Chapter 1
Cuvier stood in front of the large notice-board at the Fly Building – so called because it had housed a group working on blow flies before the Butterfly Pheromone Attraction Research Programme moved in – then turned red in the face, pursed his lips into a point, and heaved with silent laughter. His eyes nearly drilled through a rectangle of paper that read:
SPECIAL NOTICE
Workers are reminded that it is an offence to remove official notices from this Notice Board. An official notice is a notice above my signature, typed on BPhARP official notepaper bearing the crest of the University. This special notice is an official notice. Administrative official notice FSN/244/90 has been withdrawn until further notice.
C.B.F. Warrington
Director
Chortling, the computer programmer walked briskly down the corridor to the Studio, a spacious sunlit room where six researchers had their work stations, but today only Bill Jones, a Senior Assistant Lepidopterist, was angled over his binocular microscope. Jones swung round on his stool.
‘That “special notice” is hilarious!’ spluttered Cuvier. ‘What’s it all about?’
‘Basil put up a notice detailing how all the tea mugs in the common room should be numbered…’
‘Why?’
‘To avoid infection, apparently. Each Butt-Parper was meant to have a number.’
Cuvier roared.
‘Someone took the notice down and replaced it with one instructing us how to fold our underpants!’ laughed Jones. ‘So I had to take that down before he got up here.’
Cuvier smirked: ‘Who do you think took the first notice down?’
‘No idea.’
‘I bet it was old Joan. She seems to have had enough of Floret’s “style” when they did fieldwork together as students.’
‘Quite possible. What I’d like to know is, who reported to Basil that his notice had gone? He hasn’t been up here for weeks.’
‘Dumper,’ suggested Cuvier. ‘She comes up here regularly from Zoology, doesn’t she?’
‘Mmm…she doesn’t have a room here, of course.’
‘That woman’s into everything. I wonder why she voted against buying the minicomputer? She couldn’t possibly have understood the issues. But at least we won. Did you get the order off OK?’
‘Yes…’ Jones paused with a smile. ‘I shot straight up here on my bike, bashed it out, and stuffed it First Class into the pillar box round the corner. Before Basil could change his mind.’
‘Ex-cellent! Can I have a word with you? Where are Floret, Dumper and D2? They’re not in the Department.’
‘No, they’re at his house, finalizing the expedition. What’s it about?’
‘Well, although we’ve now got the computer – and that can handle anything – I have a whole bag of questions about the PapDats system which we need to discuss with Floret…and, I suppose, others. Really, it comes down to the fact that there’s never been a clear definition of what he’s trying to achieve – only vague generalisations.’
‘Oh God…’ Jones said under his breath. ‘Do you think so?’
‘There’s absolutely no problem with your chemistry database, Peregrine’s collection catalogue, or the diddly publications library, it’s having to cater for more and more and more of the whole butterfly in PapDats that is driving me crazy. Do our subscribers want it? Does anyone except Basil want it?’
‘I can’t see you getting a meeting, Ev, before they go. I suggest you put it all on one side of paper and circulate it. They’re flying out on Tuesday.’
‘Right. I’ll do that.’
They broke off and had coffee together. When Cuvier had gone, Jones returned to his stool, unlocked a drawer in the bench, and took out a weighty-looking document. It was headed: ‘CONFIDENTIAL. Memorandum to BPhARP workers as CBFW retires and BPhARP – PapDats – CUBE moves on.’
(Chapter 2 follows on 28 April)
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A review by DAMIAN GRANT appears in the comments to Calderonia’s 7 September post.
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