wait a minute. What’re you telling us? That this thing comes from the
future, that it came through some…
some time warp from the next century?”
“Either that,” Gavenall said,
“or… it doesn’t come from this world at all.” Stunned, Bobby looked
down at the bug with no less revulsion but with considerably more wonder
and respect than he’d had a moment ago.
“You really think this might be a biological machine created by people
from another world? An alien artifact?” Manfred worked his mouth but
produced no sound, as if rendered speechless by the prospect of what he
was about to say.
“Yes,” Gavenall said,
“an alien artifact. Seems more likely to me than the possibility that
it came tumbling back to us through some hole in time.” Even as
Gavenall spoke, Dyson Manfred continued to work his mouth in a
frustrated attempt to break the silence that gripped him, and his
lantern jaw gave him the look of a praying mantis masticating a grisly
lunch. When words at last issued from him, they came in a rush:
“We want you to understand, we will not, flatly will not, return this
specimen. We’d be derelict as scientists to allow this incredible thing
to reside in the hands of laymen, we must preserve and protect it, and
we will, even if we have to do so by force.” A flush of defiance lent a
glow of health to the entomologist’s pale, angular face for the first
time since Bobby had met him.
“Even if by force,” he repeated.
Bobby had no doubt that he and Clint could beat the crap out of the
human stick bug and his rotund colleague, but the was no reason to do
so. He didn’t care if they kept the thing in the lab tray-as long as
they agreed to some ground rules about how and when they would go public
with it.
All he wanted right now was to get out of that bughouse into warm
sunlight and fresh air. The whispery sounds from the specimen drawers,
though certainly imaginary, grew louder and more frenzied by the minute.
His entomophobia would soon kick him off the ledge of reason and send
him screaming from the room; he wondered if his anxiety was a parent or
if he was sufficiently self-controlled to conceal it.
felt a bead of sweat slip down his left temple, and had the answer.
“Let’s be absolutely frank,” Gavenall said.
“It’s not only obligation to science that requires us to maintain
possession of this specimen. Revelation of this find will make us,
academically and financially. Neither one of us is a slouch in his
field but this will catapult us to the top, the very top, and we’re
willing to do whatever is necessary to protect our interests here His
blue eyes had narrowed, and his open Irish face had closed up into a
hard mask of determination.
“I’m not saying I’d k to keep that specimen… but I’m not saying I