"Isn't
the brown-haired one with you?" the scientist asked.
"Mabel?
She's out on a job."
"Oh,
that's too bad," Dr Havillund commented with disappointment. He
bit off more of the cube. In between chews, he asked, "That
crazy tribeswoman isn't with you is she?"
"Iona's
with Mabel."
"Sure
she didn't sneak in with you?"
"I'm
sure. She wouldn't be able to finish her job otherwise."
"Well,
that's a blessing, at least." Dr Havillund hit a red button
beside the door at the top, which caused the panel to slide up. He
held up his food cube as he entered. "You'd think they'd make
this food soft so I didn't have to chew."
Tricia
followed the man. "I think it's made that way so you'd at least
exercise your jaws."
Dr
Havillund snorted. "They could also do away with the fibers so I
didn't have to..."
"I
think that's on purpose too," Tricia interrupted.
George
followed the two along a corridor. Light from the windows on one side
provide enough illumination for him to see the many carelessly thrown
pieces of packaging on the floor, among other trash. There were
several doors on the side opposite the windows.
Dr
Havillund finished his food and tossed the wrapper aside. He stepped
to the last door and pushed a button beside it.
The door
slid open and George followed the others into what was once a
cafeteria.
Though
many of the tables had been knocked out of position, they still had
some vague semblance of the orderly arrangement that they once had.
There was a wide window on one wall, which showed a thoroughly
neglected kitchen. As with the rest of the facility George had seen
so far, the place was covered with dust and rubbish.
"Put
them here." Dr Havillund tapped on a dusty table. He pointed at
a couple of opened crates on the floor. "Those're the old
crates."
Their
delivery had been completed. George was glad to be rid of the load.
His arms were aching.
Tricia
replaced the lids on the old crates.
"Why
don't you hang out for a little?" Dr Havillund suggested, "I
haven't had decent conversation for weeks."
"Do
you have the time?" Tricia asked as she removed her mask and
helmet.
When
George removed his own mask, he was aware of the musty smell in the
air, and some fairly bad odor. He quickly found the source of the
disagreement to his olfactory senses to be the scientist. The boy
inched away from the other man.
"I
haven't anything important to do. I can spare some time," the
scientist said, "Want something to drink? Something strong?"
"I'll
pass," Tricia declined, "It's still a dangerous ride back."
"Oh,
right." Dr Havillund swept the room with his gaze. He glanced
sharply at George then shook his head and sighed. "I'm still
half-expecting that crazy tribeswoman to appear out of nowhere."
"What's
the problem with Iona?" George could not resist asking.
"She's
always stealing a plant sample or messing with some equipment,"
the scientist answered, "It's not something valuable or
irreplaceable. Just that she'd mess with one of my experiments or
some such and I'd have to set up a new one and wait for the results.
She'd cost me a few days of work, a few days with nothing to do but
wait for the results."
Dr
Havillund sighed again. "Where's that small spiky-haired girl?"
he inquired.
"Oh,
you mean Laura," Tricia said, "She's away on family
business."
"That's
too bad."
"You
want her to take a look at something again," Tricia guessed.
"The
power generator's making strange noises," the man in the lab
coat said.
Tricia
turned to George. "Squirt, can you check it out?"
George
nodded. "I'll take a look."
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