“Would you like me to drop a hint at the consulate?”
It was Gamelin’s turn to snigger, then pause. “Oh, wait. Coming from you, that wasn’t a joke.”
“Only about half,” Jole admitted.
Gamelin shook his head. “I came here to do basic survey science, myself, almost twenty years back. Housekeeping science, but I knew I was never going to be some brilliant hotshot. Do you know when I get to do any? Weekends. Maybe. This little department fully classifies, catalogs, and cross-references about two thousand new species a year.”
“That…sounds impressive,” Jole hazarded.
“Does it? At this rate, we should have Sergyar’s entire biome mapped in about, oh, roughly five thousand years.”
“In the course of five thousand years,” said Jole, “I expect you’ll have a little more help.”
“That’s certainly the hope.” He stared away, as if at some distant vision. “And then there’s Sergyaran paleontology. How did it all get this way? To say We’ve barely scratched the surface is an understatement. Our rock-hounds break down in tears, regularly. Overwhelmed.”
“Do Sergyaran radials even fossilize?” wondered Jole. “It would seem like trying to fossilize jelly.”
Gamelin threw his hands up, and exclaimed with barely suppressed anguish, “Who knows? Not us!” He glanced at his chrono. “I would love to show you around, Admiral, but I have a meeting with some students shortly. Meanwhile, what—oh, right, Lake Serena, you said.”
“Yes, I’ve been out there several times lately. The underwater life is very curious stuff, some of it very beautiful, but much of it doesn’t match up with anything in the field guide.”
“Yes, well, there’s a reason for that.” Gamelin looked briefly abstracted. “I think I can give you something to help. Follow me.”
Gamelin led off down the corridor past a couple of busy-looking lab rooms to what proved, when he flung wide the door, to be a crowded equipment closet. He plunged into its depths to emerge a few minutes later. “Here!” He passed a large, heavily loaded plastic bag into Jole’s arms.
Jole looked up, confused. “Hm?”
“Collecting equipment. There’s a vid guide in there somewhere, should be, with all the how-to. We developed it last year for an advanced class of some Kayburg city school biology students. Some of them have come back to us with some really helpful prizes, too. Great kids.” Gamelin looked up happily. “For your next trip out to Lake Serena.”
This was, Jole reflected, a very Sergyaran version of assistance. It reminded him of Cordelia, somehow, which made him smile back in turn. “I see.”
Gamelin cocked his head. “That said, the Uni has been fielding the damnedest questions from the Kayburg public about Lake Serena, lately. Carbon dioxide inversion layer, really! Serena is much too shallow.”
“Yes, I know.”
“So, um…is there some other reason for your interest in the area? That we ought to know about? On the q.t.? Because if there’s a problem, we’re sure to get thrown into the breach, and while public service is part of the university’s mandate, it’s a lot easier to supply if we get some advance warning.” Gamelin rocked on his heels, as if trying to look inviting and worthy of confidences.
“My interest is purely personal.”
“Hm.” A disbelieving smile, though not disrespectful. “We all have our duties, I suppose.” He glanced again at his chrono. “And mine are upon me. I really must run. Please do call again, Admiral Jole! I promise you a better tour!”
And he trotted away.
Jole shook his head, readjusted his bundle, and made his way more slowly toward the end stairs. Scientific excitement at the U. of K., it seemed, had edged over into scientific hypomania, and who could blame them? He thought of old metaphors like kids in a candy store, but it seemed inadequate. Kids on a candy planet, maybe. Had the mood on Cordelia’s old Survey ship been as electric as this? He suspected so.
As he passed a half-open doorway, a heartbroken female voice howled in high anguish, “What have you done to my worms?”
Jole jerked to a halt. Apparently, he possessed an embedded spinal reflex in response to female screams. Not a bad trait, on the whole. But in this case, perhaps he could overrule instinct by the application of higher mental functions? Like prudence. Or maybe cowardice. Curiosity threatened to trump the whole set, but he wrestled that down as well. All the way to the end of the corridor, where he turned back.
He eased the door open a bit wider and peeked through. A man and a woman were standing together at a lit lab hood, staring down with dismay into a large tray. As he watched, the man bent to peer more closely at whatever lay within.
“Huh!” he said slowly. “That’s weird…”
The no-longer-screaming woman, eyes narrowing, echoed his motion. “Hmm…!”
Whatever was going on here, Jole decided, he did not wish to go down in scientific history as the man who had interrupted it. He trod softly away.
Dusk was gathering in Kayburg when Cordelia and Ekaterin arrived back from the trip to Gridgrad. As Rykov pulled up the car, Cordelia spotted Oliver just strolling around to the Palace front. The canopy rose, and he paused to courteously help them out: Cordelia, to steal a handclasp, and Ekaterin, because she was burdened with the remains of the day in the form of her portable workstation, a briefcase, and a stack of long rolled flimsies.
“Am I early?” Oliver asked.
“No, we’re running late,” Cordelia replied. “It was an extremely productive excursion, though.”
Rykov drove the car away as Frieda opened the doors to let them all in.
“Do I still have six children and a husband?” Ekaterin inquired of her, and she smiled back.
“I believe so, milady. They’re all out on the back patio. I wouldn’t let them bring all those dirty rocks inside.”
“It never hurts to do a headcount…” She offloaded her supplies, and they trooped through to the patio, where all the lights were on. “Hm. We seem to have added some.”
Cordelia’s six grandchildren were spread out all over the space, accompanied not only by Freddie, but half-a-dozen other Kayburg young teens, intently looking over piles of broken slate and geodes. Miles was sitting back in a padded chair with a master-of-all-he-surveys air, occasionally directing events with his cane. That he was actually sitting, rather than hunkering down on the floor with them, suggested that her advised plan of take them all out to the country and run them around till they’re tired had worked across the board, good.
“Who are the spares?” Ekaterin asked.
“I believe they are friends of Freddie’s,” said Cordelia, recognizing the crew from the brush-fire incident. Yes, there was even Bean Plant No. 3, shining a hand light across a piece of slate and squinting. “I’m not quite sure how they got added, though.”
“Fyodor Haines calls them the human hexaped,” Oliver supplied. “Six heads, twelve legs, and moving as one body, although…that doesn’t exactly work out even if they were two hexapeds. Still an apt metaphor.”
“Perhaps xeno-anatomy is not the general’s strong suit,” said Cordelia, as Miles spotted them, hoisted himself up, and came over, smiling. He was actually using his cane as more than a conductor’s baton, which told its own tale to an experienced maternal eye. She reminded herself that she knew better than to comment on this. He exchanged a satisfying uxorial kiss with Ekaterin, which he managed to make look smooth despite their height differential. Cordelia experienced a moment of envy. She would have liked to have kissed Oliver hello…