Shea was startled to realize how much of the truth there was in what Doc was saying, though the motives had been entirely different. However, he found himself irritated by Chalmers' bland assumption of authority, and his presenting himself in the central role in the study.
"However," Chalmers went on, "I must stress that the initial empirical confirmation was Dr. Shea's, and that he has himself conducted the bulk of the research." That was true enough; Shea had filled Chalmers in on his adventures in ancient Finland and mythological Ireland. Shea relaxed a little, gratified by Chalmers' credit.
"Commendable, certaintly." Athanael looked as though he wished it weren't. "It is vital, of course— but with so much of his time expended on this study, the University cannot help but be concerned about the impact on Dr. Shea's progress toward publication."
Shea looked up, startled, then quickly masked his expression. He had not even thought of working up something publishable on his own—he had been way too busy lately.
But of course, he was going to have to—if he really intended to stay in this universe, supporting a wife and, hopefully, children. The rule was "Publish or Perish." If he did not start publishing a string of erudite articles, he would never be promoted to full professor.
While he was still adjusting to the notion, Chalmers was saying, with bland confidence: "This project will provide Dr. Shea with an excellent topic for at least two articles, and he will certainly glean his fair share of the credit from the publication of the study as a whole. Perhaps of even greater importance, it will provide direction throughout the remainder of his scholarly career."
Well, that settled that—Shea was going to have to start writing. But where was he going to get the time? He began to think Belphebe's home universe of Faerie might have its advantages.
There wasn't really much more Athanael or the Board could say, and they did seem much relieved. The project that had sounded very questionable when presented by a mere assistant professor, sounded quite respectable when presented by a full professor with an impressive bibliography of published articles— and with Chalmers' bland confidence and total self-assurance.
Nonetheless, Shea found himself nettled, and a little resentful, by Chalmers' having so very clearly assumed the authority of Director of the Garaden Institute again, even though he was now supposedly only a consultant.
Chalmers noticed Shea's discomfiture right away, of course, and confronted the problem as soon as they were outside, picking their careful way over the icy walks, between snowdrifts left by the crew of shovelers. "I know that sounded as though I were trying to usurp the position you have established in my absence, Harold, but I really have no such intention."
Shea felt a lot better just hearing that. "Thanks, Doc. I know you had to present it that way, just to pacify the Board—but you're right, it did make me uncomfortable."
"My regrets," Chalmers murmured. "Please be assured, dear boy, that I have absolutely no intention of reclaiming my former position."
"That's good to hear," Shea said, "I think. Trouble is, if you resign, I'm going to find myself lumbered with a new boss—and he might not be as sympathetic as you are."
Chalmers nodded. "Moreover, he will undoubtedly wish access to your records of this project, and will demand to know all the pertinent facts."
Shea shuddered. "We can't have that. Just imagine some career academic trying to horn in on our universe-hopping!"
"Yes, quite," Chalmers said drily, and Shea realized, with a start, that he had just described Doc himself— or himself as he had been, before their trip to the universe of Spenser's Faerie Queene. "Assuming, of course, that a new Director would not immediately declare the whole project to be stuff and nonsense or, worse, a mammoth hoax, and fire you."
Shea shuddered. "Uh, do you mind officially staying on leave of absence, Doc? If you're technically still Director, then I can still be Acting Director. If I don't want a new boss—and I don't—it has to stay that way."
"I am quite willing, of course," Chalmers said, "but the Board can be stalled in that fashion only so long, Harold. You have two or three years at most. How shall you manage when that time is up?
"I hadn't thought about that," Shea admitted, and they plodded through the gray January day, Shea sunk in gloom.
Chalmers broke the silence. "You shall have to assume the directorship yourself—and that means that you shall have to acquire the necessary credentials. You absolutely must publish a few articles."
Shea was amazed to discover that he actually had been more or less assuming that he would eventually become Director of the Garaden Institute. Forced to confront the matter, he realized how ridiculous it was, without a publication record. With a shock, he realized that he had become more interested in the directorship than in kiting off on swashbuckling adventures; he found the prospect of the security and status oddly appealing. "Doc! I didn't even know I was thinking along those lines —how did you?"
"It is a natural consequence of finding the right woman," Chalmers explained, "which usually results in a desire to settle down, especially if the two of you are considering having children."
That was true. Shea reflected—but he said nothing, surprised that such insight could come from a middle-aged man who had never had a family, nor even married until he had met Florimel just a year ago—in another universe. But he was a psychologist, after all, and knew the mind of man. "The possibility has occurred to us," Shea admitted.
"How wonderful!" Chalmers beamed. "I could not be more pleased for you, my boy! But you do realize, I trust, that you will be shouldering a very heavy burden—and no small part of the bearing will he the publication of your findings."
"If I can find any to publish." Shea said, with irony.
"Oh, never fear, the inter-universal project will provide the material for that," Chalmers assured him. "Your original notion of using its principles to cure delusions, may prove accurate—who knows? Even if it does not, the simple notion of describing delusions in symbolic logic could be publishable in itself, since it will offer a new and more efficient avenue to analysis."
"Maybe we could collaborate ..." But even as he said it, Shea knew he was shying away from the responsibility.
"Desirable." Chalmers smiled. "But it would be too difficult for me to communicate on the steady basis collaboration would require. I do not plan any great stay in Ohio, Harold—only enough to supervise the organization of the experiment as a unified whole. Oh, yes, I am taking this very seriously, now! You will not, of course, publish the vital datum—the 'syllogismobile', as you have dubbed it, the ability to travel between universes—but in all other respects, the project is quite viable. Once the overall structure is in place, with methods established and research underway, I shall gladly return to the universe of the Orlando, and to Florimel."
"Thanks, Doc," Shea said, with feeling. "Not just for bailing me out—-but for straightening me out as concerns my goals."
"My pleasure," Chalmers said. "I believe the technical term for the process is maturation.' Tell me, though, Harold—who, in your opinion, should be on the research team, other than ourselves, Polacek, and, by correspondence, Bayard?"
Shea thought for a moment. "I suppose we really should bring in Pete Brodsky as an auxiliary investigator, so that we can have everyone who knows about inter-universe travel under the same roof."
Chalmers nodded. "That will have the additional advantage of keeping the knowledge contained until we have determined how to publish it safely, without causing a wholesale migration to other worlds."