The Arcadian Cosmological Association was holding its bimonthly meeting at the Flagstone Hotel on Brevington Avenue across from Baymore Park. The keynote speaker was Elijah McCord and his subject was to be Del Housman and his contributions to the world of physics.
Alex was going. Did I want to join him?
“You think we might pick up anything?”
“Probably not. But who knows?”
I’d been to two of these things before. They provided banquets usually with good food. A woman seated next to me on one occasion commented that if physicists know nothing else, they know how to eat. There were always a couple of musicians playing quietly in the background. And the organizers tended to provide passionate speakers.
On this occasion, eight people, including the association’s president, were seated at a central table. When we’d finished the main course and the desserts arrived, the president rose, asked for attention, and provided an update on mostly administrative issues. He introduced a few new members and recognized two who had died. He delivered a report on charitable activities supported by the association and announced two awards recently received by members. One was present and stood to applause; the other appeared on a link and thanked his colleagues for their support. Finally, the president announced the keynote speaker, Elijah McCord, telescopic department chairman at the Andiquar Institute of Technology.
McCord had been seated next to the president. He was a little guy, bald, filled with energy, who literally bounced out of his chair and took his place at the microphone. “Thank you, Alf,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”
He drew a mixture of laughs and clapping, making it clear that he was a popular figure with the ACA. He started with a few gags, describing his own efforts to decipher what he referred to as the quantum code, in an effort to establish his name along with Newton, Einstein, and Yuri Ko-san. “And,” he added seriously, after the laughter subsided, “with Del Housman.”
That drew serious applause.
It grew, and the audience came to their feet in recognition of their lost colleague.
McCord waited for quiet. When it came, he said that his own name would be remembered, but only because he had been a lifelong friend of Housman, and possibly because he’d written an introduction to the great physicist’s groundbreaking book on the big bang. “We still don’t know how it happened,” he said, “and maybe we never will. But Del at least gave us a workable theory.
“I was fortunate,” he added. “I knew Del from my earliest years. We chased each other up and down Boynton Street with pop guns. Well, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit here. Actually, chased . Later, we chased girls. In fact, I probably shouldn’t mention this, but a couple of them are here tonight.”
More laughter. Members of the audience looked around and pointed fingers.
“Getting serious for a moment,” McCord said, “when we consider what Del accomplished in his short lifetime, we are left to wonder what else he might have done, had he been granted a few more years. He loved science. I’ve never known anyone more addicted to resolving the riddles of the universe. And I guess I should admit that I never knew anyone with a more active mind. He used to start explaining things to me, where he thought he’d gotten hold of something, and the equations wound up on the board, and I’d get absolutely lost in the twists and turns.
“It’s been almost twelve years now since we lost him, and I still can’t believe he’s gone.” He stood for a moment, not finished, struggling with whatever else he had. Then he simply wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, said thank you, and returned to his seat. The audience remained silent for a few seconds before another round of applause began and took over the building.
We passed through the lobby and were on our way out the door when a tall, elderly guy with stern features drew alongside us. “Pardon me,” he said. “You’re Alex Benedict, aren’t you?” He had thick white hair and dark inquiring eyes.
“Yes,” said Alex.
“We have the same first name, sir. I’m Professor Alexander Clemens. I was an associate director at Quantum Research a few years ago.”
“It’s good to meet you, Professor. What can I do for you?”
“You might know me as Clemens. I’ve always used my middle name.”
“Oh yes. I remember. We met once or twice, I believe.”
“That was we lost the station.”
“How can I help you, Professor?”
“Call me Charlie, if you will. I need a favor.” He drew us back into the lobby and we settled into chairs in a remote corner where we would have some privacy. “Alex, did you see Lashonda Walton on HV the other night?”
“Yes.”
“I was working for her when it happened.”
“It must have been a difficult time.”
“It almost destroyed her.” He leaned forward so he could lower his voice and looked at me. He motioned with his eyes:
“You don’t need to worry about Chase.”
Charlie smiled. “The activity lately about the station has brought it all back. May I ask you a personal question?”
“You may.”
“I know you’ve been working on this thing. Have you made any progress? You have any idea what might have happened?”
“Charlie, I’m sorry, but I’d just as soon not discuss theories. If you’re asking whether we’ve been able to lock anything down, I’d have to say the answer is no.”
“But you’ve concluded Housman’s involved.”
“I haven’t drawn any conclusions yet.”
Clemens closed his eyes and nodded. “But that’s the direction you’re headed. Am I right?”
“That would be premature.”
He smiled. “Alex, we both know that Housman barely mentioned Charlotte Hill in his paper. She was taking the shuttle out every day, and for a long time they relied on his calculations. There’s no evidence that was the one to extend the search for the pods beyond the original specs. If he’d made the call, it would have shown up in the paperwork. That tells me it was Charlotte who took the shuttle deep. Who found the pods. And gave him his success. She was a smart woman. Probably genius level herself. And more flexible than Del. It doesn’t take much to conclude that he wasn’t anxious to share credit with her.”
“You’re suggesting,” said Alex, “Housman killed them all, and himself, rather than see that part of the story come out?”
“I’m asking for opinion, Alex.”
“I don’t have an opinion yet. I try not to form one before the evidence comes in.”
“What kind of evidence are you looking for? That’s the problem here. The station’s gone. The only thing that’s left is the cannon.” He stopped and took a breath. “No one will ever be able to prove , Alex. You know that as well as I do. The only rational course at this point is the one that points at Housman. But there’ll never be any solid evidence, one way or another. If you continue to pursue this investigation, you’ll get the same results we did. You’ll resurrect the old antagonism about Housman, and about Greene, and in the end accomplish nothing. You said you saw Lashonda. She’s being dragged through it again. It’s been a terribly painful experience for her. She was front and center during the investigation and still feels responsible for our failure to come up with anything. I understand that makes no sense, but if you know her at all, you’re aware that she accepts responsibility for everything that happens around her. I’m sure you’ve noticed she’s not here tonight.”