Joshua stopped first at the university administrative center to inquire where his candidates could be found. Most were affiliated with the campus, and lectured here, save for two. A scientist, Father Leslie Logan who taught at Trinity, and an eminent linguist, Bishop Benjamin Wile who's duties currently centered on the diplomatic corps.

As it happened, Father Logan was attending seminar at NVU today. Logan would likely be in the company of another listed candidate, Monsignor Ammens, a close friend of Father Logan. On these infrequent visits the two reportedly kept company.

Joshua mused over the schedules provided. If I am quick about it, I may be able to catch up to most everyone today. Judging from the class schedules, the research assistant he wanted, a Miss Denies, should be just ending class in a building near the administration center. The seminar let out for lunch just after that. Joshua knew Father Logan on sight, having ties to Trinity university himself. Bishop Wile, the linguist, would need to be contacted through the corps.

He regretted that. One of his foibles was to personally contact the people he wanted to enlist. Besides resolving his roster faster, it was always better to sort out who was who, and get a feel for people early on.

Joshua wasted no time in getting to the class building. The stark halls all looked the same, so he kept his eyes pinned to the student map, while striding towards the appropriate lecture hall. Rounding a corner, the two collided.

Miss Arlyis Denis stepped briskly from her classroom, luminous brown eyes riveted to her lecture notes. Surprised, the tall cleric oofed, then caught at her to restore his balance.

Arlyis flustered, apologizing profusely. "Oh! I am so sorry -- My fault. I'm just so rushed these days, it seems!"

Joshua smiled, pulling his hand away. "No harm done, Miss...?"

"Oh, Denies--sorry, Arlyis Denies."

"Ah! Just the person I was hoping to...run into, so to speak. Call me Joshua." The Grand Prelate surveyed the flushed lecturer and offered his hand.

Since she was not tenured, besides holding classes no one else wanted to teach, her time would be shamelessly abused as a research assistant. There likely would never seem, if he remembered his own days at university, to be enough time to prepare for anything.

Arlyis smiled back and took his hand briefly. "You wanted to see me? What can I help you with, your worship?"

"I have a position to offer you, from the papal office." Joshua tendered one of the sealed envelopes he had prepared with Pope John. "I know you are busy, but please read the offer and call my office before days end, if you can. I would like to discuss it, once you have had a chance to look at it."

Arlyis' face fell and she seemed disconcerted, but accepted the missive, then forced another smile.

"You know I won't say anything till I have read this, but I can tell you right now, your worship..."

"Just Joshua will do, Miss."

"Joshua then. I am currently at wits end! Whatever it is, it will certainly take me awhile to get to!"

Joshua felt the woman's frustration. She doubtless worries it is yet another service request to pile on top of her other assignments.

Written offers were a matter of business protocol, not discussing them until a proposal had been tendered and read was a matter of church etiquette. With her arms full of books, this was not going to happen here in the hallway.

Still, I managed to meet the woman, albeit briefly, and she seems,on first impression, energetic and forthright, which is something.

Startled by the rattle of the overhead class-change bell, Arlyis smiled again, promised to look at it, and taking her leave, hurried on towards her small teaching office.

Joshua watched her hustle off. thinking, that one will jump at the offer. I'm sure of it.

Checking the time, Joshua hurried on towards the conference center, and the next two candidates on his list, making it to the steps of the conference hall just in time. The brown stained double doors had just opened, and a crowd of academics poured out heading toward the campus commissary. Joshua stood to one side scanning the press as it flowed by.

Joshua managed to pick out both Father Leslie Logan and the Monsignor Ernst Ammens easily. Logan's balding, thick-set form and splay footed gait matched the tall, liquid pacing and long haired Ammens not at all.

"Father Logan, Monsignor; a moment? I have a papal request for the two of you." Logan turned and waived in recognition, putting a hand to Doctor Ammen's shoulder.

Their specialties didn't overlap that much, if Joshua remembered his notes correctly, but the two had evidently been friends since their early college days. Logan's specialty was spectral emissions, while Monsignor Ammens was one of New Vatica's finest Theoretical Mathematicians. The Monsignior title was more a recognition of his seniority over the "House of Mathematics" than of a physical Abbey.

Joshua caught up and pulled them aside. He handed them their envelopes, which they promptly opened and read. Logan seemed quite excited, while Monsignor Ammens wore quite the same expression he had seen on the face of Miss Denies. The sour look was not lost on Father Logan who winked at Joshua and immediately started urging his companion, who had stoically, and wordlessly, returned to moving on toward the cafeteria, leaving Joshua and Logan to trail after.

"Come now, Ernst! Think how good It will be, back in the field, together again, braving the cosmos, all that guff." Logan caught up to stride next to his friend, animatedly punching the air, as if fighting off cinematic boarding parties, punctuating his remarks in odd syncopation with his gait.

