“So, why don’t you show me the sights, Professor, since these are your old digs?”
They strolled together away from the apartment towards the heart of the campus. The morning air was cool and still and the sky cloudless, making the campus look like a picture postcard.
Marlowe pointed to a limestone building that framed the west side of the center quadrangle. “There’s the old science building, where I had most of my physics and astronomy classes, first as a student and then as a teacher. I’d like to see room three. That’s the room where I realized astrophysics was my life’s calling.”
Dorning looked impressed. “All right. Let’s go.”
They pulled open the tall, solid wood doors and walked down the worn marble hall to the last door on the left. Several students hurried by them into the room.
“Here it is,” the professor said with reverence. He poked his head inside, saw the students taking their seats and opening their books. He glanced around at the condition of the room. “New window shades, new periodic table on the wall,” he whispered to Dorning. “Otherwise it’s exactly as I remember it. How wonderful.”
The professor noticed an empty seat in the front row. “That’s where I always sat when I was a student. I’m going to try it out.”
Before Dorning could protest, Marlowe was in the room and in the chair. Several students smiled at the sight.
A tall, middle-aged man with thick eyeglasses and an armload of papers brushed by Dorning. The man went straight to the teacher’s desk and plopped the stack down.
“Okay, I have your graded tests here, ladies and gentlemen,” the teacher said.
The class murmured.
Dorning stood just out in the hall, frantically signaling for the professor to get out.
Marlowe ignored him and stayed put, turning to talk to a student two chairs away instead.
“What class is this?” he asked.
“Introductory Astronomy.”
“That’s great.”
“My, my. Who do we have here?” the teacher asked with a nod to the boy in the front row. “You know, these freshmen look younger and younger every year, don’t they?”
The class laughed.
The teacher stared at the professor. “Who are you?” he asked directly.
Dorning stepped into the room. “I’m sorry. He’s here visiting the campus with me. The boy has always had a keen interest in astronomy.”
“Really? Well, he can stay as long as he’s quiet. You can have a seat too if you like,” he said to Dorning. “We certainly welcome visitors to our picturesque campus.”
Dorning meekly squeezed into a student chair closest to the door.
The teacher turned to address the class. “Now, I promised a brief yet fun session today since your test results weren’t too bad. They could have been better, but they weren’t terrible.”
The class murmured again.
“Let’s talk about the possibility of detecting life on other planets in the galaxy since that’s a popular topic nowadays. Where do you think we might find extraterrestrial life? Anyone? And I’m not talking about little green men, just rudimentary life.”
A smattering of hands went up.
“Yes, Michael?”
“I would think towards the center of the galaxy since there are so many more stars and possible solar systems.”
“Good thought, Michael. I would have to agree with that. Anyone else?”
Percival was the only one to raise a hand.
The class laughed.
Dorning tried to signal the professor to put his hand down, finally realized it was no use.
“Okay young man, what do you think?”
“I think that’s exactly the wrong place to look for extraterrestrial life.”
The teacher’s face registered his surprise. “Really? Well, class, it appears our young guest disagrees. Perhaps he has a better idea. Let’s hear what our budding Einstein has to say about the subject. Would you care to come up here and elaborate?”
The professor immediately hopped out the chair and walked to the front of the room.
Dorning lowered his head and rubbed his eyes in disbelief as the class twittered in amusement.
The teacher sat down behind his desk, bemused himself. “See? I told you this would be a fun class today. Okay, the audience is all yours, young man. It’s an audience for Einstein. Go right ahead.”
“Thank you,” Percival said. He slowly rubbed his hands together as he gathered his thoughts, eliciting more laughter.
