Ascendancy

Ascendancy

as·cen·dan·cy (uh-sehn'duhn-sEE)

- noun

1. Decisive advantage, domination.

2. The position or state of being dominant.

Part One

Discovery

The mind is its own place, and in itself

Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of

Heaven.

John Milton

1608-1674

May 2, 1981

Dr. Oliver treasured his time in these caves, however it was tough on the knees of the 56-year old teacher. I'm spending too much time behind my desk. Soon I'll have to bring a partner on these descents. That of course would defeat the whole purpose. It was here in the solitude of these caves, far away from his students -- and Olivia -- that he found peace.

Once a week during the summer and once a month in the fall, he traveled these caverns alone, clearing his head and steeling himself for his classroom and home life. It was over thirty years ago, a lifetime ago, not long after he first came to Keene that he discovered the caverns less than an hour away. From the beginning he was drawn here, but it wasn't until years later that it became an indispensable escape from his life.

Keene, New Hampshire lay in the valley of two small mountains. For centuries, run-off water had carved passageways in the soft sedimentary deposits left by the glaciers that long ago formed this region. These ancient underground waterways seemed to be a well-kept secret. In all his years down here he had only glimpsed a handful of fellow spelunkers. Among his colleagues, and even the locals, hardly any one seemed aware of the tunnels running beneath their feet.

Walter liked it that way.

Through the years he had created a detailed mapping of this subterranean labyrinth. Although there was no end in sight, he had put to paper a twisted maze covering over a hundred miles. More than anything else, it had become the defining work of his life. It hadn't started out that way, but then his life had never gone according to plan.

It took Walter a few hours to reach the starting point of this weekend's journey. This was his first descent of the season, the winter being too cold and the spring too wet until now. During the winter, like every winter, he had poured over his maps identifying which unexplored pathways looked the most promising. Today he had decided on a tunnel opening far back in the central passage clusters. The clusters were carved through much tougher rock, materials much closer in make-up to the rest of New England. Being harder, this area would be drier and easier to traverse. The only hard part would be lifting his hefty frame into the tunnel's opening which was four feet up the cavern wall. Adding to the difficulty, years of run off had given the mouth a jagged lower lip and the floor below an uneven stubbly pit.

Studying the problem, Walter wished he had remembered how much trouble this would be. He removed knee pads and palm pads from a silver backpack and slipped them on. He carefully placed his hands on the ledge and tested his strength. Six months with little more exercise than walking from the car to his classroom had left his arms unwilling to perform such a task.

If only he wasn't so heavy. Short for my weight, he corrected himself. After all if he was six feet tall instead of only five foot eight, his 180 pounds would be just about right.

After chucking his backpack into the raised passage, Walter gave himself a quick heave, getting the bottom of his stomach over the ledge. Then, his legs and arms flailing, he slowly and clumsily inched his way in. Successful, but drained, he sprawled on the floor striving for breath. Once rested, he again donned his backpack.

The low ceiling forced Walter to crawl. Walking on hands and knees meant he had to stop every few minutes to update the map. It was a slow tedious process that left his mind free to wander. Dr. Oliver spent a large amount of time mulling over his past, but he did so for commiseration never self-recrimination or understanding.

He hadn't been a brilliant or motivated student in high school. His talent for, and enjoyment of, mathematics brought him acceptable, but not exceptional grades. After being rejected by the colleges he desired, he settled for the University of New Hampshire. It was a good school, and admittance policies were somewhat lax for New Hampshire residents. After several years of undistinguished studies he acquired a Master's Degree in Mathematics.

He had expected he would start his academic career at U.N.H. However having kept mostly to himself he had not formed any bonds with his teachers and was unable to garner an emphatic recommendation. He was not accepted for any teaching position. Following the path of least resistance, he applied for a position in U.N.H.'s sister college.

Thus it was that Walter Harmon Oliver came to Keene. A year later he had met and married the daughter of an aging physics professor.

Olive Kane was a mildly attractive woman almost three years older than Walter. She and her father had moved here shortly after her mother had died of pneumonia when she was six.

In the middle of her first semester of college, at U.N.H., Dr. Kane suffered a stroke that cost him partial use of the left arm and leg. She had dropped out and came back to care for him. Even after his return to work Olive never returned to college.

At the onset of every semester Dr. Kane threw a social mixer for the academic staff. It was during his first attendance at such a party that Walter noticed the shy, mousy woman pushing Dr. Kane's wheelchair. Usually intimidated by the fairer sex, he found himself remarkably emboldened by her timidity. He spent the entire event talking with her, and then surprised himself by asking her out.

For more than ten years Olive had devoted her life to her father. Early on, her duty had provided a safe haven from the real world. Recently though, she felt a need growing inside her. She had begun to dream about a handsome stranger who would come and take her away.

This dream saddened her because she knew it would never come to pass. Even if someone was to notice her, she could never simply abandon her father. She loved him dearly. Still Olive Kane was looking for an escape.

Walter seemed to offer the perfect solution. Through marriage she would have a life to call her own, and since Walter and her father both worked at the college she could also keep an eye on his welfare.

In fact, although she never told anyone, several months later when Walter proposed to her, her only hesitation had been over whether Olive Oliver was too ridiculous a name to bear. A few hours later she had decided she could live with it.

For Walter's part of his attraction to Olivia (she had quickly dropped her former nickname after the engagement) was a craving for the kind of respect her father commanded. By marrying into the Kane family he expected, in time, to coast into a position of tenure and admiration.

Walter came out of his reverie long enough to notice that the ceiling had raised just enough to allow him to stand if he stooped slightly. Gratefully, he eased himself off his knees and lapsed almost immediately back into his past.

Being the new man, Walter was given the lower echelon of math classes to teach. Basic Math, Algebra, Geometry and Trigonometry. Teaching these classes bored him greatly. The students, not having been interested or gifted enough to learn these basics in high school, were for the most part unmotivated. Student and teacher alike drifted through his classes.

