"Tell that fucker to get his big fat brain the fuck over here and help figure this thing out."
"He isn't here," said Jimmy.
"Who is this?"
"I can't tell you. Security protocol."
"Listen, whoever you are, I have an idea what sort of scam that creep's up to and when I lay my hands on him I'm going to break his neck. I bet he's got the vaccine for this and he's gonna hold us up for an arm and a leg."
"Really? Is that what you think?" said Jimmy.
"I know the bastard's there. I'm coming over and blow the door in."
"I wouldn't do that," said Jimmy. "We're seeing some very strange microbe activity here. Very unusual. The place is hotter than hell. I'm toughing it out in a biosuit, but I don't really know whether I'm contaminated or not. Something's really gone off the rails."
"Oh shit. Here? In Rejoov? I thought we were sealed off."
"Yeah, it's a bad break," said Jimmy. "My advice is, look in Bermuda. I think he went there with a lot of cash."
"So he sold us out, the little shit. Hawked it deliberately to the competition. That would figure. That would absolutely figure. Listen, thanks for the tip."
"Good luck," said Jimmy.
"Yeah, sure, same to you."
Nobody else buzzed the outer door, nobody tried to break in. The Rejoov folks must have got the message. As for the staff, once they'd realized the guards were gone they must have rushed outside and made a beeline for the outer gate. For what they'd confused with freedom.
Three times a day Jimmy checked on the Crakers, peering in at them like a voyeur. Scrap the simile: he was a voyeur. They seemed happy enough, or at least contented. They grazed, they slept, they sat for long hours doing what appeared to be nothing. The mothers nursed their babies, the young ones played. The men peed in a circle. One of the women came into her blue phase and the men performed their courtship dance, singing, flowers in hand, azure penises waving in time. Then there was a quintuplet fertility fest, off among the shrubbery.
Maybe I could do some social interaction, thought Jimmy. Help them invent the wheel. Leave a legacy of knowledge. Pass on all my words.
No, he couldn't. No hope there.
Sometimes they looked uneasy - they'd gather in groups, they'd murmur. The hidden mikes picked them up.
"Where is Oryx? When is she coming back?"
"She always comes back."
"She should be here, teaching us."
"She is always teaching us. She is teaching us now."
"Is she here?"
"Here and not here is the same thing, for Oryx. She said that."
"Yes. She said it."
"What does it mean?"
It was like some demented theology debate in the windier corners of chat-room limbo. Jimmy couldn't stand listening to it for very long.
The rest of the time he himself grazed, slept, sat for long hours doing nothing. For the first two weeks he followed world events on the Net, or else on the television news: the riots in the cities as transportation broke down and supermarkets were raided; the explosions as electrical systems failed, the fires no one came to extinguish. Crowds packed the churches, mosques, synagogues, and temples to pray and repent, then poured out of them as the worshippers woke up to their increased risk of exposure. There was an exodus to small towns and rural areas, whose inhabitants fought off the refugees as long as they could, with banned firearms or clubs and pitchforks.
At first the newscasters were thoroughly into it, filming the action from traffic helicopters, exclaiming as if at a football match: Did you see that? Unbelievable! Brad, nobody can quite believe it. What we've just seen is a crazed mob of God's Gardeners, liberating a ChickieNobs production facility. Brad, this is hilarious, those ChickieNob things can't even walk! (Laughter.) Now, back to the studio.
It must have been during the initial mayhem, thinks Snowman, that some genius let out the pigoons and the wolvogs. Oh, thanks a bundle.