Comreader in hand, a young man emerged and gasped when he saw us. The comreader shattered on the floor.
I dropped my gaze to my arm and gasped also.
Livid blue welts cross-hatched the back of my forearm and hand, raised from the surrounding skin an eighth of an inch, the pattern matching the moss texture.
“Labgrown!” Jason whispered, eyes bulging. He turned to the young man. “Call Doctor Schrader immediately.”
“Yes, Lord,” he said, leaping to a wall-com. “Doctor Schrader, moss exposure main entrance.” The announcement echoed from beyond the glass.
Jason turned back to me. “You'd better sit down.”
While he guided me toward a chair, I held my arm aloft as though diseased. My throat was tight and a chill shook me every few minutes.
“Anything you need?” Jason asked, watching me closely.
