“No. Eat You. No. Eat You. No. Eat You ...”
It stopped, abruptly. Jan scooted her chair back. “Jesus,” she whispered, staring straight ahead. “He’s threatening me.”
Nimson lost it. He splayed his fingers and shook his hands drastically. “It’s an animal, for Christ’s sake! A genetically programmed mechanism!” He turned toward the window. “It doesn’t hold grudge—”
Napoleon was right there. He was glaring through the glass.
Nimson froze.
“Nonetheless,” he mumbled after a moment, “has the glass ever been tested?”
Jan shook her head.
The animal stared at them for several moments. Then it touched its nose to the glass, c****d its head, and began licking the pane.
Nimson started laughing.
Jan was confused; had the T merely been throwing a fit? Or had she been that wrong about his motives
