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〃In my backyard？ I'm off duty。〃
He didn't take the hint。 〃Killer view；〃 he said。
She didn't answer。 Her silence didn't discourage him。 She'd noticed that。 Stillness didn't faze him。 He and the Captain were like peas in a pod that way。 You had to have a fort level with yourself to be around them very much。
He came closer to the chicken wire。 She couldn't see if he was staring at her or the butterflies。 After a few minutes； he asked； 〃Are those monarchs？〃
〃Part of an old experiment；〃 she said。 〃Memory。〃 Butterflies kept lighting on her mouth。 It was the honey she'd put on some cold corn…bread when she got home。
〃What about it？〃
〃Where does it e from？〃 she said。 Did he really want to hear this； or was he just patronizing her？ He was a cipher to her。 She felt herself tensing up。 What did he want？ 〃How much does a memory weigh？ Is it folded into a protein？ A charge of electricity？ How does it get stored？〃
〃How much does a memory weigh？〃 he said。 He had e right up to the wire； but didn't weave his fingers through the mesh。 He didn't touch the cage。 His eyes were on her。
〃The question's mostly figurative。 Then again；〃 she lifted one of the monarchs on her wrist。 〃Her brain weighs a gram； or less。 But she holds the memory of thousands of generations of migration。 Every year monarchs migrate to the northern U。S。； and reproduce； and die。 Somehow the next generation remembers its way home to the winter grounds in Mexico。 There are other species with imprinted memory； memory that isn't learned。 Cuckoos are one； and eels。 That's all DNA is； a vast memory。〃
〃That's different； though； you said so。 Memory cells。 Memory。〃
〃Yes and no；〃 she said； aggravated by her own contradictions。 〃Maybe。〃
〃Did the butterflies prove your theory？〃
〃The plague came；〃 she said。
He stood there another minute。 〃They suit you；〃 he said。 〃You look right with them。〃 It was hard to see his eyes through the wire and shadows。Was he hitting on her？ She decided he wouldn't dare。 The privileges of her rank。 Or something。
〃Summer ends earlier up this high；〃 she said。 〃They'll die soon。〃
〃You could let them go；〃 he observed。
〃Too late。〃
〃Some might make it。〃
〃They wouldn't；〃 she insisted。
He dropped it。 He hunkered down on his heels。 He waited。
Maybe it was selfish to keep them； but they were her fort。 Her mother had loved monarchs。 It was that simple。 Miranda remembered the meadow； and the high sun； and their picnic basket made of woven reeds。 They had spread a red…and…white checkered blanket on the grass。 Her mother sangGreensleeves。 And out of nowhere； a cloud of monarchs had magically descended from the blue sky。
He didn't leave。 He was on a different clock。 A different planet。
She pretended to adjust the hummingbird feeders and fix some edges of the fence。 After a few minutes his head turned to the colors on the far range。 She watched him from the corner of her eye。 He looked so peaceful。
At last she ran out of pretenses。 The shadows drove her out。 The sun dress was no defense against the high desert chill。 She had goosebumps。 With a gentle wave to detach the butterflies； Miranda let herself through the gate。
Knees crackling； Nathan Lee stood up； and his face seemed to jump at her。
〃Oh；〃 she said。 He backed away。 Three days had passed； and the swelling had gone down from his beating。 But he still had stitches and two black eyes。 A new pair of glasses…he had a preference for small wirerims…rested delicately on the crook of his broken nose。
〃I know；〃 he said； prodding at his face。 〃It scares me in the morning。〃
She recovered。 He was the one with no manners。 〃It's my dinner time；〃 she announced。
It was like an alarm bell。 Incredibly； it hit him all at once。 〃Your dinner；〃 he said。 He looked ready to bolt； as if he'd strayed into a sacred place。 For the moment she felt at an advantage with him。
〃You wanted to tell me something；〃 she said。
〃I wasn't looking at the time。〃
That would have been a trick； she thought。 He didn't have a watch on either wrist。
〃You said you had an idea。〃
〃Tomorrow。〃 Another step backward。
She changed her mind。 〃Have you eaten？〃
〃Look；〃 he turned grave。 〃Business。 Dinner。 Not a good bination。 I picked a bad time。〃
〃Do you want some supper？〃 She enunciated it slowly。
He looked around。 No escape。
〃You're kind of offending me。〃
〃Yes；〃 he said。 〃Good。 Supper。〃
〃Fine；〃 she said。
He quit talking。
She led the way。 At the back door； he automatically took off his shoes。 〃No need；〃 she said； and left hers on。 He kept his off。 He had clean white socks。 His oxford shirt； two sizes too large from the warehouse； was clean and white； too。 The black jeans were not his size either。 He kept them cinched tight with an old leather belt。
It was getting dark inside。 She flicked on the light。 His eyes darted everywhere。 He took it all in； and for a moment Miranda felt on display。 The house was nothing more than a base camp for her office。 There wasn't a single piece of art anywhere； not even a calendar with flowers or puppies。 Genome charts； science articles； and spreadsheets were push…pinned to the dry wall or fixed to the refrigerator。 The kitchen table held two puters； side by side； both on。 Taped to the window； a map of chromosome 16 blocked the spectacular view。
〃Let's see what we've got；〃 she stated； and began hunting through her pantry and refrigerator。 She was； by habit； a cafeteria rat。 There was some powdered egg mix； a wedge of hard parmesan； a box of corn flakes； tomatoes from someone's garden； an onion； and an unopened case of last year's wine from one of the Taos vineyards。 The wine had been Elise's； part of her tiny Los Alamos inheritance that had passed on to Miranda。
〃Woof；〃 she announced。 〃The cupboards are bare。〃
〃Look；〃 he started。 Alarm bells； all over again。 Food； she registered； was a major issue for him。
On an impulse； she pulled the case of wine from the closet。 She handed him a corkscrew。 〃Open the box； pick a bottle；〃 she said。 〃We're having breakfast for dinner。 Omelettes Miranda。〃
He uncorked a bottle。 She set out two heavy glasses。 〃Sit；〃 she said。
While he perched on a stool at the peninsula； she tried to fake her way through the cooking。 She'd never learned how to cut an onion properly； though； and the knife bit her knuckle while she wept。 Soon Nathan Lee was on her side of the peninsula； and she was on the stool。
The wine was good for them。 Their awkwardness melted。 She teased him。 〃So how's it feel to be famous？〃
〃I wouldn't call it that；〃 he said。
〃e on； you're a legend。〃
The story of Tara's resurrection had spread throughout Los Alamos。 The redemption of a single castaway child in a castaway age seemed incidental； but to Miranda's surprise it mattered a great deal to people。
〃I'm not being modest；〃 he said。 〃It has nothing to do with me。〃
〃You're the hero。〃
〃That's my point；〃 he said。
〃Interpret；〃 she said。
〃Myth runs deep；〃 he said。 〃I did their penance。 I robbed the grave of a Neandertal queen。 I made my way here to serve her renewed being。 Extrapolate。 They got a hero who restores the dead to life。〃
〃Are you talking about the cloning？〃
〃It's bigger than that；