Jan shook her head and pushed back in her chair, swiveling around to face him. She exhaled as though giving up. “Somewhere between kindergarten and Yale you learned how to read—am I right?”
Nimson froze in mid-step, jokingly. “Meaning?”
“The sign,” She indicated the doorway with a movement of her head.
“There was a sign?” he said. “I’m so sorry. Did I interrupt something? Does it have you check-mated?”
She glared at him, unamused. The Nano-T moved past the window behind her. Its stiff tail bobbed as the animal walked, reminding Nimson of a cement truck’s sluice. Of the animal’s total 18-foot length, the tail comprised half.
“Something’s wrong,” she said. “He’s not eating.”
Nimson walked up to the glass. The Nano-T was already at the far end of the habitat, past the exhibition-window’
