#lichnobuea

"And what principle is at work here?" Hermann asks.

"Surface tension!" exclaims Ada, and she gleefully jabs the button that turns on the fan that blows an enormous bubble over their heads. When it pops and scatters soap and glycerin everywhere, she squeals and demands to do it again. 

When at last her daughter tires of the bubble machine, Vanessa takes her hand and allows herself to be tugged all the way across the third floor. "Kaiju room! Kaiju room!" Vanessa glances over her shoulder and Hermann, trailing them, shrugs ruefully. Uncle Newton's influence persists, even in his absence, much like gravity. 

Along with an interactive kaiju war timeline and a very basic Jaeger simulator and a memorial wall, there is one cross section of a kaiju femur. It's genuine, and so sturdy that they don't bother with a display case. Ada runs up to it and starts tracing the osteons. After a moment, Vanessa realizes Ada is finding patterns there, like constellations.

"This one looks like a bunny," her daughter declares. "Are they extinct?" She just learned that word last week.

Vanessa takes a moment to sort out that Ada is not, in fact, talking about bunnies anymore. "They are very extinct," she confirms. 

Ada looks up at her, and when the situation warrants it, there is nothing in all the world more serious than a three-year-old. "What if they come back?"

"Then we'll make them go extinct again," she says.