Walter was still young and he knew it was just a waiting game. Waiting for a senior member, which was everyone, of the math department to leave or die. He was patient.

Still the lack of challenge in his students and his subjects, left great oceans of time for his mind to wander. Basic math students tended to be freshmen, and it wasn't long before the more attractive young women began to catch his eye. Over the years that followed he developed an active fantasy life centering on his female students.

A dull pain dragged Dr. Oliver back to the present. He had hooked a small stalactite with the ropes on the top of his backpack. He was jerked back, the shoulder straps cutting into his dry and toneless skin. Swearing softly he leaned against the rounded cavern wall, and unstrapped the backpack from which he removed his canteen, rock hammer and heavy coat. Usually the exertion of walking and climbing kept him warm enough with just a light coat, but down here you never knew what the temperature would be. So he always packed a heavy coat and was now glad for the extra padding between the straps and his bruised shoulder. He drank a refreshing mouthful of water and fastened the canteen to his belt.

Walter replaced the backpack that was now laden with only his rock hammer, a light snack, two spare batteries for the helmet light, assorted plastic bags, pens and chalk. After taking a few experimental steps, Dr. Oliver removed the pack again.

Well, I'll just collect some samples around here while I give it some time to heal. Consulting his map he was surprised to learn he was much deeper in than he had realized. Even after all these years it still surprised him how accurately he could map even when his mind was elsewhere.

His interest in rock collecting had originally sprung from the whimsical hope of finding gold, diamonds or some other precious rock. Even though he knew that this area was not known for these materials he still kept the hope. Not that he followed it through with any more completeness than he did any other aspect of his life, except his mapping.

For several hours he skimmed the bright beam of his helmet light over the tunnel walls looking for reflective flashes. Chipping here and there, he dropped the more interesting rocks into plastic bags. At home he would polish them.

Now moving less strenuously than he had been earlier, he felt more comfortable in the padded jacket. He was glad again that he had brought it. Consulting his explorers watch he observed it was fifty-two degrees. The watch had been a gift from Olivia 5 years ago. It had surprised him because her gifts always displayed how precious little she understood about him, but this present had genuinely pleased him.

The light from his helmet reflected on something far down the tunnel. It must be large to reflect that brightly this far away, he thought. At the same time he observed that this tunnel must be uncommonly straight as well.

He walked stiffly but swiftly with growing excitement along the slightly downward sloping passage. Walter slowed as he got close enough to recognize the substance lining the end of what was now clearly a cul-de-sac: Ice. Stupid, worthless, ice.

He turned back to get his clipboard and update his map on the termination of this passage, when suddenly he turned back. "Ice? How the fuck could there be ice at this temperature?" Walter puzzled aloud to the empty tunnel walls. Of course, it must have gotten colder as the tunnel went deeper into the earth. He consulted his watch: Forty-seven degrees.

Confused he inspected the wall. The ice was a very thin layer coating the parabolic ending of the passage. It was while taking in this shape that he noted a small baseball sized rock embedded near the center of the wall. Its roundness lent the rock an exotic quality that appealed to him. Looks like it could be a meteorite. The little ones are supposed to burn up though. He'd read that somewhere.

Using the small rock hammer, he chipped at the area around the object. The old red handled tool had been with him for the last twenty years. For the first time Walter noticed how frustratingly dull the head had become. It took over ten minutes to carefully extract the rock.

He held it up in his left hand.

"Damn," he cried out in pain, his middle finger burning.

Before he could catch himself, he dropped the orb. No, not burning, cold. Like touching ice with wet hands. Well moron, he shook his head, being lodged in ice will make an object cold. Although it didn't feel very cold while I was freeing it.

Inspecting the damage Walter noticed a tiny triangular white mark on the middle section of his finger. He was relieved when it went away after he nursed it for a short time.

His attention returned to the strange object.

He bent down to retrieve the rock and noticed a black corner sticking out of it, as if a small perfect cube were lodged in the orb. Slowly, he lowered his aching body and sat cross-legged near the orb. Unconsciously he rubbed his wounded digit on the leg of his gray corduroy pants.

Over the next few minutes Walter learned the following facts: the cube was cold, but the rock could be safety touched. He was unable to decide what the cube, if it was a cube, was made of. It seemed impossibly black.

Walter began to become excited. The Artifact, as he now thought of it, seemed too perfect to be natural. Sure, some minerals had interesting formations, but there were always some imperfections. The perfect straightness of the angles, the flawless color, it felt manmade. But fused in a rock that looks like a meteorite? It brought interesting possibilities to Dr. Oliver's mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was going to be famous after all.

As he stood, he noticed that the thin layer of ice had melted. This increased his excitement. He began to dream and scheme about his future as he packed up and prepared to leave.

Nowhere in his thoughts was the idea that he would be dead in just under a month.

May 6, 1981

From Dr. Walter Oliver's Private Journal:

I have determined that nothing further can be learned about the artifact without removing it from the meteorite that surrounds it. In preparation for that I used a Motion Picture Camera to make an exact and full record of the artifact as I had discovered it.

That accomplished, I carefully removed the outer casing in three sections. These have been stored for careful examination.

* * * * *

Kyle leaned forward and absent-mindedly brushed his long unkempt greasy black hair away from his eyes. His attention was divided today. A large portion of his consciousness was focused, as usual, on furtive glances at Meredith.

Poised attentively one row to the left and ahead of him, Meredith was dressed unusually alluringly in a tight black sweater and short jeans. Kyle, who regularly spent most of his class time staring at her anyway, was completely captivated by this more revealing vista.

Under normal circumstances he would have given this his full attention, however Doc Oliver was acting strangely today, and this was distracting him. He couldn't quite figure out what was wrong. His finger slowly traced the embossed circle surrounding the anarchy symbol on the chest of his black T-shirt, while he tried to solve this distraction. The Doc barely seemed aware of his own lecture. This was hardly unusual. He too was directing stolen glances at Meredith. This was also not without precedence. At some time or another, each of his female students had come under the speculative consideration of the Doctor. No, Kyle thought, it was more how he was staring at her. It was less like lust and more like apprehension. As if he had a question he was too afraid to ask her. Also, most disturbingly, the Doc's gaze periodically swept his way. Yet whenever their eyes locked, the old man kept looking away.

