I am curious. Reaching to the box, I begin to follow the movement/flow away from it.

—

The numbers on the screen bounced up and down gently, like a yo-yo in honey, before finally settling down once again to show nothing but ordinary radiation levels.

"Almost had it," Project Recovery Director Norm Kincaid muttered, glancing down at O'Brian. "What did you do?"

"Just now? Nothin'."

"Hmm." Kincaid nodded and stepped back from the control panel to where Forester was standing. "You said you already tried an RNA booster?" he asked the operations chief.

"Double dose. Twenty-Seven just doesn't seem to want to work today."

"He doesn't 'want' anything," Kincaid reminded him quietly, with the barest edge to his voice. "They're vegetables, Ted; tools to help solve one of the umpteen critical messes we've gotten ourselves into. You start seeing them as human beings and you'll lose all sense of perspective."

The pro-abortion philosophy of a generation ago, Forester thought bitterly. How far that argument had spread!

Kincaid looked back at the monitor, rubbing his chin. Twenty-Seven's eyes, Forester noted, were closed again. "I don't know," the Director mused. "Maybe we should go ahead and move in a new unit. This isn't the first trouble we've had with him, but a good dose of memory RNA always got him back on the track before. Maybe there's some metabolic flaw developing."

Forester's short, bark-like laugh escaped before he could stop it. Metabolic flaw, indeed! All the Spoonbenders were were masses of metabolic and physiological problems, thanks to the gene-manipulation techniques that had produced them.

"What was that?" Kincaid asked sharply.

"I was about to suggest we let Dr. Barenburg do some studies before we take any drastic action."

"Uh-huh. Have you seen the backlog outside? Half the nuclear plants on the