by Ward Wagher
“I’d be happy to do so,” she said. “Climatologists are not the most popular of scientists.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Winkleman said. “Why should we blame you for the world the way it is. Too many people suffer from small-mindedness. They have no concept of how big this planet really is.”
Maggie giggled. “I would be hard-pressed to disagree, Sir.”
“Please, call me Arthur. I put on my pants the way everyone else does.” He looked over at Larry. “I want to be conscious of your time constraints. I recognize that when I get interested in a project, I tend to monopolize peoples’ time.”
“I am completely at your disposal,” Larry said. “I am… in between...” and he rolled to a stop, not sure of what to say.
Winkleman chuckled quietly. Please forgive me. I recognize your situation. I fail to understand what MIT was thinking to release you. I have read some of your papers and have been impressed. Please understand that you will be remunerated for your time here.”
Larry took another bite of the Beef Wellington as he thought. “I don’t want to impose on your hospitality, Sir, but I am hoping that by taking the time to help you, I can get my feet under myself, again.”
“I suppose I should not be so mysterious,” Winkleman said. “I am trying to encourage our college in Urbana to rebuild itself. What I have in mind, should our discussions bear fruit, is to have you come to Urbana after completing your doctoral work. I want to launch a Physics program, and by plucking someone who is still youthful, we can plan for a long fruitful career. I would want you here long enough to accomplish something – not just building the Physics program.”
“Do you work for the school in Urbana, then?” Maggie asked. “And do they have a Climatology program?”
Winkleman chuckled again in his infectious manner. “I do not work for the school as such. I am more of an annoyance to them. They have to listen to me because I help support the school. It gives me an excuse to meddle. And to answer your second question, my dear Maggie, they will have a Climatology program when you finish your doctorate.”
The maître D' slipped up to the table and bent over to whisper to Winkleman. He looked up at the man, and then looked across the room in annoyance.
“Please excuse me for a moment,” he said as he rose.
He marched across the room following the maître D'. Larry and Maggie watched him go, and then looked at each other.
“We’ve come up roses, Larry,” she said.
“If I hadn’t seen the money, I would be suspicious that we were talking to a nut-case.”
“Oh, nonsense. Arthur is a nice old gentleman. I am enjoying the evening.”
Winkleman strode across the room again and slipped into his chair. He moved with the grace of a much younger man.
“You will pardon the interruption,” he said. “The maître D' is new and apparently the management had not instructed him that I am not to be disturbed at my meal.”
“I hope it was nothing serious,” Larry said.
“Not at all,” Winkleman replied. “I try not to be unkind, but I have some people in my employ who have not learned how to make decisions. They seem to take up more of my day than is wont.”
Maggie looked over at Larry and said one word, “Fuzzy.”
Larry snorted. Seeing the confused look on Winkleman’s face, he explained. “My doctoral advisor is, or rather was, Fuzzy Pournelle. A very nice man, but he had to run to the academic dean for every decision.”
“Couldn’t make a decision, or was not allowed to make a decision?” Winkleman asked.
“I don’t know. Fuzzy told me one time that he was terrified of losing his job. Having experienced the same, I really cannot blame him.”
“I understand good jobs are hard to come by in the Northeast. I have suggested we advertise in Boston for our open positions, but people seem reluctant to move out here.”
“You have open jobs here?” Maggie asked.
“Oh, yes. Our economy is growing and we cannot easily find qualified people.”
The food and conversation continued, and Larry eventually looked down to an empty plate. Winkleman smiled gently.
“I see we are at the end of our meal. And, unfortunately, I must go rescue one of my subordinates. I will have the waiter bring a dessert menu for you. Feel free to enjoy the hotel and the amenities here. I will have a car in front to pick you up at nine in the morning.”
Larry and Maggie both stood up and shook his hand.
“Thank you for the wonderful meal and your hospitality, Arthur,” Maggie said.
Larry joined in. “This was a wonderful meal, and we enjoyed talking to you.”
“I have blocked out most of my day for our conference,” Winkleman said. “Unfortunately, there are matters I cannot ignore for too long, so I may be interrupted at times. But we have a lot we need to accomplish.”
With that, he turned and marched out of the hotel restaurant. Maggie and Larry sat down again.
She looked at him. “What do you think – shall we look at the dessert menu?”
“Since Arthur suggested it, I think we should.”
§ § §
Maggie and Larry met for breakfast in the same hotel restaurant. The restaurant offered a choice of ordering from the menu or visiting the buffet. They both decided to sample the buffet.
“I could put on some serious weight if I keep eating here,” Maggie said.
“I’ve never had that problem,” Larry said, “but I’ve never eaten this well, either.”
“My room is so nice,” Maggie said. “They even put a piece of chocolate on the pillow. I wonder where they get it. I have never had chocolate before. It was wonderful.”
Maggie prattled on about the hotel and the room. She chattered without noticing his reaction. Larry busied himself with his breakfast and was lost in thought. Maggie had to reach across the table and tap his hand to get his attention.