* * * * *

He heard his voice droning on in some distant part of his brain. He was use to, and had complete confidence in, his ability to conduct his classes on autopilot. He gave his full concentration to the problem at hand.

It had taken him exactly three days to exhaust every avenue of study he could think to bring to task trying to evaluate the Artifact.

In the beginning he had taken careful and exacting steps. First he had taken Polaroids of the object from every possible angle. Then he measured how much volume it displaced when lowered into a measuring flask of water. He weighed it, then calculated its density. At this point he spent two hours debating whether or not he should remove the rock casing.

Walter decided he could go no farther without doing so, but he felt he should film the object first. He recalled Professor Stanton having gone on and on when he had purchased a 16mm Motion Picture Camera a few years back. On the way to the short pudgy English professor's office he rehearsed his speech on why the younger man should loan him the camera. He was barely into this approach when Stanton got up and strolled over to his closet.

"I never touch the thing anymore. Use it as long as you need. If you run out of film, you can order more at the Pharmacy," he said emerging with a large silver case.

Dr. Oliver was pleased as he returned to his office, and after a few moments study, filmed the Artifact from all angles. Next he set up the camera to record the removal of the rock shell. Slowly and carefully he used his rock cleaning skills to chisel a seam around the fist sized ball. He attempted to get the rock off in two pieces but was quite relieved when he managed it in three. He carefully placed the fragments in a Tupperware container and filled it with fine sand.

He was beginning to feel more comfortable with the Artifact. After all he could always claim that he didn't know what he had. And that was the truth, he chuckled to himself. He wasn't breaking any laws. At worst he could be portrayed as a fool. The risk was minimal; the potential reward was tremendous.

However there was a problem. Walter couldn't risk telling anyone about the discovery. It would only be a matter of time before word leaked out, and someone official came to relieve him of the Artifact. He would not be allowed to monopolize such a monumental discovery.

However, if he could amass enough information on the orb, it might be his name attached to it in the history books, and the press.

So it was a slender tightrope that he walked. He dared not damage the object, which meant limiting his experiments. He couldn't let any one knowledgeable know about it, so he couldn't consult anyone. To make matters worse, as a math teacher he had no legitimate access to the science labs, nor any clear idea of what to do in them if he did.

The solution was to approach one of his students.

* * * * *

Meredith was feeling slightly self-conscious, not that she would ever let it show. She was going to meet Wood immediately after class and then they were going straight off to watch Emily play an important soccer match.

She had decided to wear a sweater that Wood had mentioned he liked. Liked a lot. She realized that she would have to suffer through leers from the perverted Dr. Walter and that creep Kyle, but she had underestimated the looks she would get from others. Lots of other girls dressed more provocatively. They just weren't used to it from her.

She compensated by paying even more attention than usual to the Doctors speech. Not that it was interesting. It was almost straight out of the textbook chapters she had read the night before.

Other than subtly correcting a mistake, for the other student's benefit, she asked no questions. The doctor however, it seemed wanted to ask her something. She began to map strategies for getting out the door the moment the bell rang.

* * * * *

While he talked, Walter argued in his mind about whether to approach Kyle or the one called Mouse.

Several months ago he had caught Kyle cheating on an exam. Most teachers would have reported the kid, and been done with it. He however saw the potential and simply warned him. Slowly he took the lad under his wing and into his confidence. Yes, he could trust him with his secret. But would the boy be able to help him? He wasn't the brightest or most ambitious student.

On the other hand, Meredith was easily his brightest student, but not only did he have no control over her, she always seemed uncomfortable in his presence . Also it seemed wise not to put himself in the path of temptation. Olivia had made it clear she would never let the scandal fade, if he slipped up again. Her life would be devoted to making his life "a living hell that would follow him from school to school."

As the bell rang, he decided to inquire whether Kyle knew someone who might be able to help.

* * * * *

When the bell rang Kyle witnessed Meredith spring from her chair, grab her books in midair and fly out the door.

Kyle slowly ambled out of his chair and joined the queue of students lined up and filing out into the hallway.

"Just a minute, Mr. Ouellette. Would you stay behind, please?" he heard the doctor request.

It always worried Kyle when Dr. Oliver was polite. Then again, what choice did he really have? He stepped sideways out of line and circled back to the large oak desk. He stared down at the messy cluster of papers and trinkets as they waited for the rest of the students to exit.

As the last straggler left, Dr. Oliver walked over to the door and closed it.

Oh, this ought to be fun, thought Kyle sarcastically.

However, when the doctor turned back he was all smiles. Ah, he wants something. Kyle was relieved.

He pressed his hands together and looked calmly down at his student. "Kyle, you know that I am fond of Archeology?"

Kyle knew that the Doc liked caves and rock collecting. He mentioned that quite often. Archeology, however, was a new revelation. Where was he going with this? Kyle flipped both possible answers through his mind and decided to go with the truth.

"Well it is an old passion of mine."

The Doc seemed to be waiting for a response.

"Uh-huh," Kyle offered.

"Yes, well I was wondering if you had any friends with experience in Archeology?"

Ah, so there it is. Nasson didn't have an Archeology teacher, but several neighboring colleges did. Why didn't Doc want to ask one of them? Best to fish him out. "What about the teachers at UNH?"

"No, no," Walter's mind turned rapidly, "it's not important enough to bother them." He quickly added, "But I would like to handle this promptly."

Kyle started to speak when Dr. Oliver's mind finally shaped a new cover story. "Look, Kyle, I ... found ... an old knickknack on one of my rock climbs. I would like to get it identified and dated. If it turns out to be ... interesting, then we can bring in the big guns."

