“I know.”

The way he said that made Legata’s skin crawl. Murdoch carried his powerful body like a dancer. He lifted his chin and she saw a scar beneath his jaw that she had not noticed before. It mingled with creases as he lowered his chin. There was no telling his age. Given the possibility that he might be a clone, there was no telling his chronological age either.

Have to look into him, she noted to herself.

The things Lewis was having done here . . .

She glanced around the room once more. Something was not right. She saw the usual holo, com-console, sensors, but the place offended her directly, she was one who appreciated beauty. Not decoration, but beauty. The two huge flowers flanking the hatchway . . . she’d noticed them before. They were pink as tongues and their petals convoluted into one another like a line of mirrors.

Strange, she thought, they smell like sweat.

“Let’s get on with it,” she said.

“First, a formality requested by Doctor Oakes.”

Murdoch swung a sensorscribe from a panel beside the lock. It appeared to be the standard identification reader of her shipside experience. She placed her hand on the flat plate to allow it to read her.

Stupid formality, everyone knew who she was.

A sudden tingling sensation shot up her arm from her palm and she realized that Murdoch had said something to her. What did he say?

“I’m sorry . . . what?”

She felt weak and disoriented. Something. . . .

She saw that the hatch was open and she had no memory of him opening it. What had he done to her?

Murdoch’s hand was on her shoulder propelling her into the lock. As she passed through the hatchway she imagined that she heard a tiny voice pleading from the heart of one of the flowers: Feed me, feed me.

She heard the hatch seal behind her and realized that she was alone and the inner door was swinging open . . . slowly . . . ponderous. What was all the red light? And those dim shapes moving . . . ?

She walked toward the opening hatch.

So strange that Murdoch had not accompanied her. She peered at the shapes awash in the red glow beyond the inner hatch. Oh, yes—the new E-clones. Some of them she recognized from the lab reports. They were designed to match the synapse-quick demons of Pandora. There was a problem with breeding for speed, something she’d intended to investigate.

What was it she wanted to watch for?

A voice whispered in her ear: “I am Jessup. Come to me when you are through.”

How did I get inside here?

Something was wrong with her time sense. She swallowed hard and felt the thickness of her dry tongue rasp against the roof of her mouth.

“Good and evil hang their uniforms at the door.”

Did somebody say that or did I think it?

Oakes had said, “Anything goes on Pandora. Our every fancy is possible there.”