“Oh, sorry, Mags. Just thinking.”
“And what has you so absorbed this morning?”
“The number one question of the day: just who is Arthur Winkleman?”
“He’s kind of mysterious,” she replied. “He is obviously wealthy. Not only that, but he is very smart.”
“And slightly eccentric as well,” Larry said.
“Why would somebody as important as he obviously is give you all this time?”
“That’s what I am thinking about. All I can say, Mags, is to keep your eyes and ears open today.”
“Are you going to be able to stay awake after this breakfast?” she asked.
He looked at her sheepishly. “I didn’t think about that. I’d better not try to finish this plate. I’ll be out like a light.”
“But what do you think about the hotel. I realized you weren’t even listening to me.”
“I didn’t know places like this existed,” Larry said. “I think we must be somewhat isolated in Boston. This place is civilized.”
“It is surprisingly advanced,” Maggie commented. “To stick a hotel like this in the ground requires a lot of cultural and economic advancement. I thought maybe I would ask Arthur about it.”
“Do you suppose he will tell us?”
“He seems really proud of the place,” Maggie said.
“There is that.”
“Well, it’s about time to catch our ride,” Maggie said. “We won’t have long to wait.”
Larry signed the check for the meal, as Arthur instructed him, and they walked out to the lobby carrying their computers. An ancient man with grizzled white hair stood behind the Bell Captain’s desk. He caught Larry’s eye as they walked across the lobby.
“Mr. Berthold, if you would wait in the lobby, I will have someone watch for Mr. Winkleman’s arrival. It’s much too cold to wait outside.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Maggie said.
“It’s only reasonable,” the Bell Captain said. “We enjoy taking good care of our customers. Especially Mr. Winkleman’s guests.”
A few minutes later a teenager in a heavy coat trotted into the lobby. “Mr. Winkleman’s car is here.”
Larry nodded to the Bell Captain as they walked out. He heard Maggie suck in her breath when the cold wind hit them.
“Really cold, if you ask me, Sir,” said the teen-aged usher who guided them to the car.
“What’s the temp this morning, anyway?” Larry gasped.
“Thirty below, Sir,” came the reply.
“Gosh!”
They scampered into the car and got the doors closed. The warmth inside the car was welcome. The driver turned in the seat.
“Mr. Winkleman sends his regrets that he could not pick you up this morning. He will meet you when you arrive at his office.”
Larry nodded as the driver turned and put the car into gear. He and Maggie watched out the windows as they rolled along the streets of downtown Indianapolis.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The airy lobby of the four-story building was bounded by glass and aluminum. The weak winter sun drizzled into the front of the south-facing building, and the warm breeze from the heating system was a refuge from the blowing snow evident through the windows.
“This looks like a new building,” Maggie said. “Pretty spiff.”
They followed their driver across the lobby to an elevator. Maggie’s heels clicked against the polished concrete floor. She spun around once to scan the environs, and then turned to face the elevator.
“This is different,” she said. “We don’t have windows like this in Montreal. In Boston, people often keep the windows covered.”
Larry nodded, pondering her statement. It seemed to him that the people in Montreal and Boston had adopted a bunker mentality. They either used few windows or kept the windows covered so that they would not have to look outside. His preference for windows was at odds with others at MIT. This culture in Indianapolis seemed to embrace the weather. He wondered if that reflected optimism, or maybe another form of neurosis.
The elevator quietly raised them to the fourth floor and they walked out into another windowed lobby. Hallways led off to the right and the left, but the walls did not reach to the ceiling. Apparently, the architects wanted dwellers of the office caverns to have access to daylight.
Their driver led them down the left hallway about midway to a glass-walled conference room.
“There are tea and snacks on the table at the back,” he said. “The freshers are across the hall.”
“Freshers?” Larry asked.
The driver looked puzzled briefly and then realization dawned. “Oh, you call them restrooms or bathrooms, right?”
Larry nodded. “Okay, that’s a new term for me. I kind of like it. Fresher. Thanks for your help this morning.”
“It is my privilege, Sir.”
The driver bowed and then walked quickly from the room. Maggie laid her computer on the conference table and marched over to the tea.
“I think we’d better get some more caffeine, Larry. You won’t last the morning otherwise.”
“Right, you are,” he said as he walked over to the small buffet. “This looks very good.”
“And you told me you had eaten quite enough at the restaurant.”
“But a little mid-morning repast would be fine.”
“Glutton.”
A few minutes later Arthur Winkleman breezed into the room.
“How was your night at the hotel?” he asked.
“Wonderful,” Maggie said. “I’ve never been in a place like that before.”
“They took very good care of us,” Larry said. “I probably ate too much at the breakfast buffet.”
“So, do you think I should have the pastries here removed?” Arthur asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Larry said, quickly. “You never know when instant starvation will strike.”
Winkleman laughed. “That is quite so. Shall we begin? We have a lot to cover.”
He pulled out the chair at the head of the table and slid into it. Maggie and Larry sat next to him at opposite sides of the maple conference table.
“This building is new,” Larry said. “So was the hotel.”
