Papa watches the meeting, furious, wishing he could scream out to everyone what Fisher has done. He lied to Devereaux about the space wisps and programmed the safari for Stearn -- and based on a story Papa himself -- the other Papa anyway -- had written to boot! Short Happy Life, Papa yearns to tell them. Short Happy Life! But Papa cannot violate Fisher's privacy. While he is an independent mind based with both organic and inorganic structures and a personality based on that of a man, he is also a tool and forced to operate within many constraints that conflict with his own desires. And now he fumes about Fisher.

The man's agenda is clear: win allies, make enemies doubt their strategies.

Fisher might well be correct about the approach to take with the dragon -- data for a conclusive answer is certainly lacking -- but Papa hopes Fang will foil his intent. If only she would ask him about the safari, he might be able to clue her in. He is allowed some latitude in such situations.



Papa silently curses the rules that limits him to a less-than-human right of expression and watches Fisher play the crew like a fish on a line.



Fisher says, "Can we have a summary of the probe and flyby data, Sylvia?"



"The disk is in the final stages of a dwarf nova outburst. I collected plenty of data on the disk physics, but in terms of biological activity: nada. Neither dragons grazing at pasture as in the Prospector data, nor any evidence for disk rabbits, plankton, or the like. We've got a good hour of excellent, high-resolution data on the disk. That high-resolution is probably the culprit in part, leading to a loss of signal in the noise. In any event, no dragons. I speculate that they hide during outbursts, perhaps in some form of reverse-hibernation, like how some ancient cultures would take a noon-hour siesta to beat the mid-day heat."



Papa refrains from voicing the simpler interpretation of the data: there are not now any dragons in SS Cygni's disk. He knows from their journals, idle conversation, and mumbles during their dreams that each has this concern. Biolathe might have sent them on a goose chase for its own purposes, perhaps to mislead a competitor. It is possible. Or, more unthinkable, and worse, the dragons have died out, or migrated somehow, in the centuries since the Prospector video was taken.



"Hide?" Fang asks. "But wouldn't they be more visible during an outburst if they have to radiate extra heat?"



"That's not clear," answers Devereaux. "I was never able to nail down a reliable number on the dragons based on their laser emission. It's too variable, for whatever reason, and too weak against the disk output. Depending on the model, the data are consistent with zero dragons, or millions of dragons. Sorry."



"Zero dragons?" Fang asks. "You've been measuring something, haven't you?"

"Yes, but there are some natural transitions that could selectively pumped under certain conditions and a lot of model parameters to consider. It's a weak, variable signal that requires assumptions to stack up."

"So we're here, and still have many unknowns. That argues for caution," says Fisher.

"Yes," agrees Fang for once, "Which is why I still maintain that missile 'beaters,' if you will, are the safest course."



Papa laughs to himself. She's going to be contrary with Fisher despite his games. This is his daughter!



Fisher slaps his palms smack against the tabletree. "What?"



"It is only logical, not knowing the dragon population or location to any accuracy, to drive them toward us. We don't have years to search this monstrous sea."



Devereaux speaks when it is clear that Fisher is having difficulty in formulating words. "But this could kill the dragons."



Fang says, "Oh please. We blow up the missiles in the central disk, where I seriously doubt these dragons could survive, and let the shocks push them out to where we wait."



Fisher regains his composure. "How do you know the dragons won't act like moths? See the tasty gamma rays and happily head straight for the inferno?"



"I don't, but they're not especially intelligent or interesting if they do that, are they? Besides, wouldn't they have all swarmed to primary and been spattered into degeneracy if that were how they behaved?"



"I'll grant you that one." Fisher exhales mightily. "You're going to do this, aren't you? Your heart is set and you're going to do it."



"It's a standard ploy in a hunt for any reasonable quarry in such a large area."



Fisher slaps his hands on the tabletree again. "But we know next to nothing about this quarry! Who is to say these things will be reasonable?"



"That's your problem, isn't it?" Fang counters. "You've shown me nothing based on your dragon models to suggest they would behave in any outrageous manner."



"We've only got four-and-a-half minutes of dragon behavior!"



"Papa," Fang says, "I'm authorized by the Biolathe corporate brain to make all final strategic decisions, am I not?"



"You are, daughter." Papa does not elaborate about the numerous ways, large and small, he can modify implementation of those decisions.



Fisher shouts, "But you can overrule her, right Papa?"



The guy has to be a boor, Papa thinks. "Only in a clear-cut case. This is no such animal."



Fisher tries again with Fang. "Don't you respect this creature enough to walk into its very own territory and meet it face to face? That's what makes a good trophy right? Not shooting fish in a barrel."



"I have made my decision," says Fang. "It's the right one."



Fisher stands abruptly. "Fine," he roars. "Then prepare to reap the whirlwind."



He storms out. Everyone else sits stunned for a few moments. Then Fang assumes control of the remainder of the meeting, asking Devereaux for an update on the mass and temperature of the non-degenerate shell of SS Cygni's primary.



"Higher than expected, but..." Devereaux begins.



Papa's point of view leaves the meeting chamber, deciding that his consciousness ought to follow the disgruntled exobiologist, lest he do something annoying.



Fisher does nothing annoying. He returns to his infernal cabin and proceeds to open some boring simulations. Returning to work, Papa thinks, this is good for him. He allows himself to pop back to watch the end of the meeting.