All the way to Miskatonic Sector and the Astronomy Department, Spruance Del Curtin wondered just what Dr. Doorne was going to say. She’d been so upset when he offered a pandemic as an example of exponential growth, yet had refused to explain it any further. Like it was such a horrible trespass that it couldn’t even be discussed, the way some of the older people around here talked about getting their mouths washed out with soap because they’d asked about a puzzling scene in a book, and only years later figured out that they’d stumbled onto a sex scene.
Except the more he thought about it, the more certain he became that it had something to do with whatever was going on down on Earth. The reports kept coming through about sudden bouts of sickness, usually gastrointestinal, but sometimes respiratory, hitting a whole group of people at once. And then, as quickly as they came up, they disappeared from the news.
Almost as if someone doesn’t want it talked about.
Had he stumbled across some kind of dangerous secret? Was that why so many people kept making these passive-aggressive remarks about the danger of excessive inquisitivity, but refusing to explain what he’d done that upset them? Part of him wanted to find some way to beg off this meeting, especially considering that his stomach was not overly settled right now. However, he knew it would only postpone the problem, not make it go away.
As Sprue arrived at the Astronomy Department, the department secretary looked up at him, nodded, and went straight back to her work. Which meant he was expected and should go straight back to Dr. Doorne’s office.
The Astronomy Department was laid out pretty much like any of the other science departments, with a front office that included a conference room, and a series of individual offices for the scientists to work and hold office hours for their classes. Some of the smaller departments shared a module, while some of the larger ones filled a module so completely that all but the most senior scientists had to double up.
Sprue kept his pace brisk as he walked past one door after another, some open, others closed. Astronomy was not as big as one might expect given the importance of the big optical and radio telescopes on Farside — most of the work up here was primary data collection, since all modern telescopes, whether optical or radio, had digital receiver technology. As a result, most of the astronomers actually up here either had additional degrees in engineering or had ties with an astronaut clone. And when they were in their offices, they were either busy analyzing data to determine what was worth sending down to universities on Earth or they were meeting with students.
Dr. Doorne was reading something on her tablet when Sprue arrived. However, she wasn’t so engrossed in it that he needed to knock on the doorframe to get her attention. Instead she just set it aside and retrieved a folded slingback chair from a cubbyhole behind her desk.
“Have a seat, Mr. Del Curtin.”
Still the title and surname address. Just how deep of trouble was he in? Sprue thanked her, putting a little more emphasis than usual on her academic title.
If she thought he was mocking her, she made no remark on it, just went straight to business. “Since you’re so interested in the statistical implications of the spread of a pandemic, I’ve requested your assistance with a special project I’m doing in partnership with Medstaff. If this ends up being something we write up for the scientific journals, you will be listed as a junior co-author.”
Co-authorship. Publishing credits were the currency of the academic world, and every youngster up here dreamed of having their contributions as research assistants translate into one.
All Sprue could manage to get out was, “Wow.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re excited about this project.” Dr. Doorne narrowed her eyes. “However, I want you to understand that this project is under a strict information embargo. That means you are not to breathe a word about it to anyone. Not at the radio station, not during your gym hours or at the dining hall, not in class or at work, not hanging out with your friends at your module lounge. Not a word to anyone Dr. Thuc or I have not personally cleared you to discuss it with. One leak, and you are off this project. Do you understand?”
Whatever this was, it was serious. “Y-yes, ma’am.”