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"What's all gone? I don't understand."
"Our genes of that time. Can't even guess what the descolada took away from us and threw out."
It was true. Each descolada virus might contain within itself the complete genetic code for every native life form on Lusitania, but that was only the genetic code as it was now, in its descolada- controlled state. What the code was before the descolada came could never be reconstructed or restored.
"Still," said Miro. "It's intriguing. To think that you already had language and songs and stories before the virus." And then, though he knew he shouldn't, he added, "Perhaps that makes it unnecessary for you to try to prove the independence of pequenino intelligence."
"Another attempt to save the piggy," said Planter.
A voice came over the speaker. A voice from outside the cleanroom.
"You can move on out now." It was Ela. She was supposed to be asleep during Miro's shift.
"My shift isn't over for three hours," said Miro.
"I've got somebody else coming in."
"There are plenty of suits."
"I need you out here, Miro." Ela's voice brooked no possibility of disobedience. And she was the scientist in charge of this experiment.
When he came out a few minutes later, he understood what was going on. Quara stood there, looking icy, and Ela was at least as furious. They had obviously been quarreling again-- no surprise there. The surprise was that Quara was here at all.
"You might as well go back inside," said Quara as soon as Miro emerged from the sterilization chamber.
"I don't even know why I left," said Miro.
"She insists on having a private conversation," said Ela.
"She'll call you out," said Quara, "but she won't disconnect the auditory monitoring system." "We're supposed to be documenting every moment of Planter's conversation. For lucidity." Miro sighed. "Ela, grow up."