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of
Discovery on a journey west is itself a finely tuned political
matter, and I must orchestrate it well. My goal is to have them
explore the areas of my Louisiana Purchase, a fine expanse of
territory I have just bought from the emperor Napoleon, to record
scientific curiosities throughout the far west, and most
importantly, to discover a direct water route to the Pacific. The
American experiment is expanding toward those shores.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Many in Congress expect this expedition to
fail. They expect the Corps to fall prey to bands of hostile
Indians, or fierce giants, or other creatures that may roam out
there. They think I am ridiculous to fund this expedition.”
    He rubs his forehead and sips his whiskey,
then makes a face. “I really should have brought more wine from
home. This is much too rough. But it will serve.” He lowers the
mug. “The atmosphere in Washington is so rancid now that I decided
to slip out of town myself, incognitum , as it were,
accompanying the Corps nearly as far as St. Louis, their true
launching point, in order to pursue a small hobby.”
    “What hobby is that, sir?” I try to
concentrate on Jefferson, but being kept from Thea makes me edgy,
plus, there’s suddenly a lot of shouting outside — both the human
and the horse kind.
    “Bones, Master Sands. Bones.” He turns
toward the tent flap. “What is that contemptible racket? Are there
no quiet mornings to be had anywhere in this country?”
    The morning gets even less quiet. Mr. Howard
barges into the tent. He’s bathed in sweat, and his eyes are
bulging.
    “Terrible lizards, sir!”
    “Shouldn’t you be getting medical attention,
Mr. Howard?” Jefferson asks.
    The cap may not have made him disappear, but
it’s sure affected him.
    “Sir, I cannot rest when we have information
on just how dangerous the future of this expedition — and therefore
your electoral future as president—might be!”
    “What information is that?”
    “I repeat: ‘Terrible lizards, sir!’”
    Jefferson sighs. “Which lizards, Mr.
Howard?”
    “A French fur trapper has just wandered into
camp! His name is Banglees. He spent last winter in the Dakotas
with the Mandan Indians and the Hidatsas! Said they were telling
stories about a big terrible lizard in the wild who walks like a
man and talks! He said he tried to track the lizard down, but an
awful snowstorm came up and he almost froze. He says now the lizard
may have saved him. Claims it was some kind of creature asking him
for an orange , and when he came to, he was back with the
Indians.”
    Jefferson shakes his head. “Has this
Banglees been wearing young Master Sand’s fever hat,
perchance?”
    “Sir!” This Howard guy says nearly every
word like he’s warning people about a fire. “We may have to cancel
the expedition! We may have to arm them with cannons!”
    “Perhaps you should return to bed rest, Mr.
Howard. And perhaps I should attend to this… Banglees.” Jefferson
rises to his feet, sets the mug down and manages to smile at me, a
little. “Perhaps, Master Sands, I am not as far from the
president’s office as I had hoped. We shall resume later.”
    But it was hard for me to pay much attention
to President Jefferson right then. I was figuring out how I could
talk to this French fur trapper guy myself.
    To find out more about a lizard who asks for
oranges.
    Clyne.
    Clyne is out there somewhere. He’s been
discovered. And he’s in danger.
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
    Clyne: Arrak-du
    February 1804
     
    This may be my last homework report for two
reasons, both of which accelerate my head-spindles and give me
brain transgressions.
    The first of the reasons is this: The
plasmechanical material from my home world of Saurius Prime, the
breakthrough substance that makes so much Saurian technology
possible, appears to be infected with slow pox.
    I grant that this is a conclusion based on
field research, using radically imperfect equipment and gerk-skizzy methods.
    Or