He chuckled. “Want to tell her yourself, huh? O.K., I’ll keep my yap shut.”
I said, a bit wryly, “Maybe I was foolish sending it.”
“Huh?” he said. “I’m sure glad you did. Swell idea.” He went out, and I managed not to throw anything at him.
The next day was a Tuesday, if that matters. I remember it as the day I solved one of Placet’s two major problems. An ironic time to do it, maybe.
I was dictating some notes on greenwort culture—Placet’s importance to Earth is, of course, the fact that certain plants native to the place and which won’t grow anywhere else yield derivatives that have become important to the pharmacopoeia. I was having heavy sledding because I was watching Michaelina take the notes; she’d insisted on starting work her second day on Placet.
And suddenly, out of a clear sky and out of a muggy mind, came an idea. I stopped dictating and rang for Reagan. He came in.
“Reagan,” I said, “order five thousand ampoules of J-17 Conditioner. Tell ’em to rush it.”
“Chief, don’t you remember? We tried the stuff. Thought it might condition us to see normally in mid-period, but it didn’t affect the optic nerves. We still saw screwy. It’s great for conditioning people to high or low temperatures or—”
“Or long or short waking-sleeping periods,” I interrupted him. “That’s what I’m talking about, Reagan. Look, revolving around two suns, Placet has such short and irregular periods of light and dark that we never took them seriously. Right?”
“Sure, but—”