“ — a dating based on admittedly incomplete, subjective, and unreliable reference sources,” Merada said loudly, “such as Hymenopt race memories, and the files of—”

“ — living Zardalu should certainly have been reported to the Alliance Council!” Carmina Gold was standing up. “At once. I will do it now, even if you will not.”

“We already did that!” Darya stood up, too. Everyone seemed to be saying “Zardalu!” at once, and the group sounded like a swarm of angry bees. She did not think Carmina Gold could even hear her. “What do you think that Captain Rebka was doing on Miranda before he came here?” she shouted along the table. “Sunbathing?”

“ — about four meters tall.” Rebka had his head close to Glenna Omar’s. “An adult specimen, standing erect, with a midnight-blue torso supported on thick blue tentacles—”

“ — living Zardalu—”

“My God!” Merada’s piercing tenor cut through the hubbub. His worries over the dating of Zardalu extinctions had apparently been replaced by a much more urgent one. He turned to Darya. “Wild Phages, and an Alliance councilor, and an embodied computer. Professor Lang, those entries for the fifth edition of the catalog, the ones for which you promised to provide the references. Are you telling me that the only reference sources you will offer me are—”

There was a loud crash. Carmina Gold, hurrying out of the dining room but turning to glare back at Darya, had collided with a squat robot carrying a big tureen of hot soup. Scalding liquid jetted across the room and splashed onto the back of Glenna Omar’s graceful bare neck. She screamed like a mortally wounded pig.

Darya sat down again and closed her eyes. With or without soup, it was unlikely to be one of the Institute’s most relaxing dinners.