introspective, but now her hazel eyes twinkled mischievously.
“It’s me,” Grant admitted, wishing that Muzorawa or O’Hara were at the table. They’d put an end to this nonsense of Egon’s, he thought.
“That’s what I’d heard,” Karlstad said, grinning broadly. “I understand you brought her flowers and candy last night.”
“It’s all Dr. Wo’s idea,” Grant protested.
“Flowers and candy?” asked Pascal.
“Have you kissed her yet?” van Neumann teased.
“It’s a good thing Grant’s not Roman Catholic,” said Karlstad, quite seriously.
Pascal played straight man. “Why do you say that?”
Spreading his hands in a gesture of explanation, Karlstad said, “If Grant was Catholic, then any offspring they produce would have to be raised in the Church.”
The two women sputtered laughter as Karlstad guffawed at his own joke. Grant took it in good-humored silence, forcing a smile at his own expense, thinking that he hadn’t encountered such doltishness since he’d said good-bye to Raoul Tavalera on the old
They joked about dating behavior and made sexual innuendos all through dinner. At last the subject seemed to wind down. By the time they were digging into the fruit cups and soymilk ice cream of their desserts, Grant thought they were finished with it.
Then Pascal asked, quite seriously, “Do you think you could get Sheena to undergo a brain scan?”
Grant blinked with surprise. “You mean an NMR scan of her brain?”
“More detailed,” said Pascal. “I have the equipment in my lab, but Sheena put up a fight the last time we tried to get her in there.” Her voice was a warm contralto, caramel rich, heavy with concern.
Grant thought a moment. “Is the equipment portable?”
Pascal made a Gallic shrug. “Like a desk-sized console. Or a small refrigerator.”
“I guess you’d have to sedate her, then.”
She shook her head. “But I want her conscious. I need to see how her brain functions when she’s active.”
“Can’t you do it remotely?” Karlstad suggested. “I mean, you have neural net headgear, don’t you?”
Van Neumann agreed, “Yes, I’ve worn those damned fishnets myself, for days on end.”
With a sardonic smile, Pascal said, “And if you found it uncomfortable, Ursula, how long do you think Sheena would wear one?”
“How long do you need?” Grant asked.
“As long as I can get, of course.”
Nodding, Grant amended, “I mean, what’s the minimum time you’d settle for?”
She thought a moment. “Ten minutes. Fifteen. Half an hour would be excellent.”
“Would you need any special equipment in her pen while she was wearing the headgear?”
Again the shrug. “Oh, the recording receiver needn’t be in the pen with the beast. It can be outside in the corridor.”
“How far away?” Grant asked.
“Ten meters … fifteen.”
“Okay,” Grant said. “Bring the console into the area tomorrow. Just leave it in the corridor without plugging it in.”
“But it’s useless unless Sheena wears the net on her head.”
“I understand. The first step, though, is to get her to accept the recording equipment and not see it as a threat.”
“Oh-ho,” Karlstad said. “Our gorilla-dating scooter is turning into a primate psychologist.”
Grant smiled at him. “Play your cards right, Egon, and I’ll get you a date with Sheena.”
Karlstad held up his hands in mock terror. “No, no! I can do without that!”
Van Neumann smirked at him. “Come on, Egon, this might be your only chance to get laid for months to come.”
Grant and the others laughed. Karlstad frowned unhappily.
Every evening Grant brought “presents” to Sheena: a simple wooden jigsaw puzzle of four pieces big enough for the gorilla’s thick fingers to handle; a spongy Nerf ball and a Velcro target that Grant glued to the wall of her pen so she could practice throwing; flash cards showing numbers up to ten and the letters of the English alphabet.
And with every new toy he brought, Grant also carried a few fruits or hard candies that Sheena immediately crunched in her powerful jaws and slurped down, licking her lips noisily and asking for more.
Sheena had the run of the aquarium section, which was sealed off with pressure hatches from the rest of the station. Usually Grant found the gorilla prowling the narrow corridor of the aquarium area or sitting quietly on her haunches, staring with endless fascination at the fish and dolphins.
After only a few nights of visiting, Grant found the gorilla waiting eagerly for him at the hatch he always came through. He soon found himself throwing an arm around Sheena’s thick neck and hugging her, hoping that she would restrain herself and not crack his ribs as she hugged him back, desperately praying that neither Karlstad nor any of his other human friends saw him being affectionate with her.
The thought startled him. I said it, he realized. I said “human friends.” For the love of the Living God, I’m thinking of this animal as a friend.
He was sitting on the floor of the corridor, tossing the Nerf ball back and forth to Sheena. The gorilla sat ponderously a few meters away, letting the ball bounce off her chest before she smothered it in her huge hands and then threw it—left-handed, Grant noticed—back to him.
“Good throw, Sheena!” Grant called as he caught the ball. “You’re getting better every night.”
“Good throw,” the gorilla said back to him in her labored, rasping voice.
She is a friend, Grant told himself. Like a child, a little niece or some kid who lives up the street from you. They tossed the ball back and forth until the overhead lights dimmed to their nighttime setting.
“Time for bed, Sheena,” Grant said, clambering slowly to his feet.
The gorilla got up on all fours and turned ponderously toward her pen, walking slowly on her knuckles. She was so big that Grant had to follow her; there was no room in the narrow corridor to walk beside her.
She never argues about bedtime, he thought. With an inward smile he realized that Sheena was better behaved than most of the human children he’d known back on Earth.
Pascal and her assistants had finally moved the recording equipment into the corridor a few meters from Sheena’s pen, Grant saw. Awfully close to her pen, he thought. Maybe too close for comfort. The gorilla stopped at the open doorway of her pen, stared hard at the squarish gray metal console, then turned back toward Grant.
“It’s all right, Sheena,” he said. “Just some equipment from the neuro lab. It won’t hurt you. Nothing to worry about.”
He knew she couldn’t understand all his words but hoped that his tone would reassure her.
Sheena shuffled up to the inert machine, sniffed at the blocky metal console suspiciously, patted it with both hands, then abruptly slapped it hard enough to rock it slightly off its locked wheels.
“No, no!” Grant exclaimed, rushing up to her, wondering how much punishment the solid-state electronics could take.
Sheena turned to him again. It was impossible to read an expression on her face, but Grant thought he saw something in her eyes—puzzlement? worry? fear?
“It’s all right, Sheena,” he repeated. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Bad,” Sheena rasped. “Bad.” And she pushed at the console.
“No, it’s not bad. Don’t be frightened of it. It won’t hurt you.”
She sat down heavily and turned her head from Grant to the silent electronic equipment and back to Grant again.
“Why?” she asked.
Grant forced a smile. “We need to see how your brain works, Sheena. That’s all.”