"No. I have my students to think..."

"Bosh and double bosh! You haven't actually taught a class in years!"

"No!"

"Think of the research opportunities here! Matter dissolving deep in space, leaving no detectable energy trace. Why, what would be the physics of that?"

Monsignor Ammens stopped, a thoughtful expression on his thin features, and fingered his chin.

"Certainly N.V.U. owes you a sabbatical, Ernst."

The Monsignor looked at the expedition directive dubiously, pursing his lips, but with growing interest.

"Well," interjected Joshua, catching on quickly, "Please call my office by days end, whatever you decide. I need not mention that the results of this mission will generate any number of publishable papers before it is over, and that you would be on full field compensation from the moment you agreed to go. My office will take care of any loose ends or duties you may have on your plates. The university is completely behind this; you need only agree to go, provide my office a list of the equipment you wish brought, and pack."

The theoretician's interest sharpened. "Any equipment I choose?"

"The choice is yours, but the research vessel will lift in a very short time. I will leave you to discuss it."

Both agreed they would call, then legged on to lunch.

As there was one more candidate available on campus, Joshua checked his map and gumshoed off towards the convent quarters. It was a long walk from here, but motored vehicles were not allowed on the campus grounds. He flicked his eyes enviously after the retreating Ammens and Logan. Breakfast had already passed into biological history, and there was no time to take a lunch yet. The last on the list here was a certain Sister Seika, a botanist, but also, he had been assured, one of the finest field observers and naturalists available on Alcomer. Unfortunately, her class schedule for the day had already ended, so there was no way of finding out where she might be now. The only courteous thing he could do, would be to see her envelope delivered and leave a message. Then it was back to his office to settle up his own loose ends.

***

Sister Victoria Seika walked the usual route to her rooms by passing through the Rectory, ignoring the insulted stares of the male clerics. It was a shortcut, and her feet were giving her trouble again.

Fat, she thought. I'm getting fat, wandering around these halls and grazing like a cow. I need to get out into the field, to work some of this off.

The longer she stayed behind a lectern at NVU, the more reasons she found to press for reassignment. It was the life, that had attracted her to nature science in the first place. She had fallen in love with fieldwork as an undergraduate and it was the promise of more that drove her to continue to excel in Botany, Animal Behavior, in-situ observation, and nature studies generally. It was a cluster degree, currently typified as Life Systems Analysis, quite the growing area of study, as human space expanded. Thus the press to keep the very best out of the field, unfortunately, and behind the lectern.

A mind is a terrible thing to nail down behind a desk, she groused.

While cutting through the rectory saved steps, it also took her past the Mission billboard, which she checked religiously.

It isn't that my current duties aren't satisfying. Lord knows, my poor mother would turn in her grave to hear me go on like this, but there is, she self-justified, especially at a certain level of attainment, a real difference between teaching and doing.

There was no life native to Alcomer, a completely terraformed planet. Therefore, it offered no real first-hand research opportunities. Her skills as a naturalist in field observation went unused for the same reason.

Nothing but cattle, cats and dogs. God! Let there be something! She squinted at the job posting board. The reflections of neon hall lights made some of them difficult to read through the glass casement. Catching at her mirrored image on the glass, her eyes focused first on that. The ghost of a gingerbread brown, unlined countenance squinted back at her below a wavering, but visible, fringe of jet black hair.

Frowning, she refocused on the billboard. There was nothing posted that looked to get her back into the field, so she continued on. Outside the rectory, Seika turned and made her way up the red tiled path to the convent quarters, and lumbered up the stairs to her rooms there. A note was posted on the door, and beneath the threshold, the corner of a white envelope protruded. She snatched at the message, and as she read it, a smile spread across her face. She bent and and retrieved the envelope. After reading it, Sister Seika tripped lightly back down the stairs to the mission desk, aching feet forgotten, and quickly made an appointment with Joshua's secretary.

***

On arriving at her small office, Arlyis piled the books and lecture notes on a chair, and sat to read Joshua's missive, pulling at her long brown hair. It was worded as an invitation, an offer. She crinkled her brow, frowning. Technically, it could be turned down. It was written on official church letterhead, from the papal office, and hand signed by the Pope. Probably, she thought, I should save this, I'll bet it's worth money.

The supreme civil and religious authority on the planet requested her participation in an off-world expedition, a research mission. The position would come with the job title of "Research Data Administrator" and upon completion, elevation to full, tenured status at NVU.

Arlyis bit her lip, and looked to the pile on her desk, where her doctoral thesis sat, half completed, and completely buried. A full professorship would provide funds to pay off her student loans. Her eyes settled on the pile of other professor's data transcriptions now occupying both her time and most of the desk.