“The galactic core is a violent place. The closer to the center, the more unlikely life is to exist. Why? Partly because we now have solid evidence there’s a massive black hole at the core. Black holes are strange creatures. They gobble up matter and spew out high-energy radiation across the spectrum, including deadly gamma rays. Anything unfortunate enough to be caught in the grasp of a black hole eventually meets a horrible fate. It is literally torn to atoms that, in their death throes, are further split into subatomic particles that are sucked down to we know not where, only to leak out eons later in an unrecognizable, garbled mess. As this stream of particles first crosses over the point of no return—the event horizon—the center of the galaxy takes notice because it’s bombarded with the extreme radiation that’s released. For that reason, no life can exist within the gravitational pull of a black hole, a lifeless zone that extends for millions of miles. Yet even those solar systems near the galactic core lucky enough to be beyond the influence of this destroyer of worlds cannot harbor life. Why? Because the neighborhood’s too crowded. All that jostling and bumping and spinning around”—he wiggled across the floor, making the class twitter again—“is not conductive to the development of planets. The gas clouds that surround stars as they develop, the dusty remnants of their own birth, don’t have the chance to coalesce into planets with stable orbits if those clouds are tugged in all directions by gravitational attraction. And those stars that are able to create solar systems are likely to have planets with relatively short lives because all that conflicting tugging and pulling will eventually send those planets sailing away in the absolute cold of space, or crashing into each other or their star, or stretch them into some extreme elliptical orbit that broils the planets in summer and freezes them solid in winter. For life to form, you need planets in stable orbits for a very long time, something less probable the closer you approach the galactic core, you see. No, there’s only one place in the galaxy where you’ll find those steady state conditions—right where our own solar system resides, in the safety of the distant spiral arms. Here, there’s solace. It may be lonely, being so many light years away from our nearest neighbors, yet unless a rogue celestial body comes out of nowhere and disrupts our solar system—which could happen but isn’t too likely—we enjoy the stability of orbit needed to allow life to take hold and flourish and evolve undisturbed for millions of years, right up to my talking to you here today. And that’s where we should look for life, among our peaceful, safely distant neighbors in the calm waters of the spiral arms, not towards the raging storms of the galactic center where only chaos reigns.”
The classroom was silent.
The teacher sat bolt upright in his chair, his mouth hanging open and his gaze far away. He finally looked at the boy and then at his watch.
“Wow,” he said. “I guess we’ve all been taught a lesson today. I don’t have anything to add. Besides, that’s a hard act to follow. Anyone else?”
No hands went up.
“Then don’t forget to pick up your tests. Class dismissed,” he said softly.
As the students grabbed their graded papers and filed out, each one stared back in awe at the professor, speaking in excited whispers as they drifted out of the building.
Dorning sighed and scratched the back of his neck. He knew they had some explaining to do.
The teacher stood up, came around the desk, and stared down at the boy. “Who are you?”
The professor hesitated, his head slightly bowed. “I’m . . . Miguel Marlowe, Percival Marlowe’s nephew,” he replied.
The teacher went bug-eyed. “His nephew?” he nearly doubled over in laughter. “Well, no wonder you’re so smart! Wow! Percival Marlowe’s nephew! Why didn’t you say so before? It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miguel.” He stuck out his hand. “You know, come to think of it, you do sound an awful lot like your famous uncle.”
The professor stood up straight and nodded politely as he shook the teacher’s hand.
The teacher’s exuberant expression disappeared.
“Sorry to hear he passed away recently. He was certainly a major influence in my life.”
“Really? How so?” Marlowe asked.
“I heard one of his last lectures when I was in high school, just before he retired from the university. I was undecided whether or not to pursue a science degree. That speech not only convinced me but I attended this very university and now teach here part-time.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m very . . . I’m sure my uncle would have been very pleased to hear it.”
“Well, good day.” Dorning stepped between them and firmly shook the teacher’s hand. “Thank you so much for permitting us in your class, but we really must be on our way.”
“My pleasure. Thanks for the impromptu lecture, Miguel. Come back anytime you want. You know, if you don’t mind, I’d really like some of my faculty friends to meet you.”
Dorning stiffened. “Perhaps some other day. Goodbye now.”
He quickly ushered Marlowe out the door, down the hall, and out of the building.
Once a safe distance away, Dorning stopped and turned the professor by the shoulders to face him.
“Now you listen to me. Don’t ever do anything that asinine again. The last thing we need is to draw undue attention to you. How many times do I have to say that?”
“Stop squeezing my shoulders, Dorning, and stop talking to me like I’m a child.” He lifted Dorning’s arms up then stepped back and let them fall. “I might look like one now but I was old enough to be your father, if not your grandfather.”
Dorning bowed apologetically but his stern expression stayed. “I’m sorry, Professor, but you simply cannot do whatever you wish. Not yet, anyway. I know the chance to lecture again was probably irresistible, but you run the risk of prematurely revealing who you really are. Claiming you’re Percival Marlowe’s nephew will help to open some doors to your past as it did here, but overused, someone will eventually discover your brother never had children and then the probing questions will begin. We must use that nephew business judiciously. Agreed?”
Marlowe ran his hands over his hair and nodded wordlessly.
