Lima scanned the wall-mounted, remote monitor screens from a chair behind a desk in the sound-and germ-proofed autopsy suite. The pint-size, mutie hairballs jumped up and down and jabbered unintelligibly. The huge, quasi-reptilians beat on the bars and wailed to be fed. In contrast, the clutch of tainted Deathlands’ humans stood sullen and silent, staring at each other across the zoo’s aisle. It was like watching ice melt. Occasionally Lima tapped the keyboard of the computer in front of him to shift the monitor views or call up fresh sets of vital sign readings. Baseline normal temperatures of the individual Deathlands’ species had already been logged. The cameras’ infrared sensors showed slight fevers among the humans, but there was no measureable increase among the other captives. Lima and the two enforcers had stripped out of their hot and cumbersome biohazard gear. For the time being, there was no need for it.
