Nimson looked at her with something like pity. “That’s wishful thinking, honey,” he said. “For one thing, fir trees look nothing like palms.”
Jan didn’t say anything; it was as if he didn’t exist. Eyeing Napoleon intently, she typed: “Eat In.”
Napoleon reiterated: “Out Out Eat Habitat.” Or: door, door, drumstick, palm tree.
Jan typed: “No No.” The lightning bolt icon flashed twice. Dong...dong!
The Nano-T suddenly snapped around to face her, snarling, its color changing to a blood red. Then it turned away and began pecking the same series of icons again and again and again. Jan leaned forward, staring at the screen. The symbols being hit were the lightning bolt, the drumstick, and an entirely new one: a simplified representation of a female, like the kind which marked the women’s restr