I can dump all this, lockup my house, come back to a pensioned position with my own agenda and finish my thesis. Or, she thought, tell the Pope no, and spend another two years doing academic research for everyone else.

Arlyis snorted and picked up the desk phone. It only took a few moments to book an appointment with the Inquisitor's office.

***

Bishop Benn Wile stood from the conference table and shook hands with the five planetary delegates. His were enveloping hands, that tended to enfold rather than grasp the one shook. Hands calloused in the manner of a scholar's, along the sides and the tips of the fingers, from much writing, rather than from physical labor. There was a soft excitement about his brown eyes, as if he were always on the brink of some revelation. As the only person at table who spoke every language represented by the delegates here, his presence had been welcome.

Although Wile's attachment to the diplomatic core was important, he still missed the pulpit-pounding days of his early years with the church, shepherding his own flock.

Save for teaching an occasional class on philosophy at the University, these kinds of opportunities came rarely these days. He had applied to the Mission board several times for a field position, hoping for a chance to recapture the zest of his earlier life. His earned rank in the new era church hierarchy aside, the bishop's knowledge and experience in linguistics inevitably condemned him to important if droll, political assignments. In the ancient past, he would have been desk bound, tied to overseeing some diocese of congregations. Such tasks were now handled by other means, so the position's duties could, in Benn's view, be worse. Besides, thought Benn, I am doing God's work, necessary work, after all.

The fidgeting presence of the messenger was almost intrusive, coming as it did at the terminus of the conference, but his face lit when he read the offered communique. Finally! He had been attached to an exploratory venture by the Papal office! At last! He thought. Perhaps even an opportunity to do a bit of missionary work!

***

Diocullis raised his head from the reports scattered across his desk. Sir Fredric Colmer, just returning from leave, stood stiffly at attention before him. The officer's formerly sandy hair was, in his late forties, turning prematurely white but he was still a vigorous man who kept a tight leash on the troops under his command. Diocullus watched with a slight amusement as the man's eyes flickered around the small office. Even standing at attention, he gave the appearance of someone in motion. If kept at attention a bit longer, Dio knew, Colmer would start to fidget. Colmer was a good all around officer, but best suited to field duty. The only way I could ever give him a permanent desk job, thought Dio, would be to tie him to it with a rope.

"Colonel! You have been reassigned." Michael slapped a closed manila packet on the desk edge closest to the fiercely erect Colonel. "Ship's military complement to a diplomatic and exploratory survey." Dio rapped his knuckles on the littered desktop, causing Colmer's eyes to rivet back on him. "Make yourself useful aboard, and keep your ears open. Take Tech-Privates Street, Elden and Rossiter with you. It's not a large command, but your duty will be varied, and I need someone who can keep me busy reading mission posts. Especially reading the posts. Am I clear?"

"Yessr! Clear as crystal, sir!"

Dio lowered his head and scooped up another sheaf of requisitions from the remaining pile. "Dismissed."

Colmer executed a snappy turn, and swung off to pick up the new orders. Good, he thought, something to do except parade recruits around!

Taking a cue from the institution's reorganization that occurred during the Great Expansion, his military title reflected the upper limits of responsibility he could be assigned, rather than defining his function. In this man's army, as in the church itself, no one idled. When able officers were employed at minor tasks, it reflected that things were as they should be, peaceable, in the main. Brisk and ram-backed, Colmer made his way across the rough turfed quad toward the garrison chief's office. The Colonel's mind raced ahead of him, ordering a list of things that would need doing quickly to prepare for reassignment.

A short lived relationship with Carol, a pretty post secretary, had left him fidgety and irritated. Colmer handled such things poorly, on a strictly personal level. His personality wouldn't leave him the easy out, of blaming Carol. His usual reaction, as now, was to pour himself into his work. The current mission would occupy him with other thoughts, away from Carol, and their failed affair.

The plain red brick of the chief's office was achieved in good time, and Sergeant Ecker looked up, startled at the colonel's entrance.

"Sir?"

"Where are those three tech privates of yours, Brian Street, Ronald Elden, and Mr.Rossiter?"

The Sergeant's face took on an aspect of distaste. "Oh, those three. What have they done now?"

"It's not what they've done, it's what they are going to be doing. Reassignment orders, direct from General Diocullis."

"Fine by me."

The packet swiftly changed hands. The Sergeant handled the envelope with the kind of ginger touch usually reserved for unwashed shorts.

"I put 'em on base assignment...radio room maintenance, which means they are probably dicing behind the mess. I'd have them on permanent K.P., if they weren't so skilled. Too damn handy to shoot outright...pity."

"Just get them. Have them report to me as soon as you can. Give them the brief, and have them kit up. I have loose ends to nail down, or I'd do it myself. Make sure the individual orders are cut."

"Yessr."