Here at Morton, we remain open to a wide range of fields. We recognize the contributions made by science, which improves our lives, and by the arts, which fill our lives. We have numbered among our students physicists and pianists, surgeons and dramatists. We set no limits to human endeavor.”
“Professor,” Alex asked, “what was the Sunlight Project?”
The smile broadened. “You’re looking at it. It was the inspiration for what we’ve become, a way to provide for able minds to develop. It was the way we started, and it has changed very little.”
“Over sixty years. I’m impressed.”
“Over ten thousand years, Mr. Benedict. We like to think of Morton as a direct descendent of Plato’s Academy.”
“Would it be possible,” asked Alex, “to speak with some of the students?”
“Ah. No, I am sorry, but they’re at study. We never interrupt them, save for an emergency.”
“I see. Admirable custom.”
“Thank you. We try very hard to ensure the best possible atmosphere conducive to-” He hesitated.
“-Learning?” I suggested.
“-Perhaps rather to creation. ” He laughed. “Well, I know how that sounds.
Can’t help it sometimes. But so often we perceive learning as an essentially passive exercise. Here at Morton, we have no interest in producing scholars. We’re not trying to assist people to appreciate Rothbrook and Vacardi. We want to find the new Rothbrook.”
Rothbrook had been a mathematician of note in the last century. But I couldn’t tell you why. Vacardi’s name rang a bell, but I had no clue why he was important, either. It struck me that Morton would never have let me in the door.
“Could we possibly tour the facility?” asked Alex.
“Of course,” he said. “It would be my pleasure.”
For the next twenty minutes we wandered through the complex. Doors opened as we approached. Here was the community room, in which the students spent much of their leisure time. “We encourage social development,” Margolis said. “There are too many examples of potential greatness unrealized because an inability to interact with other persons created roadblocks. Hasselmann is a good example.”
“Of course,” said Alex.
And this was the gymnasium. With its attendant pool. One student was in the water, doing laps. “Jeremiah just came to us this year,” said Margolis. “He’s already done some interesting work in time/space structure. He operates on a different schedule from the rest of the world.” He seemed to think that was something of a joke, laughed heartily, and looked disappointed when we didn’t react accordingly.
And our library. And our lab.
And our holotank. “Used more frequently for exercises, but occasionally for entertainment as well.”
A young woman appeared. Redheaded. Quite formal. She smiled apologetically.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Professor, Jason Corbin is on the line. He needs to talk with you. Says it’s very important.”
Margolis nodded. “That’s the Education at Sea program.” He shook his head.
“They’re always having problems. But I’m afraid I’ll have to break off. It’s been a pleasure talking with you both. I hope you’ll come back and see us again when perhaps we’re not quite so rushed.” He looked at the redhead. “Tammany will show you out.”
And, that quickly, he was gone.
Tammany apologized. “Things are always a bit frantic here,” she said.
We ate in Tranquil at the Valley Lunch. It was the only eatery in town, a small place with small windows overlooking a row of dilapidated buildings. There were other customers, and they all came in wearing heavy jackets and boots.
A bot took our orders, and while we waited Alex got up and walked over to the service desk, where he engaged the attendant in conversation. She was about fifty, probably the owner. They talked for a couple of minutes, and he fished a picture out of his pocket and showed it to her.
She looked at it and nodded. Yes. Absolutely. No question.
When he came back, he told me there really are students at Morton.
“Did you doubt it?” I asked.
“I heard voices upstairs,” he said. “And there was the kid in the pool. But I wasn’t sure they weren’t putting on a show for us.”
“If you’re thinking that way, Alex, how does she know they’re students?”
“Well, she doesn’t, actually. At least, she doesn’t know they’re students. But there are warm bodies in the place.” Our sandwiches came. He took a bite. “I want to check to see if the scholars he named are really at the places he says they are, and if so whether they’re actually part of the program.”
“Why are you so suspicious about the place, Alex? If it’s not a school, what else could it be?”
“Let it go for a bit,” he said. “Until we’re sure.”
Irritating man. “All right,” I said. “Whose picture were you showing her?”
He pulled it out of his jacket. I’d caught enough of a glimpse to know it was a male, and I thought it might turn out to be Eddie Crisp. Don’t ask me why; my head was beginning to spin. But it was a stranger. Lean, average looks, early twenties, brown wavy hair, brown eyes, friendly smile, high forehead.
“One of the students?” I asked.
“She’s seen him. But she doesn’t think he’s a student.”
“An instructor, then?”
“I assume. Though probably not this semester.”
“Who is he, Alex?”
He smiled at me. “Don’t you recognize him?”
More guessing games. But yes, I did know him. “It looks like a young Urquhart,”
I said.
On the way home, he spent his time with a notebook. We’d been aloft less than an hour when he told me the guest professors were where they were supposed to be.
“Proves nothing, of course.”
He buried himself in the data banks, while I slept. Shortly before we were scheduled to arrive in Andiquar, he woke me. “Take a look at this, Chase.”
He turned the notebook so I could see the screen:
MAN KILLED IN FREAK SKIMMER ACCIDENT
Shawn Walker, of Tabatha-Li, near Bukovic, died today when the antigravity generators on his skimmer locked at zero, causing the vehicle to become weightless, and to rise out of the atmosphere into the void. It is believed to be the first accident of its kind.
Walker was retired, a former employee of CyberGraphic, and a native of Bukovic. He is survived by his wife, Audrey, and two sons, Peter, of Belioz, and William, of Liberty Point. There are five grandchildren.
The report was dated 1381, sixteen years after the Polaris.
“It is,” he said, “the only instance I can find of this sort of incident. Other than our own, of course.”
“But Alex,” I said, “this is forty-five years ago.”
“Yes.” His eyes narrowed.
“So where’s Bukovic?”
He commented that it was nice to be getting back where the weather was decent, then responded: “It’s on Sacracour.”
“You’re not suggesting we want to go there?”
“You got anything hot pending?”
“Not exactly. That doesn’t mean I want to go for another trip. Off-world.”
“I think it would be prudent to get out of range of the psychos anyhow for a bit.”
He blanked the screen and looked meaningfully at me. “CyberGraphic’s specialty was AI installation and maintenance.”
“Okay.”
“The corporation doesn’t exist anymore. They created a series of maladjusted systems, were responsible for some elevator accidents, of all things, and went bankrupt in an avalanche of lawsuits. That was about fourteen years ago.
“What’s fascinating is that Shawn Walker was the technician on board the Peronovski when it went to the aid of the Polaris. ” He looked at me as if that explained everything. “Audrey, the widow, is still alive. She remarried and was widowed again. She’s still in Tabatha-Li.”
“I don’t want to sound unsympathetic, but why do we care?”
And there came that self-indulgent smile, as if he knew something I didn’t. He’s maddening when he’s like that. “Reports at the time,” he said, “suggested Walker’s skimmer had been sabotaged.”
“Did they catch anybody?”
“No. Nothing ever came of it. People who knew him claimed he had no enemies.
Nobody could think of anyone who wanted him dead.”