Her sobs were more pathetic for being muffled by the rag in her mouth and the lip-sealing duct tape. “It’s not that I don’t find you attractive,” Jonathan told her. “I do. I think you’re a fine example of your species. It’s just that I’m of the New Race, and having sex with you would be like you having sex with a monkey.” For some reason, his sincere explanation made her cry harder. She was going to choke on her sobs if she wasn’t careful. Giving her a chance to adjust to her circumstances and to get control of her emotions, he fetched a physician’s bag from a closet. He put it on a stainless-steel cart, and rolled the cart to the autopsy table. From the black bag he extracted surgical instruments—scalpels, clamps, retractors—and lined them up on the cart. They had not been sterilized, but as Jenna would be dead when he was done with her, there was no reason to guard against infection. When the sight of the surgical instruments excited the woman to greater weeping, Jonathan realized that fear of pain and death might be the sole cause of her tears.
