The helicopter pilot made some serpentine turns on the way to the Northern Studies Center (NSC) to try and kick up some Caribou, but luck was not with them. No matter. When living in Alaska, BB had seen thousands of those herding tundra tramps in his earlier years. He was enjoying his helicopter ride over the Manitoba transition lands where the boreal forest was thinning out and was changing to treeless, rocky, peat moss. As they approached the NSC, BB spotted some more of those steroidal, bottle rockets stuck in the ground and wondered what they used for a propellant. Gun powder, he surmised; it’s cheap and leaves a smoking trail so the Commies could follow them back to the “secret base.” As the pilot began his decent into a parking lot at the NSC, he said goodbye as Calvin stepped out and then took off to go pick up his valuable customer. Mr. Bunsen walked over to the administration building and entered unannounced. In a building with government employees, full of Academia with impressive degrees you would think someone would ask, “who are you?”. But, as they kept their distance and proceeded to look busy, BB just walked around like he owned the place and kept them on their toes. Reading upcoming projects and reports posted at the communication boards, he said nothing to no one and grinned to himself as the word was spreading that someone important just got off a helicopter unannounced and was making an undercover inspection. For over an hour, BB entertained himself and finally asked to use their phone. A polite employee pointed to a room and BB called for a cab. Half an hour later, the cabbie pulled up and drove him back to Churchill. Calvin never engaged in any conversation and left without anyone questioning him. To this day, they must have figured that they passed the super-secret inspection and the government funds kept just kept coming. This enabled those brilliant, research scientists to continue doing whatever the hell it is they do.