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dry hand. There wasn't much to
the creature, lots of wispy fur that hid its shape. Round head, no
ears, slight protuberance for a nose, two, black, pinhead dots at
the front of its head for eyes. Four legs, black claws, a round,
ball body. If he blew on it, the bear like toy might float
away.
    His thumb worked through the fur on its
belly and exposed a pimply button that he pushed. The Koalakin
trembled slightly then came to life, black claws scrambling, unable
to grip his tough flesh. The creature waddled to the tip of his
finger, chewed on an even tougher nail.
    Kayden smiled.
    With his thumb he tried nudging the
creature back into his palm. It flipped backward, righted itself on
his wrist and slipped up his sleeve. He put his hand in his pocket
and shook his arm, felt the Koalakin tumble down into the lining.
He fumbled, feeling for the button, hoping to turn it off. He found
the nodule, touched it and a tiny, muffled mewing began. He touched
the button again and everything stopped.
    He sweated. Pulled out a hanky from the
inner breast pocket of the rumpled beige overcoat and dabbed his
face and eyes. He ran his hand by the side pocket; felt the tiny
lump in there then cast a tense glance at the black haired
caryatid. Still calculating.
    He turned away from the shelf, was
halfway past the woman when she spoke: "Is there anything I can
show you, sir?"
    A drawer opened, slid out from the desk
front like black ice. "Please take one of our catalogs." A slender,
silver brochure lay there. "You will find the price list on one
side."
    Had she seen him take the Koalakin? Was
she stalling? He took the brochure, slipped it into his inner
pocket and left.
    The next day was the same, except for
the lighting. The arc was shaded, tolerable. The young woman, busy
demagnetizing locks on a few small shipping trunks, gave him a
porcelain smile. Her hair was different more brown. No eye shades,
warm amber, honey colored eyes. It was for him. She was changing
effects. Who had her last customer been?
    She left him alone. He went directly to
the Koalakins, took the tiny creature from his pocket, and quickly
exchanged it for a different one.
    "Their fur is genuine."
    His cane crashed to the floor, bounced
twice, vibrated. Then she had his cane, placed it back under his
hand. "I'm sorry," she said, sounding genuine. He groped for his
hanky. "I owe you a discount for that." She selected a Koalakin
from the shelf. "Twenty percent. Would you like one?" She stroked
it lovingly. "Something else?"
    "How--how are they made?" He didn't
look at her.
    "They're not made. Each Koalakin is
selected specifically for its miniature size and quality. Taken
from its nest while in its hibernation like state. Most collectors
don't realize that this state lasts as long as ten years, and that
the closer to the beginning of that time period an animal is
selected, the better it takes to the preservation treatment. The
viscera are removed and replaced with a bio-mechanical plexus -- an
engine of sorts. Its ability to cry is an added feature. It doesn't
do this in its natural state. The brain is also preserved. The eyes
are removed, replaced with obsidian replicas. A few standard
control threads woven into connection with the brain and the
synthetic plexus permit the collector to turn the Koalakin
on."
    "Excuse me, please. I'm not well." He
moved away, as quickly as he dared, brushed his side pocket and
felt the tiny swell of the stolen creature.
    He waited a day before he returned it
and took another.
    His temporary home located on the outer
rim, lower arc, top section of a half quarter, was dubbed
Eight-ball. It had one redeeming feature; its speck of a window, no
bigger than the bottom of a glass, didn't look into the hole. If
he'd been able to get a bottom quarter he would have had the luxury
of a floor window, too. Still he could stand up, and there was a
separate sleeping area.
    The soupy green walls were freshly
painted. The interior well lit. He struggled with the