"I heard enough about rocks back home," Jude dismisses, head tilt and swivel so dogged on his one-shoulder shrug his neck should creak like an old swing. When he comes back, he's fixed on the pad, and the drawings, not the subject. "Stuff you're talking about makes more sense than the rest."

Holograms, simulations. Sam's explanation of a Skinner Box. The only science Jude can grasp is the kind he puts his hands on, one kind of rock becoming another, decomposing roadkill, germinating plants.

But it isn't why he's been sitting by the man's presentation so long. "Not big on public speaking," he adds; not big on private speaking either. "Maybe if you wanted a picture, you could describe it to me."