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sound like a nagging mother, Doug. What is it?"

"I'm doing you a favor here, sweetheart. You should thank me."

"Maybe if I knew what it was."

"Something's come down from Corporate. Something hot."

"You know what they say rolls downhill, Doug. It's pretty hot sometimes,
too."

"Annja, just, like, listen for a change." This from Doug, who had the
attention span of one of those little midges that live for six hours.
"This is actually a good idea. Not like those other ones. Have you
ever heard of Mount Ararat?"

She suddenly teetered over to her sofa. The end nearer the door was stacked
with archaeological journals and printouts of recently submitted papers. Her
legs were suddenly so shaky she sat right on top of the foot-high pile.

"Yes. I've heard of Ararat."

"So, like, it turns out Noah's Ark is on top of the freaking mountain. Who
knew?"

Anyone who watches our rival cable networks, for starters, she thought.
"Doug, we don't know it's Noah's Ark. For one thing, the mountain's
seventeen thousand feet high."

"Really? That's a lot of rain. Anyway, there's an expedition headed up it.
Nothing to worry about, it's an American operation all the way, not run by any
people from Madagascar or wherever. You'd be their pet archaeologist. You'd
also have a team from the show along to shoot everything. Do you hear what I'm
saying, here, Annja? You're working for them and us. You're double-dipping, all
open and aboveboard."

"Wow," Annja said.

"Try to muster some excitement, here. Because wait, there's more. If the
suits decide to run with this you will be talent and producer for that episode.
You, in person. Annja Creed."

That actually penetrated her fog of dismay and incipient paranoia. "You're
kidding!" It meant that the show's coverage might actually feature her
real archaeology instead of the entertainment bits that usually won out.

"Not at all, kiddo. Not at all. Focus groups say America's getting tired of the superficial. They want their infotainment shows to be more
serious."

"Do they, now?"

"So what do you say? Yes?"

"I say I'm tired, Doug. This is a lot to heap on my plate. Let me sleep on
it, at least."

"What's to think about?"

"Plenty," she said grimly. "Look, Doug. Thank you. I really,
really appreciate that you're looking out for me. But I need to think about
it."

"Don't think about it too long, babe. You know network. It's got the
attention span of a hyperthyroid weasel."

She broke the connection, in case he had any further blandishments to offer. He
really did mean well, in his air-headed way.

Her shoulders slumped. She tossed the phone on the sofa and rubbed her face
with her hands.

"Is something else going on here?" she said to the half-lit room.
"Am I getting paranoid?"

And the little voice in her head answered, Is it paranoid when they really are
out to get you?
    * * *
    ANNJA HEADED OUT OF the
television studio building into warm autumn sunlight. Some dried leaves
skittered along the steps.

It was a little after one. She had two full hours for lunch before she was due
back for a script conference for Chasing History's Monsters on
star-children—hybrids between creatures from the stars, which was an old-time
way of saying aliens, and men. Some people claimed they were spoken of in
legends from all over the world. Annja was almost as skeptical of that claim as
she was of the alien-human hybrid thing itself. She knew that her show was
fluff but it paid well and allowed her to do a lot of real archaeology that
she'd never have the time or money for otherwise. And now Doug was promising to
let her shape an episode entirely her way. He'd been hounding her all morning
to accept the Noah's Ark expedition. It seemed Charlie Bostitch was throwing
his weight and his money around and he really wanted Annja on his team.

Annja had no idea what she was going to do for lunch. But after a morning of
Doug and his antics she just had to get away from the show and everything
connected to it for a while. Even if she