Hmmm, he thinks it might be very valuable.

"Can I see it?" Kyle asked trying to sound innocent.

"I don't keep it here!" Walter snapped. "Do you have a friend or not."

In truth, Kyle had few people that were friendly to him, and fewer friends. Then again, Pete owed him a favor and Pete knew everyone.

"I think so, but I'll have to ask around."

"Well, please act swiftly. I'd like to wrap this up in short order. Maybe you'll know by class tomorrow."

To Kyle it didn't sound like a question.

"It could mean a few points on the final. That's just a month away," he said rapidly without pausing for any response as he hustled Kyle out the door. "Oh, and this is to stay strictly between us."

That was old Doc, charming as always. Points on the final? Cool. Wonder what Doc is up to?

As Kyle worked his way to the steep front steps, he tried to recall which dorm Pete lived in.

May 7, 1981

From Dr. Walter Oliver's Private Journal:

There can no longer be any doubt that the artifact is not of natural origin. It is clearly manufactured. It is equally clear that it was manufactured using technology not currently used on Earth.

Removed from its rocky covering I am now able to study the true artifact for the first time. The object forms a perfect tetrahedron, each length of which is almost exactly 2 7/32 inches. The object is uniformly jet black and made from an unknown material. It is extremely cool to the touch but has no effect on a standard mercury thermometer. I attempted to measure the temperature with an electronic thermometer but unfortunately the batteries went dead.

Beyond its uniform blackness there is only one feature present on the artifact. Along what I am now referring to as the base, is a small metal looking collar. The circular ring is just under 1 inch in diameter and appears to have broken off a larger structure as it has an irregular jagged edge.

I am unable to determine how the collar is affixed to the artifact. It can be easily slid around the base's smooth surface but I have not been able to remove it. The closest effect I can relate this to is magnetism. A magnet on a low friction metal surface might behave like this. The object however has no effect on a compass and seems to possess no magnetic properties.

* * * * *

Despite being five sided the center of Nasson campus was referred to as the Quad. It was a small grass field edged with tarred walkways. Three trampled down dirt pathways bisected it. Along the sides were two dorms, the dining hall, the Administration Building, the library and the two main teaching buildings. These were called Mac Hall and the blandly named Science Building. It was toward the latter that Pete hurried now.

He was late for his Organic Chemistry class. Being a full five credit course it was scheduled for every weekday. He was used to rushing to class on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays as the course started at 8 AM. It was generally easier on the remaining days since it wasn't held until four in the afternoon.

Today though, he had been studying under the Quad's lone tree. The cooling breeze rustling through the slender birch leaves, combined with the dry history text, had caused him to drift off. The dim class bell from the Science Building simultaneously woke him and informed him that class had begun.

He darted up the steep stone steps, passed the fake marble pillars and through the sturdy double wooden doors. Once inside the building's stately facade the style drastically changed to a more clinical structure. Pete's black sneakers squeaked on the white tile of the stairwell that lead to the basement. He grabbed the doorjamb of room 14 and half swung into the room.

Pete slunk along the drab green wall and took his usual seat. He readied himself for a caustic remark from Professor Sheffield, but after a moment he realized one was not forthcoming. The teacher gave him one half-hearted glare over his glasses and continued on with his discussion.

* * * * *

Kyle planted himself outside the classroom. He positioned himself carefully so that he was not in line of sight of the teacher, but could keep an eye on Pete. Pete had not yet looked his way and Kyle saw no point in trying to catch his attention. There was still 20 minutes left in the class.

It had been a frustrating 24 hours for Kyle. Not only had he not been able to catch Pete at dinner, but later discovered that he had gone into Sanford. Probably drinking with his townie friends. Things had not gone better today. So it was now, with less than hour before his class with Dr. Oliver, that Kyle had finally tracked him down.

Kyle found himself imagining what it would be like to be him.

Peter Kelley, at 5' 9", slender build and only mildly handsome, was as amazingly popular as Kyle could only dream of being. Funny, and charming he easily made friends with almost everyone he met. And genuinely liking people he went out of his way to meet many.

Pete also took care to look and dress well. His eye for fashion and his social ease made him a legendary ladies' man.

Some would say, and Pete would be the first to agree with them, that he was overcompensating for his poor upbringing in the very town he now went to College in. Truth was though, that he had always gotten along well with everyone. Except for a conscious decision to always dress upscale, Pete hadn't changed one bit.

There was a subtle none too friendly rivalry between the young men from town and the college kids. It was a tribute to Pete's skill with people that he easily assimilated into both crowds without losing his allegiance to either.

Pete was proud of his ability to put himself through college. He had worked damn hard to get great grades in High School. Good grades did not come easily for him, but he made time to put in the extra effort. That and his community work had paid off handsomely in the form of the Lyman Walker Memorial Scholarship.

The Scholarship was given by the Nasson Township to "the most promising community minded high school senior of the year." The Scholarship provided full tuition to Nasson College, provided that the student performed 12 hours of community service per week.

While in High School, Pete had worked as a filing clerk for the Sanford Police Department. Being in the same building as the Fire Department and Town Hall he was often "loaned out" to do grunt work for them as well. Now in College, he performed the same work to fulfill the requirements of the Scholarship.

On top of this, Pete worked one and half hours every noontime at the Lion's Den for, as he put it: "a little spending money."

Meals at Nasson were held in the building that formed the base of the Quad. Though listed in the official literature as the commissary, it was universally referred to as the Commons. The food was edible and, as paid for as part of the tuition, a student could eat as much as he desired. The Commons also brought large portions of the College's six hundred and some odd students together that would otherwise probably not meet. Thus it formed an important social function.

However, institutional food being what it is, students occasionally got the urge for something better. So, several years earlier the Lion's Den had been born. Created in the basement of Marland Hall, barely 30 yards from the Commons, the restaurant was run by and for the students. The prices were low and food was simple and tasty. Whatever meager proceeds there were went to the dorm.

