Cubs of the Wolf | Page 2

once more. "Ever hear of the Markovian
Nucleus?" he said thoughtfully.
Joyce slowly nodded her head. "Oh, I think I've heard the name
mentioned," she murmured, "but nothing more than that."
"I've asked for that as my research project."
"But that's clear out of the galaxy--in Transpace!"
"Yes, and obviously out of bounds for the ordinary graduate researcher.
But because of the scholarship record I've been able to rack up here I
took a chance on applying to the Corning Foundation for a grant. And
they decided to take a chance on me after considerable and not entirely
painless investigation. That's why you were followed around like a
suspected Disloyalist for a month. My application included a provision
for you to go along as my wife. Professor Fothergill notified me this
morning that the grant had been awarded."
"Cam--" Joyce's voice was brittle now. "You aren't fooling me?"
He gathered her in his arms again. "You think I would fool about
something like that, darling? In a week you'll be Mrs. C. Wilder, and as
soon as school is out, on your way to the Markovian Nucleus. And
besides, it took me almost as much work preparing the research
prospectus as the average guy spends on his whole project!"
* * * * *
Sometimes Joyce Farquhar wished Cameron were a good deal different
than he was. But then he wouldn't have been Cameron, and she
wouldn't want to marry him, she supposed. And somehow, while he fell

behind on the mid-stretch, he always managed to come in at the end
with the rest of the field. Or just a little bit ahead of it.
Or a good deal ahead of it. As now. It took her a few moments to
realize the magnitude of the coup he had actually pulled off. For weeks
she had been depressed because he refused to use some trivial, breeze
research to get his degree. He could have started it as much as a year
ago, and they could have been married now if he'd set himself up a real
cinch.
But now they were getting married anyway--and Cameron was getting
the kind of research deal that would satisfy his frantic desire for
integrity in a world where it counted for little, and his wish to
contribute something genuine to the sociological understanding of
sentient creatures.
Their marriage, as was customary, would be a cut and dried affair. A
call to the license bureau, receipt of formal sanction in the mail--she
supposed Cameron had already made application--and a little party
with a few of their closest friends on the campus. She wished she had
lived in the days when getting married was much easier to do, and
something to make a fuss about.
She stirred and sat up, loosening the jacket as the sun came from
behind a puff of cloud. "You could have told me about this a long time
ago, couldn't you?" she said accusingly.
Cameron nodded. "I could have. But I didn't want to get false hopes
aroused. I didn't have much hope the deal would actually go through,
myself. I think Fothergill is pretty much responsible for it."
"Transpace--" Joyce said dreamily. "Tell me about the Markovian
Nucleus. Why is it important enough for a big research study,
anyway?"
"It's a case of a leopard who changed his spots," said Cameron. "And
nobody knows how or why. The full title of the project is A Study of
the Metamorphosis of the Markovian Nucleus."

"What happened? How are they any different from the way they used to
be?"
"A hundred and fifty years ago the Markovians were the meanest,
nastiest, orneriest specimens in the entire Council of Galactic
Associates. The groups of worlds in one corner of their galaxy, which
make up the Nucleus, controlled a military force that outweighed
anything the Council could possibly bring to bear against them.
"With complete disregard of any scheme of interplanetary rules or
order they harassed and attacked peaceful shipping and inoffensive
cultures throughout a wide territory. They were something demanding
the Council's military action. But the Council lacked the strength.
"For years the Council dragged on, debating and threatening
ineffectively. But nothing was ever done. And then, so gradually it was
hardly noticed, the harassments began to die down. The warlike
posturing was abandoned by the Markovians. Within a period of about
seventy or eighty years there was a complete about-face. They wound
up as good Indians, peaceful, coöperative and intelligent members of
the Council."
"Didn't anybody ever find out why?" asked Joyce.
"No. Nobody wanted to find out. In the early years the worlds of the
Council were hiding behind their collective hands hoping with all their
might that the threat might go away if they kept their eyes closed long
enough. And by