"Charlie, my boy, glad you could make it." Dean Stanton, Charles Cobb's department head at the Smithsonian, looked marginally glad for once. He sat behind the broad, antique, leather topped table, looking at Charles Cobb with smiling eyes and the vaguely lustrous skin of those with more luxury than is typically their due. His voice, stentorian as always, had tonalities in it that indicated Ivy league education, old money, and afternoons in the club. He carried the extra weight upholstered by his own lifetime out of the field and surrounded by chalkdust. He loathed Charles Cobb more than dung beetles, which after an unpleasant experience in the Valley of the Kings several years ago had always held a special place in Stanton's hierarchy of disgust.

"I've been asked by the Federal government to provide one of the Smithsonian's best and brightest to help them with some field work," Stanton continued "I'm giving them you. Too much time in the ivory tower is bad for the soul, my boy. A scientist needs more than chalk dust under his nails now and again."

Charles turned his head slightly, cocking it, as if letting the sight of Stanton from a different direction soak in would help his understanding. Still, from his mannerisms and gestures, his posture, his history, and his meaning, it was clear that almost every word Stanton used dripped with invisible venom, hopeful to kill Charles off. Maybe not literally, of course.

Jack Stanton had worn that same suit last Tuesday, and on March 14th, February 3rd, January 2nd, and just before Christmas, on December 22nd. It was one of his power suits, by his own words a suit cut by the finest tailors in the known world. A preposterous notion, considering forty nine similar suits had been hanging on suit racks around the city.

Charles would know. He remembered every one. Four at Le Chateau du Hommes, a whopping sixteen at Top Hat Tailors ...

Distraction, he chided himself. Consider the point. The Smithsonian Institute was lending someone to the government. Field work. Field commissions with the government were ordained by any number of agencies, which meant they could be calling on Charles for any number of his hard-science skills, and a possible few for the softer ones. Many options, and in typical Stanton manner, little in the way of details.

Dean Stanton averaged thirty one words per spoken sentence. He was low today, which was from any possible number of sources. He was tired, disinterested, or proud, and through his conservative word use, trying to be poignant. The latter was the most likely.

Charles rubbed his eyes.

"Sounds thrilling," he lied. "If I might inquire as to which arm of the Federal government I am to now report to? And perhaps you know for how long? Doctor Fredericks and I were about to begin some physics work in the observatory."

"The Federal Bureau of Investigation." Stanton sounded out each syllable, tasting just how far from Charles Cobb's preferred quiet laboratory the FBI sounded like it really was. "I'm giving you to Hoover's G-men, Dr. Cobb, and the duration was not specified." He looked at Charles's face, searching for the anxiety he wanted to see. "Fear not, the stars will very likely still be there when you get back, and you can get back to the physics lab and your white coat and your chalk dust. You're being sent out into the field, my boy, so do us proud, and send back anything interesting you find out there.

"Oh yes, out there," Stanton continued, almost dithering which was odd since he never dithered. "We're sending you to Phoenix, likely named more for its searing heat than for any connection with the myths of the Pharaohs." Stanton paused, and pursed his lips briefly. He was apparently discomfited with the amount of fun he'd been having, and remembered his actual job.

"G-man or not, you're still the Smithsonian out there," he said. "We catalogue America, and the world, so if you find history, tag it and report it. If you find science, God help you, investigate it and report it."

Phoenix. On par, based on population growth and consensus measured over the past few years to be one of the biggest cities in the United States. Currently 517.4395 square miles. Above average ratings based on national statistical review in population intelligence. Young.

"Sounds fun," Charles lied, rubbing at his eyes again. "I'd imagine you'll take this opportunity to use the 14.963 square meters of laboratory space that I currently devote to my bio-electrical induction studies to bolster your own research? I mean, I would." Charles wasn't typically venomous, but Stanton always brought out the worst in him. Their cat and mouse game of mutual respect was the worst facade the world over; Stanton hated Cobb, and Cobb hated Stanton. Everyone saw it, and yet for appearances, they kept it up. No, more than that, they kept it up out of spite. Let the other one be the first to buckle, to resort to physicality or personal brutality, to demonstrate animal instincts over higher intelligence.

"Lab space is both a precious commodity and a fungible good, Cobb," Stanton said, looking as happy as a cat with a mouthful of canary. "We'll have to reallocate it until your triumphal return. Don't worry about your research, I know I won't. So few people have any clue what it is you're doing down there that a team of Russian mathematicians couldn't plagiarize it. I guarantee you that it will sit completely idle until your return, and you can restart your work in some other lab space when you get back." How much comfort and of what sort these reassurances were actually supposed to provide was anyone's guess, but a reasonable estimate would have been "cold."

"I should note that, as a liaison and not a deputized member of the Government, I wouldn't be a G-Man, Doctor Stanton. I would remain a scientist, simply under the government's authority."

"Yes, Hoover will be happy to hear you won't be impersonating a federal officer of the law, although I'm sure that is likewise a relief to the criminal element of Arizona as well."

"When do I leave? Am I to presume that my expenses will be covered by the Institute during the duration of my stay? Am I also to presume that the details of this liaise will be conveyed to me at a an appropriate time by one such G-Man, or were you provided with those details as well?"

"You'll be leaving tomorrow. It will be my pleasure to cover your expenses during your stay in the field - just submit the expense forms and you'll be reimbursed in a timely fashion. On Monday you'll report to the FBI office in Phoenix, which I'm informed is in the altogether quaint Maricopa County sheriff's office there. The officer there will be the one who knows what he needs you for. I haven't a clue." Or a care was implicit but unspoken. Judging by Stanton's demeanor, Cobb was dismissed.

"Oh, and Charles?" he added. "Bring a hat, the sun is rather strong down there."