Chapter 6: The Professor

Speaker: "Senator Whering, you are out of order."

Senator Whering: "Excuse me, sir, but Senator Juliard is an ass." (Uproar in the gallery)

Speaker: "Senator Whering, you have been warned. I will charge you with Contempt if you -"

Senator Whering: "He seems to think that his fifty million pampered Californian constituents are the most important chunk of humanity in the network." (Laughter and more uproar in the gallery,) "Meanwhile there are TWENTY BILLION people in Auriga who are not represented here." (Gavel pounds bench)

Speaker: "You are charged with Contempt. Bailiff, seize that man."

Senator Whering: "You're (expletive deleted) crazy. Let me go--" (sound of fist impacting flesh. sound of overweight body hitting floor. chaos in the gallery. Speaker rises charging the offender but is drowned out by general hysteria as Senator Whering is dragged screaming from the Senate floor)

- Senate Record

09/09/4040 - 17:45GMT

The Professor entered the lecture hall two minutes before the beginning of class. He sat reviewing his notes until the precise instant the hour buzzer stopped, and then began his lecture.

"Nearly two millenniums ago, on the central plains of North America, there was a small village named Andover. This was during the final blossoming of Western Civilization, that fabled age of video and flight that was fueled by oil and the invention of the silicon chip. In the year 2090 AD the Andurin Aerospace Corporation was founded, the root, Andur, being an acronym for Andover.

"Of course, this body bore little resemblance to the Andurin Port Authority of today, but these were the roots laid down in the distant past. Construction was begun of an industrial complex nineteen centuries ago which was to grow into the megalopolis we know today as Andur, Earth's major port facility and the name of the political-industrial-cultural unit which enjoys a uniquely autonomous relationship with the government of the Human Network Ð Be sure to write that down, you will need to take notes, after all."

The Professor looked up at his class for the first time. Nine. History never was very popular, but there were three million students at the University and he'd never had a class larger than eleven.

"In this course we will trace the development of Andur from its beginnings, in the fading days of Western Civilization, through what's popularly referred to as the 'dark' ages that followed, on up to the opening of the port in 2417. The biological and nuclear holocaust of the early 22nd century, and the following two centuries of unrest will be the main topic of discussion for the first nine weeks. This is known as the Isolationist Period, although this term is somewhat misleading since Andur is virtually the only place that has preserved a reliable picture of the events of those times. Following mid-terms, we will continue on up to the repeal of the post-holocaust isolationist policies, and the events that surrounded the repeal in the pivotal year 2427."

He sighed and put down his notes. He discreetly scanned his students. They looked like babies to him, younger and younger every year.

"How many of you are genuinely interested in Andurin history?"

Nine hands slowly rose.

"How many of you are taking this course as a prerequisite for a Political Science thesis?"

Seven hands shot up. He couldn't believe any of them were old enough to be working on post-graduate degrees.

"You will learn why this course is required by learning how Andur came to be the power-broker that it is in modern society. The Port Authority, you see, holds a monopoly on certain technologies, which are supplied only to the Earth Companies and the Fleet, which is the base of the government's power, of course. Don't be fooled into believing that the mandate of the people has anything to do with the government's power. It's all very legal, and you will learn the whys and wherefores of it all in this class.

"What about you?" He pointed. A startled student looked confused.

"I Ð I'm a language major. I'm just interested É a required hour, you know."

"And you?"

An insolent young face creased with dawning contempt. At least the Professor saw it that way, and his opinion was all that mattered.

"Uh, yeah É required hour. The course sounded good."

"Get out."

The dawning insolence turned to shock.

"I paid for the course -- I need the -- "

"If you had read the timetable correctly you would know that to get into this course you need the instructorÕs permission. I am Professor Bolton. The instructor. I am denying you permission. Get out."

The student grumbled but got up and went to the door. He stopped once to turn and glare at Bolton, and then stomped out into the echoing and graffiti filled hallway of the Ibrium annex. The whole scene was a lie, and he felt like an ass sometimes when he did it, but it was an effective way of establishing respect right off the bat.

"Actually, I'm not that bad a guy," he said into the following silence, "and I hope that in the end you will all have enjoyed this class as much as I enjoy teaching it.

"However; there are certain topics which we will not be discussing in here. These are the rumors, the myths and the legends that say that in Andur reside immortal men. These -- tales, are untrue. They are bullshit. No sensible person believes that the men and women who sit in Council in Andur are the same who sat that Council a thousand years ago.