Winkleman nodded. “I have been involved in several profitable ventures. My partners have also been well rewarded. At some point, we realized that we could be more effective if we built new, rather than struggle with ancient and obsolete buildings.”
“I guess I have a lot to learn,” Larry said.
“And that is exactly the right attitude to have,” Winkleman quickly reposted. “Civilization has essentially collapsed around the entire planet. I have dedicated myself to not merely preserving scientific knowledge, but also towards advancing it.”
“Now,” he continued, “let’s talk about your academic trajectory. I need to have you give me a precis of what you have accomplished thus far, and where you expect to go with it.”
“How much time do I have?” Larry asked.
“As much time as you need,” Winkleman quickly replied. “I find people tend to gloss over things, and I need to drill deeper, anyway. So… begin.”
Larry quickly summarized his educational background. Maggie filled in some of the details since she had accompanied him through most of his schooling, both in Montreal and Boston. Winkleman asked perceptive questions and elicited things from Larry that he was hardly aware of knowing. He particularly spent time probing Larry’s doctoral research and repeated swung the conversation back around to what Larry wanted to accomplish.
They broke around 10:30 and a suddenly ravenous Larry headed for the tea and pastries. Arthur slipped out of the room and disappeared. After enjoying the snacks and visiting a remarkably clean fresher, Larry was back at the conference table when Winkleman returned to his chair.
“Now,” Winkleman said, “you have placed a great emphasis on the contradictions in Clenèt’s math versus his applied physics. I am correct in my phrasing?”
“Yes, Sir,” Larry said. “Clenèt achieved some remarkable things, but there are some holes in the math that are inexplicable. I want to resolve those issues.”
“And you expect to complete that work for your doctoral dissertation?” Winkleman asked.
Larry now displayed a sheepish grin. “Well, that is my hope.”
“But do you really expect to get there?” Arthur pressed. “I need to know what you intend, Lawrence.”
Larry was unable to answer.
“This is the crux of what I am looking for,” Winkleman said. “Your Dr. Pournelle was very right to question your overall aims. You are circling all around the issue, but you have not specifically identified your inflection point.”
“My research will identify that,” Larry said.
Winkleman shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. It looks to me like you have spent the past year wrestling with this. I am willing to help you. But you must achieve some focus, here.”
Larry stood up and walked over to the window. The skies had clouded over and snow flurries danced in the wind. As he gazed through the glass, he looked at the other buildings in the town for the first time. While there were many old buildings, just like the other towns he had visited, there was a lot of new, modern construction.
Winkleman stepped over next to him. “You’ve never really faced this question directly, have you, son?” he asked quietly.
Maggie remained at the table and studied them.
“I guess not. My whole life, I have wanted to do something to add to Clenèt’s work. I know there are problems with his math. Everybody knows that. But I haven’t been able to devise a way around the problem.”
“Might I suggest something?” Winkleman asked.
“Sure.”
“You’ve spent, what, eighteen months on this project, right?”
Larry nodded. “Something like that.”
“Have you made any progress at all?”
Larry placed his hands on the windowsill and continued to look outside. Finally, h
e turned to Winkleman.
“I have made no progress.”
“Now,” Winkleman said, “do you understand why MIT jettisoned you from the program?”
“What am I missing, then?”
“From our conversations this morning I can conclude there is nothing wrong with your skill set. But, some problems defy solutions. I have a book that Dr. Denis Calhoun wrote about the unsolved problems of Physics. Clenèt’s math is one of the many, and this book lists a lot. I think what you need to do is maybe work on a new application of Clenèt’s work. Then work on the math issues in your spare time; you know, sort of like a hobby.”
“What would you suggest then?” Larry asked.
“Our old friend Dr. Clenèt discovered a way to utilize gravity fields to contain nuclear fusion in a reactor. Since then no one else has done anything significant with it. I think it sounds like an opportunity, Lawrence.”
Maggie spoke, “I think that sounds like a great idea, Larry.”
Larry stood, staring at nothing. Winkleman put his hands on Larry’s shoulders.
“Here is my proposal, Lawrence. First, I will provide the stipend so that you can finish your doctoral work. When you have completed that, you will move to Urbana and assemble a Physics department in the college. Also, I will own any licenses, copyrights or patents on your work while under my stipend.”
“I am not sure MIT would agree to that,” Larry said. “They usually require the students to sign over all rights for their inventions to the school.”
“That will be my problem to solve,” Winkleman said. “I have already initiated some contacts with MIT. I can be very convincing when I want to be.”
“No kidding,” Larry said. “So, I would need to abandon the last eighteen months of my life.”
“No, I have looked at your research. I think it solid, and usable,” Winkleman said. “You simply need to start looking for applications of the research.”
Larry looked unsure. Maggie jumped. “I can help you with this while I’m finishing up my work.”
“How can you do that? I saw how busy you were with your work.”
The discussion moved back and forth, with the three people various approaches. Larry wavered between abandoning his hopes for a doctorate, and a budding desire to dive into the project.
