Starbuck stopped and considered. "I suppose I should, for the record. But to hell with it, I won't hold you up." He walked to the port, then turned. "You know, I feel sorry for the guy who's got that surrogate."
"Eh? Why?"
"Man, those things are poison! You know that, Ralph! Anything's possible—insanity, deformation.... And this guy may have even more of a problem."
"Why?"
"Can't tell you, boy," Starbuck said. "Really can't. It's special information. The FBI isn't certain yet. Besides, they're waiting for the right moment to spring it."
With an easy wave, Starbuck left. Garvey stared after him, thinking hard. He didn't like the way things were going. What had started out as an illicit little vacation was turning into a full-scale criminal affair. Why hadn't he thought of this earlier? He had been apprehensive in the sexual substitute factory, with its low lights, its furtive, white-aproned men, its reek of raw flesh and plastic. Why hadn't he given up the idea then? The surrogates couldn't be as good as people said....
"Tower to G43221," the radio crackled. "Are you ready?"
Garvey hesitated, wishing he knew what Starbuck had been hinting at. Maybe he should stop now, while there was still time.
Then he thought of the giant crate in the after cabin, and its contents, waiting for activation, waiting for him. His pulse began to race. He knew that he was going through with it, no matter what the risk.
He signalled to the tower, and strapped himself into the control chair.