We spent the day pouring over maps. Sergei wants to go out tomorrow and assess the mal over a wide area. He's started colouring maps with different shades. He wants to isolate a long strip of weak mal for us to use when we take Xi into the Yellow.

Now that I've noticed, Sergei's scratching is annoying me. Not because of the habit itself, but because it shows he's not listening. He'll be speaking to me about his latest theories, hands folded on the desk or gesturing. When I respond, he stares away and scratches. It's rude.

I think he's like that because he's the senior scientist. He's the guy with the most experience, with all the ideas. And apparently with an itchy hand. But only when he's not paying attention to some boring peon.

Weird dream about Bob last night. I thought I was getting over his death, but it seems I still have a few issues. I dreamt that I went to the bathroom. When I came out, Bob was leaning against the wall. The wound under his eye was so deep now that I could see bone between the ragged edges of the flesh. He asked if I was going out tomorrow. I said yes. He told me to dig under the tree where I'd first seen the mal. I looked at his hand. His specimen was bigger, the size of a small melon. It seemed to be growing between his fingers. It pulsated. He saw me looking. He lowered his head, and regarded the specimen with no real interest. He left.