The dining area was small, with barely room for the six booths and the short thin counter that sat five and separated it from the kitchen. It was however nicely decorated and had a charming cozy atmosphere.

The Lion's Den was run by a crew of seven, most of whom hardly ever saw each other. Pete shared the lunch shift with Doris. Pete cooked and Doris served the customers.

Even with his Classes, studying, community service and work schedule, Pete still found time to keep active with his college and town friends, and even get the occasional moment to himself.

If Kyle had known any of this it would have had made tracking him down much easier.

* * * * *

Toward the end of the class Pete spotted Kyle out in the hall. Through a series of hand gestures he came to understand that Kyle needed to talk to him. Pete had mimicked meeting at the Commons, and Kyle motioned that he had a class.

Pete flipped his schedule through his mind. He had to eat and then get over to the Police Station by half past five. Finally he held his hand up with three fingers extended.

* * * * *

When Pete emerged from the classroom Kyle swiftly steered him into the empty room across the hall.

"Hey Pete, you're lookin' good," Kyle led in pleasantly. His head was bent slightly forward. He did not quite meet Pete's eyes.

"Feeling good, too. How about you?" inquired Pete. He hoped Kyle would get to the point swiftly. Although Pete would talk to anyone, the nervous teenager was not one his favorite people. Also Pete had noticed that he only talked to him when he needed something.

"Can't complain, although I haven't been getting enough sleep lately..." he trailed off.

Seeing that he wasn't going to come to the point quickly Pete tried to pry the info out of him. He wasn't as diplomatic as he would have been with a more sensitive person, or if he wasn't so rushed.

"Look Kyle, I hate to speed you along, but I've got to meet someone in a couple minutes."

"Yeah. OK. Sorry. Um, well the thing is... do you know anyone -- that is a student here -- that dabbles in Archeology?"

"Archeology is a wide subject," he said absent-mindedly to keep the conversation going while he thought through the hobbies of his friends. "Perhaps if I knew what you needed."

"Well it's kind of secret. Suffice to say, a friend of mine has unearthed something and this friend wants to know what it is," Kyle said pleased that he hadn't had to reveal too much.

"Is it pottery or something like that?"

"Actually, I haven't seen it."

"OK," Pete looked briefly at the clock behind him, "let me ask around. Meet me tomorrow at noontime at the Lion's Den. I'll let you know what I turn up."

"OK." Kyle made no move to leave.

"Well, gotta run. Bye," Pete said, turning out the door and flying up the stairwell.

May 8, 1981

From Dr. Walter Oliver's Private Journal:

I brought in an Antiquities expert today. She was unable to identify the object. She confirmed my observations that the Artifact appears manufactured. If she made the conclusion that it is of alien design, she did not voice her opinion.

* * * * *

Emily's daily routine started at six in the morning. At that time she would get up, throw on some sweats and run up to Rogers Field. She then usually put in a couple of hours of practice with two or three other members of the soccer team, before returning to her dorm. After showering and dressing for the day, she would join her friends at nine for breakfast at the Commons.

Today she had gotten up an hour earlier to get in extra practice. Tomorrow was a decisive match that would decide whether her team went to the regionals. She was determined to be on her best game.

Pete arrived at the field toward the end of her practice and sat down on the grassy area under the trees. He watched Emily play and shook his head softly.

Pete had dated Emily toward the end of their sophomore year. Like most of Pete's relationships it had been romantic, passionate and had ended swiftly but amicably.

Those that knew Emily had trouble reconciling the loving caring earthy young women they were used to with the competitive decisive dynamo they witnessed on the soccer field.

To be honest Emily herself had been very surprised by the champion spirit that had risen in her the first time she stepped upon the field.

She had tried out her Freshman year on a lark. A friend she had just met, but grown immediately fond of was trying out and Emily had accompanied her. She had watched the try outs for only a few minutes when she felt something stirring within her. She made the team, while her friend did not. Despite her best efforts the friendship dissolved rapidly after that.

Over that year, Emily began to garner a reputation for being ruthless on the playing field. She would constantly get in the way of opposing players much bigger than her, and was willing to block shots no matter how hard they were kicked. The next year, she was promoted to second string. Now in her Junior year, she was not only first string but had emerged as the star; the most celebrated player.

Emily was also enjoying being in the best shape she had ever been in. Prior to discovering the sport, the 5 foot 5 inch brown haired girl, had been slightly overweight and dowdy. Now she was lean, fast and very toned. She had cut her hair much shorter and had gained a self-confidence that drew people in.

Off the field, Emily was still friendly and caring, her fierce brown eyes not withstanding. As a bonus, even though she spent at least two hours a day practicing, plus the regular practice and game time, she found herself getting better grades than ever.

Pete watched her play for a while, before she caught sight of him. She shouted something he didn't catch and he waved back. A half hour later she came trotting up to him.

"Hi Pete, come to watch me sweat?" she asked pulling a small water container from her backpack and downing it in one gulp.

"Always a pleasant way to wake up," he remarked with a wide grin.

"Oh yes, I'm such a lovely sight this morning." She tossed her short sweat soaked hair backward and struck a dramatic pose, her sweatsuit hiding most of her alluring figure.

"You're not breaking up with Jocie are you?"

Jocie was Pete's current girlfriend. Prior to her his longest relationship had lasted seven weeks. Pete had started dating her in November and they were still going strong. Way down deep Emily felt a pang of resentment that she hadn't been the one to tame him. However, her comment was not a petty one. The last three times he had come to watch her practice it had been to do a little soul searching after breaking it off with a girl.

"No, it's nothing like that. She's wonderful. In fac..."

"So was I."

"True."

She continued, "So was Lila. So was Jackie, Sami and Tammy. Shall I go on?"

He lowered his head and shook it slowly side to side.

"I know. I'm was an idiot. But things are going really well at the moment. Honestly."

"So what's up?" she asked changing the subject. She stared into his eyes inquisitively.

