Cliff

Chapter 16 -- The California Institute of Technology

Tom told Sally what Fred had said. "We know where we're going next, don't we?"

"Cal Tech!," they both said simultaneously.

On their way, they had a long talk in the car.

They had spent a pretty slow cautious, uncomfortable, evening the night before, being very carefull not to offend each other sharing the room, and the bed, and having nothing much to say to each other. Suddenly finding the university where the computer came from had wiped everything else from their minds except the single idea: find the owner of that computer.

So mindless computer it was, and lying very still in bed and not talking to each other at all once they got in bed. Amazingly, Tom had slept, and now that the situation was a little more normal for him, he had something to talk about.

"Sally, why are we doing this? I mean, why is it this important. Do you want revenge, or justice, or are you just mad? I don't mean to ask silly questions, but I really never expected you to go so radical about it, especially after what you said about Tom. Maybe not even staying with him after graduation, I mean."

Well, here it was. Asking the question the way Tom had done it had finally told her exactly what to say. She hesitated a moment before speaking. It might sound either silly or insane. But she decided to go ahead. Another one of those things she felt like doing and was pretty sure she had a good reason for doing, but couldn't have told you what the reason was.

"Tom, all my life I've had to role play just to survive. School has always been very easy for me, and I've been ostracised by a lot of people because of it. I stayed in trouble most of the time. How many kids do you know who did detention time for reading a math book in biology class? Boy, was that a surprise. The other kids were in for skipping class, or even drugs. I was there for boredom. I had a teacher who just kept telling me over and over that better times were coming, and to just keep on following the rules until I grew out of high school and maybe out of college. He was right, too. You know, I never even got a bachelor's degree. The first actual degree I got was MS. I didn't even want to pretend I was stopping and then starting over on the next level."

"I know your brain scares me," Tom said.

"Why would it scare you, for heaven's sake? I don't put you down. I learned long ago not to say what I thought most of the time. That's why I never had any real friends. There wasn't a soul in Oklahoma that I could talk to without putting on the act."

"Did you know that philosophy majors took logic courses? Probably not. Most folks don't know that. Thinking logically has it's limits, but it is still a valuable skill for a philosopher, to make an understatement. Anyway, I did it, and it was great, and it told me a lot about how you think. You can leap through problems requiring logic without batting an eye. I used to think you were guessing, but you aren't. I found out you are taking all the steps in the right order, but you are doing it so fast it looks like a guess. You solve problems in your head that don't even look like problems to you, but are completely impossible for us lesser lights. I don't know why you even talk to me."

"I wouldn't if you were logical. I love the poet in you. I love your soul, not your brain. Your body isn't half bad, either."

"That's a real conversation stopper."

"I don't want to stop. You asked a very good question. Why am I doing this, and especially why am I doing this at such a cost?"

"I don't know if it's justice, whatever that is, or revenge. Maybe I'm just mad that anyone thinks they can get away with it. Maybe the dean did it? Maybe Professor Lockridge did it. Christ, who in hell else could have done it?"

"The folks back home are perfectly content with a motiveless suicide. I tell them that's impossible, that every act has some motive. It may be a bad reason, or a silly reason, or even a crazy reason, but there is a reason. They just stare at me like I'm broccoli. It doesn't bother them that the whole thing doesn't make any sense. But it does bother me. A lot. If we knew the motive, we would know who did it."

"When that teacher told me to just hang on, that eventually I would get to use my brain, and not have to pretend any more and go through life with a sock in my mouth, I believed him. I looked forward to it. I have that now. It is so comfortable to be around people who think like I do, who don't have to excuse themselves somehow for not being able to count the change in their pocket. When I think something now, I just say it. If it's wrong, they tell me about it pretty quick."

