Hubbard glanced across the table with a quick, friendly expression. He knew how sensitive his associate was beneath her cool exterior. “I’m not scolding, Wanda. Just a bit worried whether the covers will hold those brutes.” He scrutinized the jars on the improvised shelves. The roaches were abnormally active. In the daytime, under the bright lights that Craig Soaras had rigged up, these nocturnal creatures should be sluggish, motionless. Instead, they were scuttling and scooting around the glass cages energetically. Hubbard wondered whether they might be receiving a pheromonic summons from the central domi­cile—asking where they were, calling them home. Might the group be so well-­knit, might their communications be so advanced?

Wanda Lindstrom was answering his concern. “I’ve checked every cover, Peter. Absolutely tight, and too heavy even for these beasts. The lips go down a full half-­inch.”

Hubbard frowned. “But not ground glass.”

The woman said firmly, “Any cockroach that can beat those covers deserves to get out!”

The scientist smiled at her. “Not near me, please!”

She was mollified a little, and admitted, “I’d feel safer with the screw tops, myself.”

They returned to their silent examination of the roach carcasses before them. After a full hour, Wanda Lindstrom straightened. She rubbed the back of her neck, wincing. “My neck’s killing me again, Peter. One of your better massages, please?”

“My pleasure.” Hubbard put down his scalpel. His strong fingers went familiarly to her neck, and he pressed gently into the stiffened muscles.

The woman sighed with pleasure, but spoke of their work. “Do you notice a decided enlargement of the Malpighian tubules, in both the male and female roaches?” Her eyes closed blissfully.

Continuing the massage, Hubbard said, “Yes. I’ve been thinking about that. They may be using the excretory system rather than other glands to send out the pheromonic signals.”

There was another sigh of relieved tension from the woman. “It’s a real possibility, I’d say.”

His fingers pressed harder. “We’d need more powerful microscopes to be sure.”

“M-­m-­m!—It doesn’t really matter, though. I mean, we’ve established an unusual number of pheromonic chemicals already.” Dr. Lindstrom opened her eyes and indicated the apparatus containing the variety of chemical tests proceeding all around them. She turned to face him, eyes closed again. She sighed deeply. “Oh, that’s good, Peter . . .”

The man rotated his fingers into her shoulders. Her head bent closer toward his chest. Peter Hubbard smelled the woman’s hair beneath his nose. It held a trace of sweet perfume. His mind went back to the one time, after Christmas drinks at a faculty party, when he had taken her home and they had almost—