Factoring Humanity

“Fascinating,” said Heather. “And Kyle finds this kind of thinking helps his students?”

“He thinks so. He had a professor named Papineau when he was a student here twenty years ago — ”

“I remember him.”

“Well, Dr. Graves says he doesn’t recall much of what Papineau taught him, except that he was always finding ways to expand his students’ minds, giving them new ways of looking at things. He is trying to do something similar for his students today, and — ”

The door slid open. Kyle walked in. “Heather!” he said, clearly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

Without a word, Kyle reached over and flicked Cheetah’s SUSPEND switch. “What brings you by?”

“The alien messages have stopped.”

“So I’d heard. Was there a Rosetta stone at the end?”

Heather shook her head.

“I’m sorry,” said Kyle.

“Me, too. But it means the race for the answer is on; we now have everything the Centaurs were trying to say to us. Now it’s only a question of time before somebody figures out what it all means. I’m going to be very busy.” She spread her arms slightly. “I know this couldn’t have come at a worse time, what with the problem with Becky, but I’m going to have to immerse myself in this. I wanted you to understand that — I didn’t want you to think I was shutting you out, or just sticking my head in the sand, hoping the problem would go away.”

“I’m going to be busy, too,” said Kyle.

“Oh?”

“My quantum-computing experiment failed; I’ve got a lot of work to do figuring out what went wrong.”

Under other circumstances, she might have consoled him. But now, now with this between them, with the uncertainty…

“That’s too bad,” she said. “Really.” She looked at him a little longer, then shrugged a bit. “So it looks like we’re both going to be tied up.” She paused. Dammit, their separation was never supposed to be permanent — and, for Christ’s sake, surely Kyle couldn’t have done what he’d been accused of. “Look,” she said, tentatively, “it’s almost five; do you want to grab an early dinner?”

Kyle looked pleased at the suggestion, but then he frowned. “I’ve already made other plans.”

“Oh,” said Heather. She wondered for a moment whether his plans were with a man or a woman. “Well, then.”

They looked at each other a moment longer, then Heather left.

Kyle entered Persaud Hall and headed down the narrow corridor, but stopped short before he got to Room 222.

There was Stone Bentley, standing outside his office, talking with a female student. Stone was white, maybe fifty-five, balding, and not particularly fit; he saw Kyle approaching and signaled him to wait for a short time. Stone finished up whatever he was saying to the young lady, then she smiled and went on her way.

Kyle closed the distance. “Hi, Stone. Sorry to interrupt.”

“No, not at all. I like being interrupted during meetings.”

Kyle tilted his head; Stone’s voice hadn’t sounded sarcastic, but the words certainly seemed to be.

“I’m serious,” said Stone. “I have all my meetings with female students in the corridor — and the more people that see what’s going on, the better. I don’t ever want a repeat of what happened five years ago.”

“Ah,” said Kyle. Stone ducked into his office, grabbed his briefcase, and they headed out to The Water Hole. It was a small pub, with perhaps two dozen round tables scattered across a hardwood floor. Lighting was from Tiffany lamps; the windows were covered over by thick drapes. An electronic board displayed specials in white against a black background in a font that resembled chalk writing; a neon sign advertised Moose-head beer.

A server drifted into view. “Blue Light,” said Stone.

“Rye and ginger ale,” said Kyle.

Once the server was gone, Stone turned his attention to Kyle; they’d made small talk on the way over, but now, it was clear. Stone felt it was time to get to the reason for the meeting. “So,” he said, “what’s on your mind?”

Kyle had been mentally rehearsing this all afternoon, but now that the moment was here, he found himself rejecting his planned words. “I — I’ve got a problem, Stone. I — I needed somebody to talk to. I know we’ve never been close, but I’ve always thought of you as a friend.”

Stone looked at him, but said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” said Kyle. “I know you’re busy. I shouldn’t be bothering you.”

Stone was quiet for a moment, then: “What’s wrong?”

Kyle dropped his gaze. “My daughter has…” He fell silent, but Stone simply waited for him to go on. At last, Kyle felt ready to do so. “My daughter has accused me of molesting her.”

He waited for the question he’d expected: “Did you do it?” But the question never came.

“Oh,” said Stone.

Kyle couldn’t stand the question not being addressed. “I didn’t do it.”

Stone nodded.

The server appeared again, depositing their drinks.

Kyle looked down at his glass, the rye swirling in the ginger ale. He waited again for Stone to volunteer that he understood the connection, understood why Kyle had called him, of all people. But Stone didn’t.

“You’ve been through something like this yourself,” said Kyle. “False accusation.”