"And then that stupid cop comes along, pats me on the head, and tells me to run along. That really fried my grits, Tom. I had decided once I got into the PhD program that I wasn't going to be treated like that any more, and that I wasn't going to fake that kind of thinking any more. We may be finding out that I was wrong about that, but for right now, we are going to find out what happened, and I don't care what it takes to do that. I've been putting off this fight for a long time. I'm not going to put it off any longer. I'm not going to wait any longer for me or anyone else to grow up. That cop and the rest of his silly-ass town is going to find out who killed Bob, and why. And if it has to be me that does it, then it has to be me."

She paused, "You know we'll probably lose a semester of coursework over this, of course?"

"I won't. You have to sign up for courses before you can lose credit for them."

"That's one of the things I like about you. I'm fascinated with you because I can't figure you out. I can explain me. A stubborn thoroughly pissed-off egotist. What's your story, big guy?"

"Who, me? I'm just along for the ride. I don't have any clear idea what I want to do with my life. You need help, and I like you, so I'm trying to help you. It feels good to be needed. Just call me Tonto."

"And I'm Qui No Sabe, eh?"

"Yeah, something like that. I couldn't quite hear for the wind noise. I hate to try to think out loud in your presence, but have you thought of what might happen once you do find out what happened to Bob?"

"No. And I don't care. At least, I don't think I care. And if you keep mentioning my superior brain I am going to stop the car, drag you out of it, and beat you alternately with my fists until you lose consciousness."

"Well, it's always nice to know what's in one's future. So who do you think did it right now?"

"No idea, Tom," Sally said, "It's not a good idea to speculate. Let's see what we can find out for sure. I really don't want to think about it. It's such a short list. There are only about a dozen people who could have done it, and we know all of them, because they all work at the research station. When we know why, then we'll know who."

We discuss what could be on the computer. Whose dissertation? Dissertations aren't secrets. It's about like having a secret billboard. It's only a secret to people outside of the field. The whole goal of a dissertation is to get it out there so somebody else can criticize it, and use it.

They made it to Cal Tech late in the evening and went directly to the library. Libraries stay open late, usually, and they were greatful for that. Each wanted to put off the inevitable motel room scene as long as possible, and that meant later than 11:00 pm.

The library was suitably huge, but well organized, and they had no trouble finding the local reference section. Looking through past issues of the campus newspaper for the past three years, they found what they were looking for in a little over an hour.

STUDENT DIES IN AVALANCHE

The body of First Victim was recovered yesterday from under an avalanche near Little Pumpkin Ski Resort in Nevada yesterday.

There wasn't much more. It seems that First was skiing with some friends from Cal Tech, and that he alone was caught in the avalanche. In spite of heroic efforts on the part of his friends to rescue him, he was not found in time.

First Victim was a graduate student in icthyology, working on his PhD.

There was more stuff, about how well First Victim was thought of, and the dangers of avalanches, and so on.

"You wanted to know his name. Now we know it. So what?" Tom asked.

"We know a little more than that. We even have a small connection. First Victim's field was icthyology. That computer ended up close to home."

"That does seem a bit fishy," Tom admitted.

That got him a cold stare. Possibly even a cold, fishy, stare.

"Yeah, things aren't obvious yet, but we don't ignore the coincidence either."

"Looks like a dead end to me. We still don't know why Bob was killed, or who did it. First Victim died in an avalanche, so his computer was sold, first to Fred, and then to Bob. And it may have had something on it, and that may have been a disertation. Whose disertation, by the way? Do we know that?"

"No telling. You would think his own."

"Let's find out." Sally took off at a trot towards the bank of computers. She searched the library for First Victim as an author of anything on icthiology. Then she looked for First Victim as an author of anything at all. After eliminating a series of children's books because they were too old, she expanded her search to the entire world of libraries. Again, nothing. No one with First Victim's name had ever published anything remotely related to their situation in the past 15 years.

"It wasn't a disertation, or he didn't publish it." Sally finally announced, discouraged, but definite.

"What now, kimo sabe?"

"We sleep. Tomorrow we go to School of Fish."