The sparrow peeped once and was silent. "You'll see that a lot," said Ray. "We call it evolution in action."
"It's not evolution-" I started to say, "-it's an invasion!"-but shut up quickly instead. No, I wasn't going to argue with these people. Not about anything. I wasn't going to give them the opportunity to . . . explain things to me.
I turned my attention back to my plate, pushed my fork into a gold-colored mash of some kind and took an unenthusiastic bite; it tasted a little bit like mashed potatoes and a little bit like fresh bread, but it was crunchy and it had a warm buttery aftertaste. I studied a forkful; it looked like some kind of grain, but I couldn't be sure.
"We try to use as many new foods as we can," Ray said. He put a bright red tomatoey-looking thing on my plate. "Here, you'll like this."
I took a cautious bite. It was sweet and fruity and tasted almost alcoholic. I looked at Ray, surprised.
"It's Chtorran," he nodded. "And no, it's not alcoholic. Not quite. But it will give you a very pleasant glow."
Brownie returned then, carrying two serving dishes. "Uh, no, thanks." I passed on the fried finger-babies. The other plate was piled high with hot sizzling strips of . . . I didn't recognize the meat. It was redder than I was used to. "What is this?" I asked. "Those pig-things? The big libbits?"
"Try it first," Ray grinned. He forked a couple of strips onto my plate.
"My mother used to say that. What is it?"
"Take a bite and I'll tell you."
"My mother used to say that too."
"And you hated her for it, didn't you?"
I didn't answer that. It was none of his damn business who I hated or not. Or maybe it was his business. I knew what they were doing here; trying to get me to lower my guard.
"Go ahead, Jim. Try it. We don't poison our guests any more." I wasn't reassured, but my knife and fork were already slicing off a piece of the red meat.
It looked like it should be as crisp as bacon, but it wasn't; it had the chewiness of beef jerky, but it wasn't tough-and it had a rich, sweet flavor. I cut a second bite. "Reminds me of lamb," I said, chewing.
"Nope. Bunnydog. Good, huh?"
I gulped---and swallowed in spite of myself. "You mean, like Mr. President?"
Ray turned to the woman on the other side of him. "Is this Mr. President?" He pointed at the plate.
She shook her head. "Oh, no; that's Pinky. Orrie ate Mr. President last night, at the Revelation. We're going to pick a new president tonight."
"Again?" asked Loolie, chewing loudly.
"Loolie, don't talk with your mouth full," Ray cautioned her, then turned back to me. I must have been looking a little green, for he said, "I know, Jim. I went through the exact same thing just a few months ago. Look . . ." He put his hand on my arm and his expression went serious. "We're designing the future of humanity here. Change causes upset. But we're willing to have upsets along the way, because the changes are so important."
I swallowed hard. I took a drink of purple juice. It wasn't grape, but it was sweet and it was cold-and it gave me a chance to choose my words carefully. I looked at Ray and said, "What if I don't like the changes? What if I don't want to be a part of the process?"
He shook his head. "You're already part of the process, Jim, because these changes are inevitable. The only choice you get is what part you want to play. You can be a part of the process that resists-that is, you can be one of the pebbles that gets rounded smooth by the action of the stream-or you can be part of the stream." He patted my arm. I thought about decking him, but it wouldn't accomplish anything. "Jim, let go of everything you think and know and look and see what's really so. You might be surprised."
I didn't answer him. I didn't look at him. I stared at my plate and wondered what else I had eaten. The orange mash, for instance? Crushed insects? I pushed my plate away. I wasn't hungry any more.
"Can I be excused now?" Loolie asked. One of the bunnydogs was already taking her plate away. "Jim, you want to see my zoo now?"
"Jim's not through eating yet, honey."
"Yes, I am." I handed my plate to another of the bunnies. It sniffed at the strips of meat, then gobbled them enthusiastically and scampered off.
I stood up slowly. I felt like I was walking on razor blades. I chose each word carefully. "Yes, Loolie-please show me your zoo."
I had to get out of here. Now.
12
The Zoo
Never trust a grapefruit
-SOLOMON SHORT
Five steps from the table and I had a worm on my tail. Two more steps and it was at my side. Sput-phwut; it blinked. Its eyes were huge. "Grruppt?" it asked.
I looked at Loolie. I looked at the worm. I looked back at Loolie. "He's my bodyguard, right?"
She nodded solemnly. "His job is to keep you from getting hurt. "
"Why am I not reassured by that?"
"Huh?"
"Never mind." Sarcasm was not meant for six-year-olds. "Come on, Wormface, Wormfoot, Wormtongue, whatever your name is."
"His name is Falstaff," said Loolie.
"Falstaff?"
"Uh-huh."
"Why is he named Falstaff?"
"Jason says it's 'cause he farts a lot."
"Oh really?" I looked at the worm.
The worm blinked and made a noise from its nether orifice: Platt!
I took a step back and waved my hand in front of my face. "Jeezis-!" My eyes were watering. "That's incredible!" I said. "That could blister the paint off a wall."
"Yeah," grinned Loolie. "His are the stinky kind."
"Whyn't we just call him Wormfart?"
"I wouldn't call him that," Loolie said, her eyes round.
"Why not?"
"He doesn't like it." There was something about the way she said it.
"Oh." I looked at the worm again. "Uh, well . . . all right. Come on, Falstaff."
The worm chuggled and humphed and followed after us.
As soon as the worm saw where we were headed, it settled itself peacefully on a sunny patch of blue lawn and became a big purple meat loaf. It would watch from there.
Loolie's zoo was inside a building marked Shangri-La Recreation Room. It was set apart from most of the other buildings. As Loolie started to open the door, one of the libbits pushed its way in past me. It was a large, pig-like thing; most of its face was snout. It snuffled around the room like a vacuum cleaner, ignoring both Loolie and myself.
"That's Hoolihan," said Loolie. "She goes wherever she wants and does whatever she wants. She doesn't listen to anybody. She likes to come in here and sweep the floor. Come on."
The zoo filled the recreation room. It was obvious that these people revered everything Chtorran. There were three long worktables supporting a row of unmatched terrariums. There were also two rows of potted plants and shelves with wire cages along two of the walls. Somebody had spent a lot of time setting this up.
Loolie turned on a light and I moved from cage to cage, peering in curiously. There were three furry blobs in one of the cages. One was purple, one was brown, one was red. They huddled together in one corner of the case.
"If you put your ear close, or if you put your hand in, you can feel them purring." Loolie put her hand against the case.
"I know. They're called meeps."