Iris

After breakfast and a mandatory 'exercise hour,' the three of them retreated to the Games Room. Their objective was a big gray plastic box in one corner, next to an expanse of moss dotted with a variety of exquisite bonsai trees. From a false cliff against the wall a tiny machine-driven waterfall dropped to form a six-inch-wide river that fed a shallow pond, whence the aerated water returned to its source. The whole, about thirty meters square in area, was surrounded by the faint blue shimmer of a selective-pass em-screen.

The Games Room was more or less empty. A lot of peoplehad classes to go to or had found other interesting things to occupy their attentions. Though occasionally joined by others, the three of them had, by habituation, established themselves as the rightful 'owners' of this little domain on many mornings. It wasn't hard to do. . . .

The boys stepped through into this little world, feeling a slight tingle on their skins, and went to the box. Brendan slid its door aside and peered in. A pair of tiny, red-glowing eyes glared back. There was a soft, reptilian hiss. He reached in toward the eyes and there was a tiny snapping sound that made him whip his hand back. He looked up at Leahy, grinning.

There was a scratching scuffle from inside and the container's foremost occupant sprang out. It was a perfectly formed, gray-scaled example of Tyrannosaurus rex, all of thirty centimeters tall. Brendan reached out for it, and the tiny dinosaur went for his fingers again. With one quick swipe of a small, fast hand, he cuffed the animal. It fell squalling on its side, then leaped erect on muscular hind legs and dashed off like a jackrabbit, in some peculiar fashion combining the gait elements of both man and kangaroo. Brendan stood up to follow it, calling over his shoulder, 'Somebody get the Ankylosaurus !' Leahy knelt before the door and, reaching in, seized the heavy little beast by its bulbous tail, intent on dragging it out. Now the other inhabitants of the box were stirring, ready to emerge of their own accord. The toy dinosaurs, representing everything from the placid Trachodon to a feisty little Cynognathus , were premier examples of modern bioengineering. They had been made in the school's genetic workshop from the zygotes of alligators, crocodiles, tuataras, and a variety of flightless birds. One of the elder students, in part responsible for the work, had delighted in calling the Tyrannosaurus 'that kiwi in drag.' Like everything else around the school, the dinosaurs were 'teaching toys,' tools that filled an educational, cultural, and social role in the rehabilitation of those who contacted them. To be certain, robots would have been cheaper, easier to useand maintain, but . . . How many people really have empathy for machines?

Over by the waterfall, Brendan had the animal cornered. His eyes were bright as he teased it with his hands and his laughter had an unpleasant, almost sexual ring to it. The thing snapped and bit and hissed as it tried to escape, to no avail. Its russet eyes were rolling frantically. After a while Brendan began to tire of this sport and, becoming distracted, thought of letting it go. Suddenly, as if seeing its chance, the dinosaur lunged forward and seized his hand.

Though no worse than a cat bite, the sharp little teeth hurt, and Brendan screamed with mingled anger and pain. He pried the tiny jaws loose and, picking the creature up, slammed it against the wall. It fell to the mossy floor, mewing and writhing in agony. Brendan sucked at the cuts on his hands, fuming with exasperation.

'What the fuck do you think you're doing?' At the commotion, Leahy had come running over. Stein was standing well behind him, looking frightened.

'It bit me!'

Tom looked at his hand contemptuously. 'Serves you right, you little bastard. I saw what you were doing.'

Rage flared in Sealock, along with the usual fear. 'Shut up, cocksucker!' The implacable, self-righteous indignation had risen in Leahy now, and he raised his fists. 'All right. That's it! I'm going to kick your ass good this time.'

Brendan leaped to his feet and dropped into a fairly creditable boxing stance, both arms high and forward, elbows tucked in. His outrage had suddenly overcome the fear of injury that usually held him back. Tom swung a looping right to his head, but the smaller boy sent a quick jab through his ineffective guard to crack against his mouth, rocking his head back. First blood.

Unattended, the Tyrannosaurus was trying to creep away. Stein picked it up, hands stroking its soft, pebbly skin, soothing it as he continued to watch the fight.

Locked in a trance, Sealock followed his train of memory sequences to their seemingly logical end point. When it was over, he felt better, as he always did. He knew no one would understand the forces that drove him, but somehow that didn't seem to matter. He understood himself, and that made it all right. He stood up, stretching, and put his leads away. Time to go do something else. He left the room, dislocated, come adrift in time once again.

It didn't matter. It just didn't. . . .

After dinner John had drawn a large mug of hot, brandied pulque and gone to a couch in an alcove that looked out on Iris' quadrant of the sky. In the semidarkness he sipped his drink and watched the ringed, translucent sphere do nothing.

The news was not good. The Universal Solaris Energy Collective had just dispatched their high-energy freighter Formis Fusion from the fore-Trojans. With a full complement of scientists, it would be here in just a few months. If his colonists had the whole ocellus, and the law said they did, where did the newcomers go? Probably they wouldn't stay. These wouldn't be real settlers, just itinerant asterologists. Probably financed by the Pansolar people, who couldn't leave any pie unplumbed. He called up the latest few 3Vcoms from his father, having neglected to do so for days. The cheerful visage of Ennis Cornwell related various things to him, underlaid with graphics like a twentieth-century weatherman. The early sales figures for Rose of Ash were encouraging. The publicity surrounding the expedition had had its effect on his reputation, and there had been huge amounts of it on the 'net this past week. He would have to talk to Jana about making up a wonders-of-space press release for the masses. There was an exact way to go about that sort of thing, he knew. The trick now was to play the media in an unexpected way and not follow any of the prevailing 'net manipulation