Conversation · Morell, the Cryptozoologist

"Are you sure you've exhausted all the alternative explanations?"

The cryptozoologist's face flushes with indignation. "Of course we have!"

"Wait, Morell..." the old woman raises a hand. "He may have a point. We have an obligation to rule out other hypotheses..."

"You're right, dear." His face relaxes. "It's a fair point. But what other explanation could there be?" He turns to you.

"Pardon me. This is... a big deal for us. You've helped us twice now -- and brought great news too. My gratitude, and the gratitude of the Société Cryptozoologique de Revachol, is yours."

The old woman's face lights up. "It just means the Insulindian phasmid is even more clever than we thought!"

"Nothing. Nothing. Maybe I didn't check them after all..."

"Sweetie, you'll give Morell a heart attack. This is no laughing matter for us..."

"I'm fine, Lena..." He coughs. "And I definitely won't have a heart attack. Rather a cough fit..."

"I'll get going." [Leave.]

"Tell me more about these traps."

"Well..." He points at the cage of mesh and wiring on the ground. "They may not look impressive, but Lena designed them quite cleverly, so I'm sure they'll do the trick."

"Let me ask you about something else."

"Yes. What?"

"How do the traps work?"

"Simple -- attracted by the locusts, the phasmid crawls down the funnel, and, having eaten its fill, can't get back out."

"At least, that's the intention. The net isn't a perfect solution, but we didn't want to use anything that might damage the specimen's delicate exoskeleton."

"What will you do if these traps don't work?"

"They'll work, I assure you. The predatory hypothesis -- using locusts as bait -- accounts for the failure of previous efforts by other teams, which used plants. We have given this some thought."

The traps do seem to be deftly and thoughtfully constructed. It's clear the cryptozoologist's wife knows what she's doing.

"Lena designed the traps?"

"Yes," he says with some pride.

More than some. He admires this about her.

"A carnivorous stick insect? Seems unlikely."

"Thank you for your opinion. We have also included plant material in the traps -- to satiate your scepticism."

Not a big fan of scepticism, this one.

"What are you using as bait?"

"Locusts." He gestures toward the trap. "Nearly all known phasmids are herbivores, of course, but we've hypothesized that the Insulindian phasmid might occasionally prey on other insects."

Inside the traps, a number of locusts crawl and tumble over one another in a tiny, chittering swarm.

A meat-eating stick insect? Does it pretend to be the reeds as part of it's ambush behaviour? This seems unlikely.

"Did you know Gary was hiding the armour?"

"Hell no, I had no idea. And I'm still cross with him to be honest. It's not like him. He's got his quirks, but dishonesty -- or disloyalty -- are not one of them."

"Thanks," the man mutters in the distance. He doesn't dare say more.

He's still glad his friend stood up for him.

"I don't know what got into him, officer... Thank you for letting him off easy. He won't forget it; we'll make sure he won't."

"I had a chat with this kid, Cuno. He promised to stop stealing the locusts."

"So it was just a child..." He purses his lips, crestfallen.

"Thank you for telling us, sweetie." She turns to smile gently up at her husband. "This is good news, right? It means we can try again."

She acts chipper, but something's changed in her tone. A hidden worry.

Something is secretly gnawing at her confidence. It's not this Cuno kid, or the missing locusts, it's something else.

"Yes, you're right. We just need to restock the empty trap. Then we'll need to inspect the traps one more time, and then maybe... we can..."

The ageing cryptozoologist breaks into a hideous coughing fit.

He has a 38 degree fever. His resilience has given way.

She looks at him with tender concern. "Darling, I told you to take it easy. You're getting sick. Maybe it's time to go home?"

"You're right, you're right..." He breathes carefully, not to start coughing again. "We can come back next season... when it's warmer..."

That's just something people tell themselves when they fail.

There won't be a next season. Not for this. Find the phasmid or admit defeat, people.

More cardio? Let's do this.

"Damnit, maybe I can still restock the trap for you?" (Accept.)

"You can?" The lieutenant makes a show of suppressing a sigh. "Fine. It's better than having these people get pneumonia on the coast, but after this..."

He wants to see this tale through as much as you. Otherwise he'd have stopped this already. But he cannot let it drag out after this.

"Really, it's too much, officer..." He starts coughing again.

"What Morell means is, we're grateful for your help." She nods to her husband.

"Here's a fresh batch of locusts. They should slide right down the funnel. And thank you again. We will definitely mention you, should this lead to a discovery. I'm not talking co-discovery, of course, but..."

Wow! Co-discovery? You'd be famous. You'd show them all. This does tingle the pleasure centre...

This would show them all. We need to get you on that list of discoverers, no question about that.

"I'd offer to help, but I have my own things to do." (Refuse.)

"Of course, sweetie. We couldn't ask you to do more than you already have. Come now, Morell, we've waited so long, what's one more season?"

Self-deceit, sire.

"You're right, dear. We'll get our shot yet, I'm sure of it..."