"Your father is an Archeologist? Right?"

"Yeah," she said slowly, curiously.

"And you said you were interested in all that, when you were younger. Right?" Pete had an amazing ability to remember things like this. It was a large part of his charm.

"In all that," she smiled, "yup."

"So, if I had an old cup or something would you be able to identify it?"

She didn't ask him why. He would get to it when he was ready.

"Probably not off the top of my head, but I should know which books to look in."

"You going to breakfast as usual?" Pete inquired.

"Sure am," she replied, then added unnecessarily, "at 9."

"I've got a class, and then I'll meet you there."

"You're just gonna leave me hanging, aren't you?" She pretended to be annoyed.

"It's no biggie, just a favor. I'll go over it when we meet, but I've gotta get to class."

Pete stood up, gave her a hug and walked over to the bike stand. Removing his old three-speed, he started back the two miles to campus.

* * * * *

It was a tired but glowing face that shown up at Pete as he took a seat next to Emily at the Commons.

"Hi Kathy" he offered to the slight freshman sitting across from him. "Good Morning, Emily," he said turning to her and giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He flashed his most winning grin.

In his other hand he held one of the green plastic trays the school provided for the students to load with food. His contained a small heap of scrambled eggs, some small diced potatoes and two very sad looking pieces of toast. He placed the tray next to Emily and went back for a container of milk.

Emily spoke once he was seated.

"So what's this big secret?" Emily asked.

"No secret, a friend of Kyle's..."

"Kyle? Creepy Kyle?" she interrupted sounding surprised.

"He's not that bad."

"Let's see. He always wears black. He never smiles. He never looks me in the eyes, and yet he always seems to be staring at me. One time I tried to have a conversation with him and he spent the whole time talking to my chest."

"He's just shy that's all. He's probably still a virgin. So he's shy and horny. That's gotta be an awkward combination. Since when are you so judgmental?"

"You're right, but there's something about him, just gives me the willies. Anyway, how'd we get on this topic?"

"A friend of Kyle's..."

"I can't picture Kyle with friends."

Pete laughed, then added, "You wanna hear this, or not?"

"Sorry."

"Anyway, this friend of Kyle's"

"Anyone I know?" This time she giggled as she cut him off.

"Kyle didn't say."

"OK, so it's an alleged friend."

Pete didn't want to get side tracked again. "OK, his alleged friend unearthed something, and he wants to know what it is."

"What was it?"

"He didn't say, 'unearthed something' was his exact words."

"You didn't think to ask?" chimed in Kathy. "Sorry, but I couldn't help listening along."

Pete looked over at her. A half a pancake remained on the tray in front of her. It was too clean to have held much else. "I asked. Kyle said he hadn't seen it."

"So you want to know if I can identify every object that ever was?" she teased him.

"Yup, that's about it," he shot back. "Oh, and I got the idea they wanted to do this quickly."

"When?" she asked, but spoke again just as he started to.

"Let me guess: you don't know."

"You didn't want me to make it easy did you?" Pete paused. "When are you free?"

"Well, tomorrow's the big game. It'd either be tonight or next Tuesday. Can you set it up for tonight? I'd like to get it out of the way."

"I'm meeting Kyle at noon at the Lion's Den. Care to join us?"

"You behind the counter and me alone keeping company with Kyle? I'll pass." She made a face at him.

"Since when did you become such a snob?" he asked half seriously.

"I didn't mean it that way. I don't care if someone sees us together. I just don't want to have to support both sides of a conversation while being visually undressed and appraised." She paused for breath and asked, "Why are you helping him anyway?"

"I help everyone. You know that. Don't you read the papers?"

Last year the Sanford Enterprise had done a follow-up piece on Pete, that had been overly flowing with praise and had generally made him sound like a saint. His friends had inflicted months of good natured teasing after that.

"Plus he has done me a few favors," he added vaguely.

"You're not going out tonight? Surely you weren't planning on staying home on Friday night!" Pete asked quickly lest she ask the obvious question.

What Kyle had done was to supply alibis a few times when Pete had started new relationships before officially ending the current ones. He wasn't going to lie to Emily, and he didn't want to get into the truth right now either.

She answered breaking him from his revelry, "With the big game tomorrow, I need to be fully rested."

"Have you got a class at 1:45?"

"No, I'll be in my room."

"OK, I'll come by and let you know what's up."

"It's fine by me," she said using a phrase he used often to close deals.

"So, tell me how things are going with Jocie. She seems like a lovely girl."

They gossiped until they had to leave.

* * * * *

Kyle had been running around all afternoon on other people's errands and he was sick of it. First he had met with Pete, who had at least been able to come up with someone for the Doc. Of course, then he had had to go to the Doc and see when and where they could meet.

The basement floor of the Science Building consisted of a hallway off of which were five classrooms. These rooms were currently being used by the English and Foreign Languages Department. At the end of the hallway was a set of swinging double doors.

Beyond the doors was another hallway that housed seven old style classrooms that had not been updated when the building was renovated in the fifties. The floors held years of dust and large flakes of gray paint that had long since peeled off the walls to reveal the ashier gray of cinder blocks.

Despite local fire laws, the first three rooms had been filled, floor to ceiling, with boxes and boxes of old papers. The other rooms were largely abandoned. The last room was a chemistry lab, circa 1930.

It was this lab that the Doc had converted for studying the Artifact. He had installed a clasp and padlock over the doorknob for security, and had pilfered a few items from the upstairs labs.

It was here that the Doc wanted to meet, at seven that evening.

Of course, then he'd had to relay this back to Pete.

Now, in a few short minutes he would get to see what all this fuss was about. And whether it was worth it.

* * * * *

Pete and Emily arrived together ten minutes early to find a locked door.

Emily turned to Pete and asked, "Are you sure this is the right place? I didn't even know this hall existed. It sure doesn't look like anyone's been here in years."

"This is where Kyle said to meet. He described it as 'abandoned'. We are a little early."

