insisted on that, and had made Eva promise she wouldn’t go anywhere out of Joey’s line of sight—but neither Eva nor Dad thought there’d be that sort of trouble. Chimp groups weren’t like beehives or ants’ nests, so close-knit that they’d kill a stranger who tried to join them. In the old jungle, Dad said, females had mostly stuck together in loose family networks—daughters, aunts, cousins—while the males had wandered around more. And nowadays the Pool was always swapping individuals from one section to another without any fuss, though sometimes it took them a day or two to fit in, and there were always a few who, like humans, were just plain unpopular. There was no reason why Eva shouldn’t be okay, but still she was extremely nervous. She felt as though the next hour might be the most important in her whole new life.
She sniffed at the chimpy air and listened to the voices echoing among the iron trees—squabbles, happy noises, the chitter-chatter of a baby pretending to be in trouble. The urge rose in her throat to answer, to cry her lonely call, to make them come and find her. She controlled it. That wasn’t how she wanted to start.
She’d been sitting in her tree for something like twenty minutes when a young adult male came rambling down past one of the machine beds and saw her. She didn’t know his name—she’d only known the chimps in the Research Section that well. She gave him the breathy hoot of greeting, but he had something else on his mind and knuckled on out of sight. Still, the encounter calmed her nerves slightly—at least he’d seemed to think it was perfectly normal for this stranger to be sitting up there.
Another time passed by—she didn’t know how long, she’d stopped thinking in minutes. Then a group of chimps emerged from one of the roofless rooms on the far side and came wandering toward where Eva sat. Three adult females and a four-year-old—Beth, Dinks, Lana, Buttons; Beth’s son, Abel, one-and-a-half; Lana’s baby, Wang. (The Pool staff took turns to name the chimps.) This was the group Eva had been waiting for. They usually made their way over here this time of the morning. She knew their names because Dad had shown her shapings of them last night.
Beth was elderly, gray around the ears, with a long, thin face; Dinks was an orphan who’d been sort of adopted by Beth a few years back when her own daughter had been sold for research; Buttons had been miserable in one of the public areas, so had been brought here and had just joined herself on to Beth’s group; Lana was Beth’s niece. She was also Kelly’s sister. Their mother, Arlene, had died last winter, while Kelly had lain inert in the long dream, having her mind emptied away and then slowly being turned into Eva. This was the group Kelly would naturally have belonged to if she’d never been taken off for research. It seemed the obvious one to try. Only, without actually saying anything to each other, Dad and Eva had agreed they wouldn’t tell Mom.
Either they didn’t notice Eva sitting halfway up a tree in “their” patch, or they just ignored her. They came closer and closer. Her heart pounded. Her lips began to ripple with exploratory impulses of greeting and beseeching. And then, frustratingly, they settled out of sight on the far side of a piece of wall that ran slantwise across the floor a few paces from Eva’s perch. Perhaps, she realized, they
had
noticed her and didn’t want to be watched by this stranger. She sat for a while, listening to the faint sounds they made. On the whole, unless they were having a squabble or one of them was frustrated in some way, chimps didn’t “talk” with their voices. Most of that sort of noise was used for calls—“Danger!” “Hurry!” “Food!” Their language when they were resting peaceably was grimace and gesture and touch. Touch especially. All Eva could tell without seeing them was that one of them—probably Abel—was restless and being a
She sniffed at the chimpy air and listened to the voices echoing among the iron trees—squabbles, happy noises, the chitter-chatter of a baby pretending to be in trouble. The urge rose in her throat to answer, to cry her lonely call, to make them come and find her. She controlled it. That wasn’t how she wanted to start.
She’d been sitting in her tree for something like twenty minutes when a young adult male came rambling down past one of the machine beds and saw her. She didn’t know his name—she’d only known the chimps in the Research Section that well. She gave him the breathy hoot of greeting, but he had something else on his mind and knuckled on out of sight. Still, the encounter calmed her nerves slightly—at least he’d seemed to think it was perfectly normal for this stranger to be sitting up there.
Another time passed by—she didn’t know how long, she’d stopped thinking in minutes. Then a group of chimps emerged from one of the roofless rooms on the far side and came wandering toward where Eva sat. Three adult females and a four-year-old—Beth, Dinks, Lana, Buttons; Beth’s son, Abel, one-and-a-half; Lana’s baby, Wang. (The Pool staff took turns to name the chimps.) This was the group Eva had been waiting for. They usually made their way over here this time of the morning. She knew their names because Dad had shown her shapings of them last night.
Beth was elderly, gray around the ears, with a long, thin face; Dinks was an orphan who’d been sort of adopted by Beth a few years back when her own daughter had been sold for research; Buttons had been miserable in one of the public areas, so had been brought here and had just joined herself on to Beth’s group; Lana was Beth’s niece. She was also Kelly’s sister. Their mother, Arlene, had died last winter, while Kelly had lain inert in the long dream, having her mind emptied away and then slowly being turned into Eva. This was the group Kelly would naturally have belonged to if she’d never been taken off for research. It seemed the obvious one to try. Only, without actually saying anything to each other, Dad and Eva had agreed they wouldn’t tell Mom.
Either they didn’t notice Eva sitting halfway up a tree in “their” patch, or they just ignored her. They came closer and closer. Her heart pounded. Her lips began to ripple with exploratory impulses of greeting and beseeching. And then, frustratingly, they settled out of sight on the far side of a piece of wall that ran slantwise across the floor a few paces from Eva’s perch. Perhaps, she realized, they
had
noticed her and didn’t want to be watched by this stranger. She sat for a while, listening to the faint sounds they made. On the whole, unless they were having a squabble or one of them was frustrated in some way, chimps didn’t “talk” with their voices. Most of that sort of noise was used for calls—“Danger!” “Hurry!” “Food!” Their language when they were resting peaceably was grimace and gesture and touch. Touch especially. All Eva could tell without seeing them was that one of them—probably Abel—was restless and being a
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