“Of course not. Mammoth. Part of the ‘17 Siberian excavation.” A faint smile curled his thin lips. “Well, better go. Welcome to the club, Jillian. I sure wish you the best of luck.” He turned and headed down the hall, pushing his cart with its precious cargo.

Jillian watched Jeff until he disappeared around the corner, and then took her rucksack down to room 303. She nudged the door open with her foot.

A short black woman sat at a computer table. She wore cutoffs that exposed corded calves and thighs and a powerful upper body. Her tightly curled hair was cropped very short. When Jillian entered the room, the woman rose and spun with that liquid grace which implies perfect coordination. The shorter woman appraised her for a moment, and then grinned hugely.

“You must be Jillian Shomer. Fractals and judo?”

“And fellrunning.”

A dark hand was extended to her. It was strong, and hard with callus. “I’m Holly Lakein. Molecular biology and the balance beam. Chess. Do you play?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.” She grinned, and waved a hand at the computer table. A visual field projected a chess set composed of simple geometric shapes. When Holly’s finger brushed a bishop, it skittered across the board to the next square. “Just reexamining Anderssen-Dufresne, 1852. Berlin. What they call the ‘Evergreen’ game. I think I’ve found a new response to the Queen Sacrifice that won the game.”

Jillian smiled politely. “That must be very exciting.”

“Yeah… well…” Holly shrugged. “Hell with it.” She motioned toward a frame bunk on the far side of the room. “That one okay?”

“Sure.” Jillian tossed her rucksack down on the bed, and watched under her arm as Holly floated to a closet, pulled down sheets and blankets, and tossed them to Jillian with a flip of her wrists.

Holly’s economical perfection of movement was captivating, even applied to so mundane a task. Every joint seemed to be an oiled ball bearing; every exquisitely toned muscle moved in perfect sequence.