“Good. And by the way, although I certainly don’t want to encourage you to do that again, your mini lecture was excellent, Professor. As I might have expected.”
“Well, thank you, Doctor. It was good to stand in front of a class again. I had nearly forgotten how much I enjoy that.”
“You will have the opportunity to lecture as much as you want in just a few short years, Professor. I promise.”
They walked side by side down to the cobblestone path leading to the oldest part of campus. Neither spoke.
Percival finally broke the awkward silence. “By the way, Doctor, I was wondering something about you the other day. You were once a highly respected neurosurgeon making a considerable income, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, but that was many, many years ago. So?”
“So you just walked away from it all to pursue your memory research? We’ve talked a lot about your experiments but never why you pursued them so vigorously. What was it exactly that compelled you to devote your life to such uncertain research, Doctor? What was the impetus?”
The doctor half-smiled as he glanced up at the bright sky. “Believe it or not, inspiration struck me right in the middle of a delicate operation to remove a massive tumor from a patient’s brain. It was a tantalizing idea for transferring memories I knew would be difficult to achieve yet certainly not impossible. I completed the operation—successfully, I might add—changed my clothes, typed up my resignation, and handed it in all within the hour. The next day I was busy renovating my basement to create my research lab, and the chase was on to prove my theory was right.”
“And that was it? You were out of a job and on your own because you had an idea? That’s quite a leap of faith, isn’t it?”
“Not really. I was absolutely convinced my theory was sound. All I had to do was find the techniques to make it work.”
“But that took far longer than you ever thought it would, didn’t it?”
“Admittedly, yes. I had quite a few setbacks, actually. That’s why I came to you for funds. I knew at the rate I was spending money, I would burn through my life savings well before I achieved success.”
“How did you know I would help you?”
Dorning smiled faintly. “I didn’t. I just knew you were wealthy, had no heirs waiting for your money, and that my research could benefit you personally since you were getting up in years.”
“So it was a gamble that paid off. But why me? Why an astrophysicist, Doctor? There are lots of wealthy, elderly people out there who would have been glad to bankroll you for a shot at another lifetime, people with far more money than I had.”
“I didn’t want just anybody. I wanted someone who I admired, someone who had the intelligence and creativity to change the course of civilization. That person was you.”
The professor was silent a moment. “I guess I should feel flattered, yet as you well know, sometimes when I was signing all those huge checks for you, I wondered if I wasn’t squandering my fortune in a foolish pursuit, if I wouldn’t have been better off giving my money to some charity or maybe establishing a few scholarships here at the university.” He looked around at the stately buildings on either side of the path. “Weren’t you ever discouraged, Doctor, particularly when it seemed your research had hit a dead end? Did you ever consider giving up and going back to active practice?”
“No. Never. I knew I would eventually find a way around any problems I was having. It just took almost every waking moment for years on end to do it, that’s all.” He stared down sternly at the path beneath them.
Marlowe looked at Dorning with concern. “Your dedication is admirable, Doctor, worthy of a Thomas Edison. But I wonder if the cost it’s had on your personal life wasn’t too high.”
Dorning’s face brightened. “Why, thank you for the comparison. Edison was one of my favorite childhood heroes. At least I can honestly say I never squandered my time or talent.” He glanced at the professor with brief disapproval. “Total dedication to a lofty goal is worth almost any price, isn’t it?”
Marlowe hesitated. “Not to me. I always remembered to take time out to have some fun and let off a little steam.”
Now Dorning hesitated, avoiding eye contact with the professor. “Yes. I witnessed some of that so-called fun of yours, unfortunately. If you don’t mind me sounding impertinent, perhaps the world would have been better off if you had applied your remarkable intellect to conquering equations rather than the frivolous, fawning women who practically flung themselves at you.”
Marlowe laughed at the suggestion. “Never, Doctor. After all, if I had accomplished all my life’s goals the first time around, your research wouldn’t have seemed nearly as important or urgent, now would it? My unfinished business helped push you to find that elusive memory transfer method you ultimately discovered somehow. Now isn’t that right?”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose it did,” Dorning said, and abruptly looked away.
The professor looked away as well, his jovial expression quickly fading.
“And that, I’m afraid, was the beginning of the end for you, Miguel,” he said softly.
Dorning slowly turned back to the professor to stare at him askance. “You mean you talk to the boy? Is this a joke?”
Marlowe shook his head. “No, I do that from time to time, out loud or to myself.”