"In this class we will not seriously deal with such considerations. So, if there are any questions about this ask me now, so we can get it over with."

One young man raised his hand, the Language major. "Sir, can you tell me then why the rumors are so widespread in the Network. And also, what might be the origins of the myth. Sir."

There was always one in every class. "Well ... as to the persistence of the rumors, probably because we die. We all die long before we want to, and we always want to believe that somehow there is a way that we don't have to. The ancient Greeks had their Olympians, mythic creatures with desires and capricious natures that reflected man's own; but with power over nature and death itself. Western Civilization had its Christ, who brought their battered souls home to Jesus. We have Regen. We're a bit more pragmatic about it in that we seek only to improve the lengths of our short lives, and not attain immortality, nevertheless, it serves the same basic yearning we all have for more life. The fact that Regen is limited is probably why the myth of Andurin immortality continues, and is why the old religions will never die. You see?" Bolton nodded condescendingly to the young man.

"And the origins of the myth É sir?"

Bolton's brow creased. He suddenly realized he'd kicked the wrong student out. He cleared his throat.

"I would say the myth evolved during the late 24th century, but who really knows where such wild imaginings come from. In the chaos and confusion following a nuclear and biological holocaust, it's not too hard to imagine how the minds of people afflicted by such horrors would react to an agency that saves them from the chaos .. you see?"

The student, who had been listening intently, nodded slowly. "But the myth, it's much older than the 24th century. Sir."

'Persistent little dirtball,' thought Bolton. "Oh?"

"I've done some studies on the 24th and 25th centuries, specifically concerning the State of Norlon and the expedition of their great king, Edas, up the Mississippi in 2427. In fact, I've done some archeological work at the battle site at Kaskaskia. While I was there, I heard some old stories--"

"And I'd be delighted to hear them sometime," Bolton cut him off peremptorily. "If you're interested in writing a paper on the subject, I'd be glad to help you with any research you might be doing. Come to my office sometime." By his tone Bolton let it be known that the subject was closed, and that the student should not drop by his office anytime.

"Uh, yes, thank you."

Why did people cling to such ridiculous notions; everybody dies. Bolton shook his head, which undoubtedly made the student feel stupid.

"Well, first day and all, don't want to bend your brains. Syllabus is over there by the table get your books and I'll see you all on Wednesday."

The language major didn't stop for a syllabus, and he felt relieved that he would not have any more difficult questions to answer. He sat back and lost himself in his own thoughts, wondering why people insisted on believing the most ridiculous things, like a lady friend he sometimes visited who believed in Elvis, an ancient musician whose followers insisted had never died. So lost in his thoughts was he that didn't see the man in the black felt hat and Government Issue trench coat enter the classroom.

"Professor Bolton?" The man smiled. Bolton started in his chair and looked up at the man. The face did not seem right smiling. "I'm Hedeley. Commissioner Hedeley from Justice."

"So?" Bolton didn't like his smile at all.

"You are Professor Bolton?"

"Yes."

"Once Admiral in the Fleet?"

"Yes, you can't--"

"Once a member of the Board of the Andurin Port Authority?"

"These things aren't secrets to be hidden. What does the Justice Department want with me? I've committed no crime." Bolton started to get up, no small feat since he was a man of some rotundity.

"Admiral, Admiral É please. I did not mean to alarm you." He held up long skinny white palms in a gesture of peace. Bolton sat back down. "I am not here on official business. I am merely extending an informal invitation from his honor Judge Singh, to you, for a private meeting."

"What!" Bolton was astounded. "That shithead Singh! What for?"

Hedeley winced, looked over his shoulder, then took three quick steps toward Bolton's desk

"I believe one of the reasons may be precisely because of such outbursts. Some of them quoted are quite scandalous. Then É then there is your past record, of course."

"Yes," said Bolton dryly, "there is always that." He pursed his lips and stood up. He was a large man, even for the planetborn, and had developed a tremendous girth in the low gravity of Luna. His moustache drooped over his lips and he twirled the end of it absently between his fingers wondering what a man like the Judge, who was one of the twenty or so people who controlled the Human Stellar Network, could possibly want with him.

"Look, I'm hardly a public figure to be--"

"No. You look. Do not make this difficult." For just a moment something mean and ruthless looked out of Hedeley's eyes, then his demeanor changed as if a switch had been thrown. "Of course, you realize that a polite gesture of this kind from a personage such as Judge Singh should not be refused."

"Of course," said Bolton, who was beginning to sweat.

"The Judge's residence then, at seven." Hedeley handed him a card with an address on it.