claim.)
• • •
Is the specimen a whole, or a portion of a larger whole? It’s nothing so simple as a
Physalia physalis
, that’s certain—and I’m beginning to wonder if I don’t have, in my own personal possession, an instance of
Marrus orthocanna
. . . which isn’t ordinarily seen anywhere near the shore. It’s a deep-sea varietal, and allbut mythical until the most recent years, when fishermen turned up portions of one within a net. But I think that’s unlikely. No, I think we’re looking at a whole new animal (or a portion of one, as above noted).
If so, this could be a boon for the school.
Alumni might be persuaded to open their pockets, or the billfolds of grant donors might become loosened were there to be a new species coined after the university.
Physalia miskatonis
! Or
Physalia zollicoffris
—I haven’t decided yet.
Right now it’s merely “the siphonophore,” and it awaits its formal analysis and nomenclature. And no one is allowed to touch it but me.
I was a little surprised to get this slight concession on Greer’s part, but in the midst of the meeting I was seized with a terror that the specimen might be taken from me, and I could not bear the thought of losing it. Immediately, and from the depths of whence I cannot say, I informed them that the siphonophore was my personal property and I would consider it outright theft if the school tried to lay any claim to it. A lawsuit would undoubtedly ensue, thereby stripping the school of any honor by association, should the creature be proven unique or new. It was donated to me, courtesy of Doctor E. A. Jackson of Fall River, Massachusetts, and there was a trail of paperwork to support the transfer. Doctor Jackson would no doubt lend his considerable aid if anyone, anywhere, were to try to commandeer my work—or my materials—as his own.
At the reference to Doctor Jackson, they capitulated on the spot.
His reputation as a scholar and researcher is well-known, even among relative laymen like those who populate the school’s board of directors. They’re only marginally informed of scientificadvances; theirs is to administrate, not educate—but even men unschooled in the finer biological arts had heard of him and his work.
At first, there was some measure of disbelief, as if it simply were not possible that I was friendly with the mysterious scholar. But I stomped free of their proceedings, to their noisy dismay, and traipsed down to my office (still
my
office, yes) to retrieve the letter that had accompanied the package.
I produced it with a flourish, gave them adequate time to read it, and watched at least Greer go a bit green when he realized I was telling the truth. I think it surprised him, though I can’t imagine why. When have I ever misled him, or made claims greater than those I could support? He has me confused with someone else, or he’s been listening to the slanderous lies spread by students and faculty.
And that speaks volumes about his leadership, does it not? What kind of chancellor takes the concerns of his inferiors to heart, or uses them to guide his policy? If his underlings were of his own caliber, they would’ve matched his position by now. Since they are not, they ought to be disregarded until and unless they produce evidence that they are worthy of interest.
Such as myself.
But I gave them the letter, and there was a great chorus of hemming and hawing, and then I received permission that I should’ve never required: the permission to continue investigation and exploration into my own private property, with the blessing of the university, which would seek to profit from my discovery.
Damn the lot of them.
• • •
So here I sit, not in my office but in the laboratory where I first uncorked the specimen, the siphonophore,
Physalia zollicoffris
after all, my pet, my beloved, my savior and specimen. The other labs in this wing have complained about the odor, but I scarcely notice it
• • •
Is the specimen a whole, or a portion of a larger whole? It’s nothing so simple as a
Physalia physalis
, that’s certain—and I’m beginning to wonder if I don’t have, in my own personal possession, an instance of
Marrus orthocanna
. . . which isn’t ordinarily seen anywhere near the shore. It’s a deep-sea varietal, and allbut mythical until the most recent years, when fishermen turned up portions of one within a net. But I think that’s unlikely. No, I think we’re looking at a whole new animal (or a portion of one, as above noted).
If so, this could be a boon for the school.
Alumni might be persuaded to open their pockets, or the billfolds of grant donors might become loosened were there to be a new species coined after the university.
Physalia miskatonis
! Or
Physalia zollicoffris
—I haven’t decided yet.
Right now it’s merely “the siphonophore,” and it awaits its formal analysis and nomenclature. And no one is allowed to touch it but me.
I was a little surprised to get this slight concession on Greer’s part, but in the midst of the meeting I was seized with a terror that the specimen might be taken from me, and I could not bear the thought of losing it. Immediately, and from the depths of whence I cannot say, I informed them that the siphonophore was my personal property and I would consider it outright theft if the school tried to lay any claim to it. A lawsuit would undoubtedly ensue, thereby stripping the school of any honor by association, should the creature be proven unique or new. It was donated to me, courtesy of Doctor E. A. Jackson of Fall River, Massachusetts, and there was a trail of paperwork to support the transfer. Doctor Jackson would no doubt lend his considerable aid if anyone, anywhere, were to try to commandeer my work—or my materials—as his own.
At the reference to Doctor Jackson, they capitulated on the spot.
His reputation as a scholar and researcher is well-known, even among relative laymen like those who populate the school’s board of directors. They’re only marginally informed of scientificadvances; theirs is to administrate, not educate—but even men unschooled in the finer biological arts had heard of him and his work.
At first, there was some measure of disbelief, as if it simply were not possible that I was friendly with the mysterious scholar. But I stomped free of their proceedings, to their noisy dismay, and traipsed down to my office (still
my
office, yes) to retrieve the letter that had accompanied the package.
I produced it with a flourish, gave them adequate time to read it, and watched at least Greer go a bit green when he realized I was telling the truth. I think it surprised him, though I can’t imagine why. When have I ever misled him, or made claims greater than those I could support? He has me confused with someone else, or he’s been listening to the slanderous lies spread by students and faculty.
And that speaks volumes about his leadership, does it not? What kind of chancellor takes the concerns of his inferiors to heart, or uses them to guide his policy? If his underlings were of his own caliber, they would’ve matched his position by now. Since they are not, they ought to be disregarded until and unless they produce evidence that they are worthy of interest.
Such as myself.
But I gave them the letter, and there was a great chorus of hemming and hawing, and then I received permission that I should’ve never required: the permission to continue investigation and exploration into my own private property, with the blessing of the university, which would seek to profit from my discovery.
Damn the lot of them.
• • •
So here I sit, not in my office but in the laboratory where I first uncorked the specimen, the siphonophore,
Physalia zollicoffris
after all, my pet, my beloved, my savior and specimen. The other labs in this wing have complained about the odor, but I scarcely notice it
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