“Why? He’s not going to answer, you know. And if he does, you’re in big trouble. Either he’s about to make an unwelcome return or something’s gone terribly wrong with the operation.”
The professor shrugged. “I don’t know why I do it. I guess since I thought for years I would be the one whose memories would emerge infrequently, the least I can do is remember Miguel every now and then. Without him, I wouldn’t be enjoying all this again.” He looked around the stately campus with nostalgia.
“True enough, and while I seriously doubt just thinking about the boy could cause a relapse, if you talk to yourself too loudly in public, they may have no choice but to lock you away.”
Marlowe half-grinned.
“No matter,” Dorning said. “I imagine in time you’ll forget about the boy, and this silly desire to converse with him will come to an end.”
The professor stared at Dorning, his expression thoroughly humorless now. “Never, Doctor. I see Miguel every time I look in a mirror. What makes you think I could ever forget him?”
“Because in time it will be you who you see in the mirror, not the boy. You will eventually grow accustomed to your new appearance and rarely ever think about him, particularly as you age and look less and less as you do now.”
Marlowe shook his head again, more emphatically. “I hope that doesn’t happen, Doctor. Miguel deserves to always be remembered for what he’s done for me. Always.”
“Oh, but it will happen, Professor. You might not want to believe me but it will. As the years go by you’ll slowly forget there ever was a boy. I’m quite sure of it. It’s inevitable. Inevitable.”
Marlowe was silent, his straight-ahead gaze now fretful.
As they passed the chapel, both bell towers rang solemnly in sequence, signaling the hour.
The professor looked up at the two spires and watched pigeons fly away from where they had been roosting near the bells. “All right. Just one more question for you about the boy, Doctor, and then I’ll shut up about him. Right now I’m Percival Marlowe. What happens if I suddenly become Miguel again? Is our little vacation over, or would you continue it? And how do you explain to the boy you still haven’t arranged for a time-share with me?”
“I’m quite certain he won’t be making a reappearance. Your memory associations have been so strong here that you’re firmly in control. What’s needed is to keep your associations coming—and to avoid any of the boy’s—so you remain in control. As I said before, my research has shown reversions back to the recipient become less frequent with time and don’t last for very long without reinforcement. What I would need to do is give you something that immediately triggers strong memories to get you back as soon as possible, now that we know that’s a safe thing to do. Oh! I almost forgot. I brought something along with me.” He dug in his pants pocket, pulled out a circular object, and handed it to the professor. “This should do nicely. I brought it along just in case.”
Marlowe took the object and laughed loudly when he realized what it was. “Oh, my God. Dorning, where did you find this? I haven’t seen this in years! My old swimming medal. I won this when I was a few years older than the age I am now. At the time, this seemed like the pinnacle of success. I thought I’d never achieve greater glory.” He smiled widely as he studied the medallion closely.
“I found it at the bottom of a drawer in your bedroom desk. Believe it or not, it was the first thing that triggered memories of you in the boy. Nothing else you own is nearly as effective.”
“I’m not surprised. I was inordinately proud to have won this. The moment I did, my entire reputation changed both at home and at school. I was no longer just a brainy bookworm, I was a Renaissance man, an athlete-scholar, a force to be reckoned with. Kids started to come to me for advice. And the girls! My goodness, the girls flocked around me like I was Rudolph Valentino. It didn’t take me long after that to lose my innocence, I can tell you. Unless, of course, that’s more than you wanted to know.”
He stopped. Dorning stopped, too.
The professor brought the medal up to his nose, briefly closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I always liked that smell,” he said in a quiet voice, staring at the medal. “It reminds me of victory and happier times.”
He resumed walking.
Dorning caught up to him, grinning to himself. “I know, Percival,” he said just as quietly. “I know.”
Marlowe slipped the medallion into his own pocket. “Sorry, Dorning, but I’d like to hang on to it for a while.”
The path ended in front of the plain, single-story archives building the professor had pointed out the day before, the first campus building.
“Shall we go in?” Dorning asked.
“Might as well, since we’re here.”
To the professor’s dismay, he saw that most of the interior walls had been removed and everything modernized. Behind tall glass cases lining the walls was the neatly organized and labeled history of the university—pennants, football jerseys, freshman beanie caps, and other mementos now faded and mute.
Marlowe frowned. “This is it? Rather static and dull, isn’t it? You would think they could do something to make the university’s unique heritage come more alive.”
