I shrugged. “I’m not at all embarrassed to admit it was highly erotic.”
Jack brushed down his shirt, wiping away spilled coffee. “You’re picturing it again right now, aren’t you?”
I shifted in my seat. “It really was a spectacular sight.”
He reached over and took my hand, lifting it so he could kiss my knuckles. “Do me a favour?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t ever change.”
*
After spending the whole morning searching the last areas Jack had marked as known locations of the Bursaria spinosa plant in the Mount Stronarch National Park, I’d not found a single trace.
Yes, the plant was there, but there was no trace of Notoncus ants. And the Eltham Copper couldn’t live without them. There was no evidence of caterpillars, eggs, chrysalises… nothing.
I walked back to the Defender and put my gear in the back but took out the large folded map.
Jack came over. “What’s wrong?”
“Something isn’t right.” I unfolded the map and laid it on the ground. I weighed each corner down with rocks and studied the area. “Either the area is wrong or Professor Tillman was wrong, or if he had seen them here, they’re not here anymore.”
“He did see them a long time ago,” Jack reasoned. “What can change in a species’ life cycle over fifty years?”
Well, when he put it like that… “Everything.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Maybe. But the fundamentals can’t. Evolution takes longer than a few decades. So tell me, and I’m being serious, what can change? Or what is most likely to change in that time frame. Look at it objectively, Lawson. Break it down into categories and reassess your search.”
I stared at him. My first reaction was to tell him not to tell me how to do my job. But he was right, and putting my ego aside, I took his suggestion as a learning tool instead. “Migration patterns. Their diet won’t change. They can adapt, yes, but their food source of choice is Bursaria spinosa and that is available, so it stands to reason they would eat it if they were here. Migration patterns could change, yes. I can’t dispute that, but there are no Notoncus ants.”
Jack considered what I’d said. “Explain the triangle of dependency thing again.”
I’d only mentioned that once to him before in the very beginning, and it thrilled me that he’d remembered it. “You have the Eltham Copper butterfly, Bursaria plants, and Notoncus ants. The butterfly will lay its eggs in the roots of the Bursaria. Larvae live within the underground nests of the ants and emerge at night to feed on the Bursaria leaves. The ants protect the butterfly larvae while they feed, and in return, the ants feed upon sugar secretions from the larvae. It’s a rather complex plant-butterfly-ant-ecological interaction.”
Jack tilted his head. “So, maybe it’s not the habits of the butterfly that’s changed. Maybe it’s the ants.”
Of course! I smiled at him. “You’re very insightful.”
He grinned. “Thanks.”
“So, in your observations of the parklands in your jurisdiction, have you ever noticed ant colonies?”
“Only about two thousand. But I don’t know what the Notoncus ant looks like.”
“Oh, that’s easy. The frontal carinae are weakly arched or straight along―”
Jack put up his hand to stop me. “Stop. You’re speaking to a civilian. Are they black or brown? Big or small? Do they look like a green ant or a meat ant?”
I smiled at him. “Sorry. Notoncus ants are the small black or brown common ant found in open soil or under stones and logs on the ground. Found in your garden, parks, everywhere, really.”
“Well, that narrows our search down to the entire state.”
Now I laughed. “It does.”
“Then why are you so happy?”
“Because I was getting frustrated and disheartened, but this gives my search a new focus.”
He cupped my face in his huge hands and kissed me. “So tell me, where do you start from now?”
I sighed and enjoyed the moment before I kissed his palm and looked back down to the map on the ground. “I can discount what I’ve searched so far. There are no traces of the Notoncus. Maybe I should study more on their changing migration habits and favoured climes.” I stared at Jack while my mind worked over some long-remembered facts.
“What?”
“You mentioned the Iridomyrmex.”
“No, I didn’t. I can’t even say that word.”
I snorted. “Also known as meat ants.”
“Ah, those I did. Bastards bite.”
My smile was slow spreading. “They also inhibit the morphological and behavioural adaptions of the Notoncus.”
Jack blinked. “And that’s important because…?”
“I noticed a few nests not far from the areas I’ve searched.”
“And the Notoncus won’t go near them?”
I shook my head slowly. “No, they won’t.”
“So, we need to find areas where there are no meat ants?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“How do you find that?”
“The Notoncus will live anywhere. Any type of soil, under rocks, bark, anywhere really. But the Iridomyrmex is soil-specific. You’ve been taking soil samples, yes?”
“Yes. As part of our ecosystem analysis. So we can see patterns of average climate changes, soil degeneration, moisture content, pH levels, vegetation quality, all at a glance.”
I picked up the map and folded it. “You,” I said, leaning up to kiss him quickly, “are a godsend.” I opened the rear passenger door of the Defender and called for Rosemary to get in.
As I was harnessing her in, Jack asked, “Where are we going?”
“To your office. How many years’ worth of data have you got?”
“Uh, our records go back fifty-something years.”
I was grinning when I threw him the keys. “You drive. I need to research a few things on the way.”
*
“Oh, you’re back early,” Karen said as we walked into the office.
“Yes, we need to access some archives,” Jack said. “They’re all electronic now, aren’t they?”
“Sure,” Karen said, quickly typing something into her keyboard. She turned the screen around, showing banks of data files all sorted by year. “Even photographs have been uploaded.”
Jack clapped his hands together. “Excellent. That will save us about a decade.” Then he stood back, making a point of looking at me. “Lawson here needs access. We’ll be in my office. Could you please bring me the geotechnical reports we have on hand?”
“Sure,” Karen said brightly. She gave Rosemary a pat with an odd kissy noise and spoke to her in a baby voice before disappearing down a hall.
Jack led the way into his office. “This way.” He sat behind his desk and brought his computer to life. “Hey, Robert?” he called out.
“Yes?” came a voice, I assumed Robert’s. A moment later, a short, middle-aged guy appeared in the door. “What’s up?”
“Can you remember off the top of your head what type of soil is predominant in the North Scottsdale Forest Reserve?”
Robert thought for a moment. “I think it’s basalt, but I’d have to double-check. We ran that core sample last year, remember?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah, that’s what got me thinking.” Then he looked at me. “What type of soil did you say the meat ants like?”