“That is not something you need to know at this time. Be careful when you leave. There is no gravity on the other side of the air lock.”

Paul snorted. “ ‘Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.’ ”

“It will not do that,” Spy said. Fly-in-Amber nodded. Two species with but a single sense of humor.

Chapter 5 - TURNAROUND

5

TURNAROUND

I sat (or hovered) with Carmen, Paul, and Fly-in-Amber for an hour, with most of the others looking on, and we recorded all of our impressions from the half hour we were in the alien spacecraft. Of course we had all of the conversation in there recorded, too.

It was pretty straightforward. Even my Elza was a little optimistic. “It could have been a lot worse,” she said. “Even an ultimatum is a kind of communication.”

Paul, floating upside down, put on his slippers and did a gymnast’s tuck to land feetfirst. “I guess we’re safe as long as we remain interesting,” he said. “For God’s sake don’t anybody be boring.” He went back to the control room to start turnaround.

One of us did become less boring. Moonboy joined us and took off his earphones.

“Has the noise stopped?” Elza said.

He shook his head. “I’ve been sort of listening since the Spy one appeared. Are we in more danger now, or less?”

“Less, in a way,” she said. “I mean, they were always out there. They didn’t have to reveal themselves.”

“Why not reveal yourself to a specimen you’re studying?” I said.

He nodded slowly, looking at the space between me and Elza, not quite focusing, drifting slightly.

“Are you feeling better, Moonboy?” Carmen asked.

“I’m feeling more sane. For what that’s worth.” He looked directly at her, then away. “I’m sorry I’ve been . . .”

“You’ve been sick,” Elza said. Did she not see how transparently he was trying to manipulate her and Carmen? I wanted to tell him to put his earphones back on and go sit someplace out of the way. There’s a time and a place for everything, and for this it was months ago and billions of miles away.

Meryl gazed at her newly talkative mate in stunned silence. It was clearly time to leave them alone. “Good you’re feeling better.” I excused myself and geckoed over to the kitchen. From the pantry I got a tube of reconstituted gorgonzola paste and some crackers, tucked a squeeze bottle of wine under my arm, and stepped into the warmer human lounge. I asked it for quiet random Mozart and hovered near the bookcase, extracting the large book of Vermeer prints.