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dangerous than the knife she held.
    She
thought that if nothing else, at least she'd finally received the
call she'd been waiting for since that morning, the one that would
decide her fate from that moment on.
    The
voice had been so unsteady and quavering she almost hadn't recognized
it, as if the speaker were as terrified as she was. But there was no
doubt that it was the
call. The
only thing the man had said was exactly what she'd been expecting.
    "Zig
Zag."

03

    AT that
moment, Victor Lopera was wondering, somewhat transcendentally,
whether he could consider his aeroponic aralias natural or
not. On first glance it seemed clear that they indeed formed part of
nature, since they were living things, Dizygotheca
elegantissima, that
breathed and absorbed light and nutrients. But then, nature could
never have reproduced them with such exactitude. They were clearly
man-made, the product of technology. Victor kept them in clear
plastic so he could see the astonishing fractals of their roots, and
he controlled their temperature, pH, and growth with electronic
instruments. To keep them from growing to their standard five-foot
height, he used specific fertilizers. So really, those four dainty
aralias, no more than six inches tall, with their bronze, almost
silvery leaves, were largely his creations. Without him, and without
modern science, they would never have existed. He felt his question
rather reasonable.
    He
concluded that they were natural, after all. Maybe not
unconditionally, but they were definitely natural. For Victor, the
issue did not merely apply to plant life. Answering that question was
a declaration of faith (or skepticism) in progress and technology.
And he was committed to science. He firmly believed that science was
another form of nature, and, like Teilhard de Chardin, even a new way
to conceive of religion. His optimistic outlook on life had begun
when he was a child and saw that his father, who had been a surgeon,
could modify life and correct mistakes.
    Even
though he admired his father tremendously, he had not opted for a
"biological" career like his brother, who was also a
surgeon, or his sister, a vet. He had chosen to go into physics. He
thought his siblings' jobs were too hectic; he liked peace and quiet.
At one point, he'd even considered a career as a professional chess
player, since his math and logic skills were remarkable, but he'd
soon learned that competition was stressful, too. It wasn't that he
was idle, far from it; he just liked peace to reign on the outside so
he could psychologically battle enigmas, ask questions like the one
about his aralias, and solve complicated riddles and puzzles.
    He
filled one of the sprinklers with a new fertilizer he was going to
try exclusively on Aralia A. He'd put them each into their own little
stalls so he could experiment on each one individually. At first,
he'd toyed with the idea of giving them more original names, but he
ended up opting for the first four letters of the alphabet.
    "Come
on, now, why are you making that face?" he whispered
affectionately as he snapped the sprinkler head shut. "Don't you
trust me? You should learn from C, who always adapts so well to
change. You've got to learn to adapt, little one. You and I could
both take some lessons from C."
    He
stood there for a minute, wondering why he'd just said that. Lately,
he seemed more melancholy than usual, as if he, too, needed some new
fertilizer. But, good heavens, that was just pop psychology. He
thought of himself as a happy man. He liked teaching, and he had
plenty of free time to read, take care of his plants, and work on his
puzzles. He had the best family in the world, and his parents, though
they were retired and now getting old, were still in good health. He
was an exemplary uncle to his nieces and nephews, his brother's kids,
who adored him. Who else had that much love, peace, and quiet in
their lives?
    It
was true he was alone. But that was his choice. He was master of his
own