As usual, Kosoff sat behind his massive desk while Brad explained his plan. Littlejohn had taken one of the padded chairs in front of the desk. Too excited to sit, Brad paced eagerly across the office as he explained his idea.
And as usual, Kosoff’s bearded face looked dour, skeptical, unconvinced.
“Dig up all the egg nests on Beta?” he asked.
“And store them on the ship. We have plenty of room: storage areas that have been emptied out, spare hangar space—”
“I don’t want those eggs inside this ship!” Kosoff growled. “That’s an unnecessary risk. Suppose they start to hatch?”
“Put them in the empty storage compartments outside the hull,” Brad countered. “They’ll be in cryogenic temperature outside, yet protected from interstellar radiation, just like the foodstuffs the lockers were originally used to store.”
Kosoff’s grim expression didn’t change, but he began to drum his fingers on his desktop.
He uses that desk like a fortress, Brad thought. He thinks it protects him. For a crazy moment, Brad wondered what Kosoff would do if he leaped across the desk and sat in the professor’s lap.
Looking at Littlejohn, Kosoff said, “This wild scheme will mean you’ll have to end your excavation of the city. We don’t have enough heavy equipment for both jobs.”
With a dramatic sigh, Littlejohn said, “I know. I’m willing to stop the excavation. We’re just uncovering more of the same things: cracked foundations, broken walls. We haven’t found any artifacts, not even shards of pottery.”
“They’ve all been taken away by the Sky Masters,” Brad said. “Before they destroyed the city they looted it.”
Kosoff frowned. “You’re spouting Gamman mythology again.”
“The evidence is there,” Brad retorted. “Or, rather, the lack of evidence.”
Kosoff went back to drumming his fingers.
Littlejohn asked Brad, “Are you sure that the surveillance satellites have located all the egg nests on Beta?”
Nodding, Brad replied, “Emcee has checked and double-checked the data. Beta is pretty barren, not much forest or dense foliage to interfere with deep radar probes. And the nests aren’t that deeply underground. Emcee says we’ve located them all, with a better than ninety-five percent probability.”
Turning to Kosoff, Littlejohn said, “I think we should go ahead with this.”
A rare smile crept across Kosoff’s bearded face. “So do I,” he agreed.
“You do?” Brad blurted.
“Yes. Now all I have to do is convince the World Council.”
“I’ll give you all the data you need.”
“H’mm. Yes.” Turning to Littlejohn once more, Kosoff said, “You’d better halt your excavation work and get the earthmoving equipment ready to return here, to the ship.”
Brad gushed, “Thank you, Professor Kosoff. Thank you!”
“Don’t thank me. This is your idea, not mine. I’m simply going along with you—and the facts of the matter.”