Just then the stiff swinging doors parted to reveal Dr. Oliver, who carried a small briefcase, and Kyle who slowly paced behind the Doctor.

Dr. Oliver greeted them curtly, unlocked the door and went inside.

"This is Kyle's friend?" Emily whispered to Pete.

"That's Dr. Oliver, he's my Calc teacher."

"Why'd he ask for Kyle's help?"

Pete shrugged and entered the room.

The Chemistry lab had obviously been thoroughly cleaned recently. Dr. Oliver had put his briefcase down on the small round table in the far corner and was pulling some papers from it. Pete pulled out a chair for Emily and then took one himself. He pulled up close to the table.

"Before we go any further I need each of you to sign these papers."

Doc dropped a set in front of each of them.

Simultaneously Pete and Kyle asked what they said.

"It simply says that you can't talk about anything you see here."

Kyle sat up a little straighter. This was getting more interesting.

Emily scanned the document. Basically it stated that if they revealed anything that the Doctor showed them, they would be financially responsible for any losses the Doctor suffered.

Dr. Oliver waited as they read the forms. Initially he had considered requiring Pete and Kyle to leave. They weren't required for this. However he decided that this would simply lead them to greater curiosity. It would be better to bind them to secrecy. Last night he had drafted the legal sounding documents. It would probably have little or no value in court, but hopefully it would scare the students from confiding in anyone else.

Doc had little hope that this student would be able to help. It was, he was sure, an alien artifact, not an ancient object. But it was best to be on the safe side. Besides, he was pretty much out of ideas.

Kyle was the last to sign. Once he had, the Doc pulled a cube of stiff foam from the briefcase. Without much ceremony he passed it to Emily.

Emily looked it over and saw that it consisted of two pieces. She pulled them apart and peered down at the black triangle couched within.

Black hardly seemed an adequate term, she thought. It is so black.

Over her shoulder she heard Pete whistle amazement. Doc gave him a stern look and he stepped back.

Emily turned it over to let the object drop into her hand. Too late the Doc started to protest.

A pain shot through her hand. Reflexively she pulled her hand back. The artifact crashed to the floor.

"Owww. Oh Shit," she cursed and dropped to the floor, hoping she hadn't damaged it. She nursed her hand as she crawled under the table.

Above her everyone spoke at once: Pete wanted to know if she was all right, Kyle wanted to know what happened.

Dr. Oliver was worried about the artifact.

"Has it been damaged?" Dr. Oliver demanded.

The black form seemed intact. Tentatively she touched the tip with her index finger. Rapidly she pulled her hand back. Cold, her finger felt very cold.

What the hell was this thing? Surely it wasn't something from the past.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see the Doc offering a thick glove.

"I could have warned you about that," Doc said startling Kyle. It was the closest thing to an apology he had ever heard the Doc offer.

Having donned the glove, she lifted the enigma and sat back in her chair. She was silent for several minutes as she studied the object, turning it this way and that. The bulk of the time she spent pushing the broken attachment around.

Finally she looked up at the Doc's anxious face and said, "I don't think I can help you. This is clearly not an ancient artifact. This ring on the bottom is clearly a modern metal. Seeing as it isn't rusted, corroded or scratched, I'd say this indicates that it's fairly new." She did her best to sound professional.

When the doctor merely nodded, she added, "The look of the body itself seems to imply some form of modern manufacturing technology. What is it made out of?"

Doc shook his head. "I have no idea, that's just one of many questions. Well thank you for your time."

He paused, then added, "Do you have any ideas as to who might be able to assist me in identifying it?"

Emily turned the question over in her mind. Having no idea what the object was, made it hard to answer. She decided on the smartest person she knew.

"I would ask Mouse ... excuse me Meredith Main, if nothing else she will have more insightful observations."

"Do you know her?" Dr. Oliver asked hopefully.

"Yeah, she lives in my dorm. She's a friend of mine."

"Could you ask her to assist us? Telling her as little as possible of course."

Emily had become seriously intrigued by the curiosity in front of her. She would help, and she said so.

They agreed to meet at his house the next evening. He gave them directions and shoed them away.

* * * * *

Nasson College was not actually in Sanford but in its only village, Springvale. This village evolved primarily to serve the College, but in the distant past this area had channeled the river that fed the mills around which Sanford had been born.

It was along the banks of this river that Pete and Emily strolled while they discussed the evenings' events.

"Personally, I think he stole it," Pete offered.

"Then why doesn't he know what it is?" she countered.

"Not sure, but you don't have to know what something is to lift it."

"I say it's something that the government boys came up with."

"Doesn't that seem a tad far-fetched to you?" Pete asked her.

"You didn't touch that thing. It was so cold," her eyes burned into him. "And, what the hell is it made of?"

"Haven't a clue. Weird isn't it?"

They fell silent for a while.

Eventually Emily asked, "Think Mouse is in her room?"

"We can check, but she's probably out with Hollywood. Hadn't you better get to bed anyway?"

She looked at him blankly so he added 'This big game I keep hearing about?"

"Shit, I completely forgot."

May 9, 1981

It was abnormally hot and humid for this early in the season. The strain was visible on Pete's brow as he struggled to lug the large heavy suitcase. If he hadn't personally seen her pack it full of dirty clothes, he would have sworn Jocie had loaded it with stones.

The slender blond haired Freshman routinely visited her parents the second weekend of every month. Sometimes she was able to wrangle a ride out to Interstate 95 to catch the Friday night bus north to Lewiston. Sometimes, like now, she wasn't. Due to the limited bus schedule, that meant leaving Saturday morning. On these occasions Pete would walk with her and haul her suitcase down from Upper One and across the Quad to the southwest corner of the intersection of routes 202 and 109. It was here, in front of the solid facade of the Springvale Federal Savings Bank -- the only building on the block not part of Nasson -- that the bus would pick them up. Pete would ride with her as far as the center of Sanford. There he would depart to put in a few hours organizing Police filing records, before walking back just in time to serve the Saturday lunch crowd.

