Oscar squinted at the map’s fine print. “The Archer Parr Memo-rial Competitive Enhancement Facility?”

“Yeah, that’s the place. Spinoffs.”

Oscar gazed upward, adjusting the brim of his hat against the Texas sun. A huge nexus of interlocking struts cut the sky overhead, like the exoskeleton of a monster diatom. The distant struts were great solid stony beams, holding greenhouse panes of plastic the size of hockey rinks. The federal lab had been funded, created, and built in an age when recombinant DNA had been considered as dangerous as nuclear power plants. The dome of the Buna National Collaboratory had been designed to survive tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, a saturation bombing. “I’ve never been in a sealed environment so large it required its own map,” Oscar said.

“You get used…,.to it.” Their guide shrugged. “You get used to the people who live in here, and even the cafeteria food… The Col-laboratory gets to be home, if you stay in here long enough.” Their guide scratched at his furry jaw. “Except for East Texas, outside the airlocks there. A lot of people never get used to East Texas.”

“We really appreciate your demoing the local livestock for us,” said Pelicanos. “It was good of you to spare us the time from your busy research schedule.”

The zoologist reached eagerly for his belt phone. “You want me to call back your little minder from Public Relations?”

“No,” said Oscar suavely, “since she was kind enough to pass us on to you, I think we’ll just make our own way around here from now on.”

The scientist brandished his antique and clunky federal-issue phone, which was covered with smudgy green thumbprints. “Do you need a lift to Spinoffs? I could call you a buggy.”

“We’ll stretch our legs a bit,” Pelicanos demurred.