Orison. He filled them with the sand. "Throw our singers some supper for their song,"
he said. Orison went with her cupped hands to the nearest tank and sprinkled the mine
ral fishfood around inside it. The Microfabridae leaped from the liquid like miniature
porpoises, seizing the grains of sand in mid-air. "They're so very strange," Orison s
aid. At the bottom of the tank she thought she saw Ben Franklin again, winking at her
button. "Don't come up here again unless I bring you," he said. "The Microfabridae aren't dangerous, despite what my brother told you, but some of our processes might involve some risk to bystanders. So don't take any more tours above the fifth floor without me as your guide. All right, Orison?" "Yes, Dink." The elevator stopped. "Take the lady to her office," Dink told the bowing, earmuffed operator. "And Orison," he said, just bef
ore the door closed, "I'm really not a Bluebeard. See you this evening." Dink Gerdi
ng, wearing an ordinary enough suit, well-cut, expensive, but nothing extr