（外文电子版资料）Robert Reed - Treasure Buried.pdf

ROBERT REED - Treasure Buried R D WERE UP AGAINST THE titans from Marketing, seven innings of groin-pulling, hamstring-shredding, take-no-prisoners slow-pitch softball, and Marketing had stacked their team. It was obvious to Mekal. What do you think, Wallace? That kid in center field? Hes got to play college ball. And their shortstop, whats her name? With the forearms? I bet if you stuck her youd get more testosterone than blood, I bet so. And Jesus, that pitcher has got to have a dose of chimp genes. You havent been moonlighting, have you, Wallace? Arms like those. Reaching halfway to home plate before releasing. But hey, Meiter drew a walk at least. If they dont double us up, Im getting my swings. So wish me luck, Wallace. Im planning to go downtown! Wallace nodded, uncertain what downtown meant and certainly bored with the pageant happening around him. He was aware of Mekal rising to his feet -- a tall rangy man old enough not to be boyish anymore, yet not softened enough to be middle-aged -- and then Wallace wasnt aware of anything besides the sunshine and his own convoluted thoughts. Chimp Genes reminded him of a problem at work. Not Wallaces problem, but he was the resident troubleshooter and the Primate Division was having more troubles with their freefall monkeys. The little critters werent behaving themselves in orbit, either their training or their expensive genes at fault. They were put into the space stations to help clean and to keep the personnel company. Friendly, cuddly companions, and all that. But the prototypes were shitting everywhere and screaming day and night. And Wallace was wondering if it was something subtle, even stupid, overlooked as a consequence. Zero-gee, freefall . . . was it some kind of inbred panic reaction? Maybe the monkeys had troubles with weightlessness. What if . . . what if they felt as if they were falling, tailoring and instinct making it seem as if they were tumbling from some infinitely