As if on command, the door to one of the few rooms left in the building sprang open and a custodian pushing a mop and bucket came out. He was stooped and gray-haired, his stained shirt untucked and his gait unsteady.
The professor gasped. “I know him,” he whispered to Dorning. “He was a young man when I still taught here. Now look at him; time hasn’t been kind. I’d like to see if he remembers me. I mean, Percival Marlowe, that is.”
“All right. Just make sure you choose your words carefully,” Dorning warned. “Remember our agreement.” He stepped over to a display to keep a wary eye on the custodian.
The professor approached the custodian cautiously, watching him struggle to wring out the mop.
“Hi,” Marlowe said.
The custodian turned halfway around. “Hello, yourself. Didn’t hear you come in.”
The professor struggled for something meaningful to say. “So, how long have you worked here at the university?”
The custodian grunted. “Why? Who wants to know? Too long, if you ask me.”
“Did you know Percival Marlowe?”
“Sure did.” He pulled the mop out of the wringer and plopped it on the floor.
“Is there anything on display here about him? I’m interested in science, too.”
“Probably. Look around.” He glanced at the boy then sighed and leaned the mop handle against the wall. “Oh, hell. Here, I’ll show you. It’s not much.”
The professor followed him to a display case.
“See that picture of the observatory? Look closely at the guy standing in the doorway. That’s Percival Marlowe.”
“Oh yeah, that’s . . . him all right. Is there anything else here about him?” The professor looked around.
“No, thank goodness.”
The custodian returned to his mop.
The professor followed, keeping a respectful distance. “Why did you say ‘thank goodness’?”
The custodian grinned a tight, bitter grin. “Why? Because he was one of the most arrogant, self-centered, my-shit-don’t-stink bastards who ever taught here, that’s why. You won’t believe how many people were glad when he finally retired.”
The professor grew pale. “What did he do?” he asked softly.
“What did he do? What didn’t he do? He was cocky and unapproachable. He had an air about him that said he was above anyone who hadn’t won a Nobel Prize like he had, which was everyone else on campus. He never said hello to me or anyone on staff, even if you walked right by him on the sidewalk and said hi first. It was like he didn’t even see you. Once I was late putting out a lectern for a speech he was giving, and he cussed me out right in front of everyone, practically the whole school. I felt about this big.” He held up his hand, his thumb and index finger nearly touching. “But he didn’t care. He was the great Percival Marlowe, kiss his royal butt.” The custodian began mopping vigorously.
Marlowe swallowed hard, his expression one of remorse. “That was almost forty years ago,” he said, then realized his mistake and looked at the custodian with alarm.
The custodian did a double take at the boy but kept mopping. “Yeah, it was about that long ago. But so what? I remember it like it was yesterday, that’s all that counts. You don’t forget an injustice like that. And he was someone you would never want to forgive, either.” He looked at the boy as he swung the mop back into the bucket. “Oh look, son. Don’t listen to me. I’m just a bitter old man who would retire if I had only saved some money. I’m sure Percival Marlowe did a world of good, only I never saw it, that’s all. And now that he’s dead, he can’t embarrass nobody no more. I guess that means the old children’s story is true.” He wrung out the mop and resumed mopping.
“What old story is that?” the professor asked, fearful of the answer.
The custodian paused, looked up and stared steadily at him with eyes both angry and sad. “Why, the mighty emperor had no clothes. No damn clothes at all.”
Mouth sagging open, the professor backed away, slowly at first, and then faster until he finally turned around and nearly ran to where Dorning waited.
“I heard that,” Dorning said in a hushed-but-annoyed tone. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
“Let’s get out of here, Doctor. Our little vacation is over,” he nearly panted.
“Oh, but what about your beloved observatory? I thought you wanted to make arrangements to use the telescope tonight if you could?”
“No. I just want to go home. I’m afraid I’ve lost all my enthusiasm. Being here isn’t going to help matters anymore. Trust me, it won’t.”
Dorning glowered at the custodian. “Why, that foolish old man. I should report him to his superiors for talking to you that way.”
“You will do nothing of the kind.” Marlowe’s gaze was steely. “Let’s just go.”
They went straight back to the apartment to pack their belongings and turn in the room key. Then they hurried to the stone arch where they had arrived the day before, making it just in time to catch the next bus home.
As Dorning snored softly in the seat next to him, the professor stared out the window at the countryside rolling by, turning the worn swimming medal over and over and over in his small, smooth hands.