He had come across the box of small red-and-white objects while rummaging around in a heap of
junk on Tier Two.

“Try again,” he said.  Nine-tenths of Aeryn’s explanation had come through in Sebacean.  She was
baffling his microbes.

She repeated it, this time as though she was talking to an idiot.  “Each is impregnated with a
chemical dispersal catalyst.  It breaks down certain airborne substances at the molecular level.”  

Crichton worked it through.  He struggled to stifle a giggle.  “For?”

Aeryn glared at him.  “Sometimes the Prowlers get stuffy.  Why is that funny?”    

“No reason.  No reason at all.”

                                                        
* ~ * ~ * ~* ~ *
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