UNITED STATES
OCEANOGRAPHIC
RESEARCH STATION
DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR
AMERICAN SAMOA
He pushed through a series of doors and checkpoints, occasionally pausing to chat with friends and coworkers. As station director, it was his obligation as well as a pleasure.
The door to his own offices was hah* ajar. Long ago he’d lost the habit of stopping to admire the gold letters set into the cloudy glass.
DR. WOODRUTH L, POPLAR DIRECTOR
He paused in front of Elaine’s desk. She’d arrived some six months ago, the first crimp in a routine otherwise unbroken for the past five yeafs-His first reactions had been confused. He still was. She swiveled around from her pile of books to face him.
In her mid-twenties, Elaine Shai had tiny, delicate features that would keep her looking childlike into her forties and fifties. Long auburn hair fell loosely in
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back, framing small blue eyes, a tiny gash of a mouth, and a, dimpled chin. In contrast, her unnervingly spectacular figure was enveloped in print jeans and a badly outflanked white blouse. She had a fresh yellow frangi-pani behind one ear. She looked great.
The elfin illusion was blurred only when she opened her mouth. Her accent was pure Brooklyn. It had disconcerted Poplar only once, when he’d greeted her on her arrival at the airport. From that point, for all it mattered, she could have chattered away in Twi. But she bothered him. “Well, what are you staring at, Tree?” “You must be using a new shampoo,” he said easily. “Your follicles are in bloom.”