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summon up my most authoritative manner, which was no easy task at three o'clock in the morning. "Your friend there is obviously the proud possessor of a basal metabolism somewhere in the minus one to minus two range. Probably converts oxygen at a rate less than one-tenth the rate of a human. You could tell that by the color and consistency of the stuff being pumped by the heart." |
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"When I first came in here, those wounds were still weeping," Brenda protested. "Now they're almost sealed over." |
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"Do you have any idea what the temperature is in here?" |
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"Twenty, maybe twenty-five degrees?" |
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"Precisely! That, my dear associate, is below freezing. When things freeze they get a crust over them, a thin layer of ice crystals, but more than enough to make the wounds look less angry." |
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B.C. continued her appraisal, looking at me, then back again at the creature. A slow smile began to invade her face, and she laid her pencil down. "You're probably right," she admitted. |
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By the time I crawled into the shower, every bone in my body had filed an official protest. There wasn't a single item in the inventory that wasn't bruised, cold or aching. In recognition of a job well done and as a reward for the long, agonizing hours |
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