Microscopic louse eggs now comprise her field of vision, on a slide the young geneticist has prepared with skill, with flare, for Vina's aptitude not only is accomplished, it is stellar. DNA, to her, is child's play. Having learned to sequence genes, she has developed a procedure that adroitly realigns them. She can also introduce them into foreign species.

Green!

Against a backdrop overgrown with dense, exotic vegetation, Vina's hair, in her excitement, undergoes another change - upsetting Dede where he stands on tiptoe, poised and pumped for action, if uncertain what to do in the girl's defense.

Calming down, he reconciles himself. Salon phenomenon? Freak of nature? Act of Allah? He is disinclined to say, since he must guard this pipsqueak - vexing eccentricities irrespective; namely headstrong, spoiled, defiant, unconcerned about her animals. He has witnessed cruel experiments an anak ought not perform. Nor any grown-up, if the truth be told. The Windmollens are heartless. They are rich, so all their cages look idyllic - his as well. For Dede grants that he is kept, despite the plushness of his quarters, hence he shares a sense of being jailed with those in padlocked cells, a sense of servitude unnatural for an ocean-roaming Bugis. On the high seas, he is Master. In a boat, his word is Law; for Allah's Breath alone can flout a Captain's orders.

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