laboratories and for eating.' He squatted and held out a bit of bread from his roll. A blur of movement launched itself out of the water with a great splash. Evan jumped and Pup snatched his hand back. The bread was gone.
'They eat bread?' Evan said.
'They eat just about anything,' Pup replied, wiping his hand on his shirt. 'Crickets, worms, fish, mice-'
Pup nodded. 'They eat anything that fits in their mouths, so don’t hold out anything they shouldn’t have. They got no teeth, though, so you don’t need to worry about getting bit.'
'Why is the pond shaped funny?' Evan asked.
'They all want their own bit of land,' Pup said. 'There ain’t enough shore for all of them, so we make more. Otherwise they’d fight all day.' He gestured toward another set of ponds. 'Over there are the bubble frogs. They’re valuable because they ooze this stuff that can be made into a couple of different drugs. The tree dumpies in that pond cure cancer. The winslows over that way are mostly pets but there’s some alien race that thinks they’re sacred and they buy ‘em by the hundreds. They live a long time.'
The boys walked among the ponds as Pup talked on and on about frogs, and Evan’s head swam with information. Warm mud squished between his toes, and the hot sun alternated with cool shade as they made their way between trees of varying sizes. Pup explained that some frogs needed sun, others needed shade, and still others needed both, and every tree was carefully placed with the frogs’ needs in mind. Some places were more like small swamps than ponds because breeds like tomato frogs needed to burrow more than they needed to swim. The ponds themselves were sometimes clear, sometimes muddy, sometimes covered with floating plant life. Twitters, mutters,
Evan and Pup also encountered several brown-clad slaves, all human, ranging in age from a bit younger than Pup to gray, wrinkled oldsters. They variously worked with shovels, knelt among greenery, stood knee-deep in water, thrashed the air with nets, or popped squirming frogs into covered baskets. Pup waved to most of them, and they waved back or called greetings. He paused by one woman who stood next to a pond with a large mesh cage, her hand on the clasp.
'Feedin’ time, Grace?' Pup said.
'Sure is,' she replied. 'Want to watch?'
'Yeah.' Pup cocked a thumb in Evan’s direction. 'This is Lizard. He came in with that other lot.'
'Actually,' Evan put in, 'my name’s Evan, not-' A shooting pain drove up his arm, interrupting him. Evan grunted and grabbed his wrist.
'Your name’s Lizard,' Pup said a bit sharply. 'That shock was in case you forget. There’s a computer in your bands. It listens to what you say, so you better learn quick.'
Evan bristled but didn’t reply. His name was Evan, not Lizard. Maybe he couldn’t say it aloud, but that didn’t mean he’d lost it or accepted the change. Grace, meanwhile, nodded at him. She was a short, sturdy woman, deeply tanned with short black hair that curled tightly across her scalp. A black mass seethed inside the mesh cage with a slight hissing noise. Evan looked at it intently, changing the subject without actually saying anything.
'Crickets,' Grace explained. 'Don’t try this at home.'
In one smooth motion she opened the cage and swept it in an arc. A small cloud of insects scattered over the pond, dropping into the water with a drawn-out splash. The pond instantly erupted in bubbles. The water thrashed and frothed. A few moments later, it calmed again. More peeps and croaks peppered the air. Evan didn’t see a single remaining cricket.
'Piranha frogs,' Grace said. 'They got no teeth-no frog has-but they’re so aggressive you’d hardly notice.'
Evan was impressed despite his anger. 'Do they attack the other frogs?'
'They would if we let ‘em,' Grace said. 'But we got a whole bunch of sensors in the ground and in the trees. They notice a frog leaving its habitat, and it gets zapped with sub-sonics. We can’t hear it, but they can, and it sends ‘em straight back. Otherwise we’d have to use wire fences.' She closed the cage. 'What are you two on for today?'
Pup shrugged. 'I’m showing Lizard-' Evan bristled again '-around a bit. Easy day for me.'
'Then you can help me for a minute,' Grace said. 'Here. Take this back to the bug barn and bring back a full one. Make sure they’re dusted.'
Grumbling, Pup accepted the cage and left. A bit nonplused, Evan followed.
'How do we know what to do?' Evan asked.
'You and me? We do pretty much what everyone else tells us. Don’t matter who-if they’re older, we do what they say. ‘Course you pay special attention to the managers. They tell you to jump, you act like a frog and jump.'
'Managers?'
'There’s five of ‘em-Master Ting, Master Varl, Mistress Quick, Mistress Yee, and Master Greenleaf. They ain’t slaves. They work for Mistress Blanc. She’s the owner.'
'I know that,' Evan said, trying to show he knew
They approached a great white building shaped like a giant log half-buried in the ground. On one end was a set of sliding double doors large enough to drive a brace of tractors through. Pup chose a smaller door off to one side and Evan, who was starting to feel like a stray puppy, followed.
The inside was dimly-lit and cooler, with a clean concrete floor. Rows of mesh cages and huge glass terrariums stretched the full length of the building, interspersed with sinks, gleaming worktables, and racks of equipment Evan didn’t recognize. In several places he saw what looked like bathtubs. Insects crawled, flapped, and fluttered inside various cages and containers. The air was alive with clicks, chirps, and whirrs that were very different from the frog noises outside. More people, recognizable as slaves by their silver bands, moved among the rows, though they were dressed in blue and wore shoes. One man noticed Evan and Pup and hurried over.
'Don’t get your muddy feet on my clean floor,' he said. 'What do you want?'
Pup held up the cage. 'Grace sent us for more crickets. She wants ‘em vitamin-dusted, too.'
The man snatched the cage and stalked away, muttering about filthy muckers.
'What’s his problem?' Evan whispered.
Pup shrugged. 'He’s above us. Buggers-don’t let ‘em hear you say that word-are higher up than us. Most of them sold themselves into slavery by choice to pay debts, so they get better treatment and the easier work. They got family what’s free, too.'
The man returned and all but shoved the cage-now full of crickets-at Pup. They delivered them to Grace at another pond, but before Evan got a chance to see another piranha frog feeding, Pup took him by the arm and lead him away. His hand was rough and callused.
'Got to make a break for it before she gives us something else to do,' Pup muttered. 'I can stretch out showin’ you around for the rest of the day, and I mean to enjoy it.'
Pup kept his promise. Evan got a careful tour of the Blanc frog farm, including a detailed demonstration of how to scramble up a tree in time to avoid Master Ting, a short man dressed in yellow who came up the path with a purposeful stride. The slaves bent more closely over their work, and even the frog song seemed to diminish as he passed. Evan’s heart pounded as he noticed the small control on the man’s belt and wondered how much pain it would cost them if they were caught, but the manager took no notice of them. Once Pup decreed it safe, they climbed down and resumed the tour.
By the end of the day, Evan’s head was swimming with facts about frogs and his ears longed for silence instead of the incessant croaks and peeps. His feet were wrinkled and waterlogged from the mud and his stomach rumbled. Rebecca’s meat roll seemed long ago and far away. The sun had made considerable progress toward the horizon, but it wasn’t anywhere near sunset yet. Just as he was about to ask Pup about food, a chime sounded from their wristbands.
'Suppertime,' Pup announced. 'Come on.'
He took Evan’s arm and pulled him toward the barn-like structure in which Evan had awoken. Other slaves were moving in from the ponds and swamps, tools and baskets in hand. One outer wall of the barn was lined with a
