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‘That’s been interesting, because they’re tough little guys. It’s got to the point where adjusting pH levels just doesn’t make an impression. We might have to do some genetic tweaking.’ His eyes narrowed, and another slow smile crept across his face. ‘It seems a pity to interfere, in a way, because I’ve always had a soft spot for the post-Darwinist position. Survival of the fittest, and all that.’ Seeing my doubtful expression, he gave my arm a reassuring pat. ‘Don’t worry, though. We have to guard against mutation in this environment.’
    Sloan could talk for hours about prokaryotic cells and mycoplasma genitalium , but only if given the chance. He was well aware that most people didn’t share his enthusiasm for microbiology. ‘So tell me about the party,’ he said, abruptly changing course. ‘Was everyone there?’
    ‘Pretty much everyone. Except Yestin. He was at MedLab.’
    ‘Ill?’
    ‘Tests. Did you hear that Firminus threw the switch on us?’ I asked, and Sloan blinked. We were sitting at his modest extension table, which was attached to the bulkhead. ‘He said he had to run some charts. Something’s going on. My dad didn’t make it home for supper.’
    ‘That’s interesting,’ said Sloan.
    ‘You haven’t heard anything?’
    Sloan shook his head. ‘Not a word.’
    ‘Dad was talking about “anomalies”.’
    ‘Anomalies in what?’
    ‘He didn’t say.’
    Sloan rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. Then he shrugged. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if it’s anything important, we’ll find out soon enough. So what else can you tell me? What did Dygall do?’
    Sloan always liked to hear about Dygall. He would lean back and absorb the news with an air of detached enjoyment. I had seen the same expression in his eyes whenever he and Dygall got together. You could have sworn that Sloan was observing the behaviour of a particularly aggressive microbe.
    I don’t think Dygall liked him much.
    ‘Dygall said we ought to expose ourselves to mimexic monsters,’ I reported. ‘Otherwise our first alien encounter is going to scare us all to death.’
    Sloan raised an eyebrow.
    ‘He also wants to run a Battle of Waterloo program for his next birthday,’ I added.
    ‘Complete with mimexic monsters?’
    ‘Maybe. I don’t know. Caromy was there.’ I cleared my throat. Though I wanted to talk and talk about Caromy, I was also afraid of saying something stupid. ‘She was playing with the little kids,’ I added lamely.
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘She’s very good with little kids.’
    ‘Yes.’ I got the impression, from Sloan’s half-smile, that he regarded such a talent as something to be expected in a person of only average intelligence. ‘So was there any dancing?’ he asked.
    ‘A bit.’
    He nodded, and I decided to change the subject. I didn’t feel like telling Sloan about my failure to dance with Caromy. It was getting too late. ‘Some of the music was pretty bad,’ I added, and we both smiled. ‘Plexus Mix, you know. Maybe Firminus could hear it on the Bridge. Maybe he threw the switch because he couldn’t stand the noise.’
    ‘That wouldn’t surprise me.’
    ‘Not that it was anywhere near as bad as the stuff I used to come up with,’ I had to concede.
    ‘No.’ Sloan tapped his chin. ‘I seem to recall that yours had a somewhat cachinnating effect.’
    ‘A what effect?’
    ‘Look it up,’ said Sloan, with a glint in his eye. (I never left one of Sloan’s Hobnobs without something to look up.
    He was relentless like that.) ‘So Firminus wanted to run those charts?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘To check our course?’
    ‘I suppose so.’
    He grunted, and seemed to think. I watched him run the tip of his finger back and forth across his chin.
    ‘Maybe I’ll give my father a call,’ he said at last.
    But when he tried, he couldn’t get through. Firminus’s comm-link wasn’t cleared to receive.
    The Bridge was busy.

CHAPTER
THREE
    When the noise woke me up, I thought that Dad must have