Because he had a class then, he was never there to greet her when she returned on Monday mornings.

* * * * *

The campus atmosphere changed each Saturday. There were fewer people. About a third of the students went home or went on trips. Also the pace was much more relaxed. Those that remained weren't as harried. There were no classes, and all but the most studious would put off any homework until at least the next day.

If it was sunny the Quad would be full of activity with students playing ball or Frisbee. The few students with pets would be out as well.

Mouse had stayed over Friday night, and they had slept away most of the morning. Actually, Hollywood had slept late. She had stayed in bed until 8 AM. Until she couldn't take it any more. Then she had quietly gotten up and snuck back to her room on the other wing of the dorm.

Three hours, a shower and some studying later, she returned to his room and read for an hour until he woke up. If he hadn't remembered that she hadn't brought any books the night before, she would have gotten away with it.

That she needed only 3 hours of sleep each night had always become a problem with her relationships. Being possessed of an almost manic energy she found it nearly impossible to be idle.

In that respect Wood was almost completely her opposite. His ability to enjoy stillness was a skill she wanted to develop in this new phase of her life.

Those that knew Mouse and Wood well thought them to be an odd match. In truth they had much in common. Both felt orphaned, Wood actually being so, and Mouse being estranged. When she had refused to return to Harvard, defying three generations of tradition, her father had vowed never to talk to her again until she returned to her senses. Now, almost a year since that decision, she had only talked to her mother once, and her father not at all.

Wood and Mouse were both fiercely independent. They almost always said what they thought and didn't pull punches. Most men were intimidated by her combination of brains and drive. It was Wood's confidence that was, to her, his greatest attraction. He made no effort to change her, and that was totally unknown to her. Most men tried to get her to quiet down or "be reasonable." Wood seemed comfortable, even proud, when she was outspoken in public. When they fought, they fought furiously, but the conflict was always resolved and no hurt feelings lingered.

Meredith Margaret Main was known as Mouse in much the same way that an exceedingly large man might be called Tiny. During her first year at Harvard a boyfriend had given her the nickname on their first date. At first, Meredith hated the moniker. She correctly saw it as his attempt to chide her for her outgoing and outspoken manner. However the more she protested the harder the new name stuck. By the middle of her second year even her closest friends called her Mouse. She had come to think of it as a challenge, and in time began to appreciate the irony. By the time she transferred to Nasson, she no longer thought of herself as Meredith. She told everyone to call her Mouse.

Early this afternoon, following a brief argument because she wasn't in his arms when he woke up, she had asked him for advice on relaxing. Wood had found challenging her to be more effective a training tactic than reason or instruction. He began by betting her that she couldn't sit still for 15 minutes.

With one leg propped up Hollywood leaned against the wall and gazed across the floor at her. The results of this exercise were becoming comical. She sat cross-legged on the cheap carpeted floor, a restrained ball of energy. He could tell she was rising to this challenge as she had all those before. She sat there vibrating slightly, working very hard at relaxing. He couldn't help smirking slightly.

Doing nothing came very easily to James "Hollywood" O'Reilly. James had never had to work hard at anything in his life.

He was born just outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in the rustic suburbs of Pleasant Hills. When he was three, his mother had taken a few too many Valiums, passed out and drowned in the bath tub. In the stoic manner of Pittsburgh's upper-middle class William, his father, raised James and his two younger twin daughters with a quiet and distant hand. He deferred most of the decisions of his son's upbringing to various nannies and au pairs. Even after he remarried eight years later, the nanny remained more James true mother than William's new young wife.

William watched with distaste and helplessness as James seemed to spurn his Irish work ethic and instead turned his attention toward dreams of becoming a rich and famous actor. The proud man could have more easily accepted his young son's decision to reject the family's lucrative steel processing business if the lad had seemed more willing to set goals and work toward reaching his objectives. But it seemed to him that James was content to dream about becoming a star without any actual desire to attempt to become one. It was just the lure of easy money and fame that attracted him. True, he did take part in the various plays and functions put on by the Pleasant Hills High School, but it didn't seem to William that his son put much effort into these performances.

When James was fifteen he was well on his way to achieving the six foot two inch frame he would acquire in a few years, and was already possessed with handsome rugged features and his father's shocking red hair.

That summer his father forced him to work as an administrative assistant at the steel yards. To say James was unhappy would have been a gross understatement. To say he was vocal about it would have been a larger one.

By the end of the summer not only were profits and morale way down, but the boy had gotten one of the young secretaries pregnant. When the young woman confronted Mr. O'Reilly, he correctly surmised that she had attempted to get pregnant by the boss's son to force her way into the O'Reilly family. However, when alone with the man, and facing his stern visage she opted to accept his cash offer to vanish.

James never learned of the pregnancy.

The 47 year old man prided himself as a person who learned from his mistakes, especially painful and costly ones. He never again tried to lead his son into a life of steel. He'd have to wait and see whom his daughters married. Perhaps one of them could be groomed to become the heir to the family business.

Almost a year later he was diagnosed with testicular cancer. The doctors gave him less than six months, but he held out for a full two years. During that span he took one last attempt at redirecting his son's future.

He sold his business and, taking his hefty life insurance policy into account, constructed trust funds for his wife and three children. To his son's trust fund he attached a rider. James would receive a small but adequate sum per year. However, he would receive half of the annual interest on the trust fund each year (a much more sizable and growing amount) when, and if, he received a college degree. Should he obtain a Master’s degree control of the trust would be turned over to him.

His father died two days before James eighteenth birthday.

Having no interest in scholastics, James was both listless and aimless about planning his collegiate career. His grades were not high enough to get him into a decent college. Not that that interested him. Doubts about his talent prevented him from applying to a performing arts school. It wasn't until a few months later while perusing a friend's old issue of Playboy magazine that the idea of college began to become interesting. There, toward the back, in an article on statistics, it was mentioned: Nasson College, Party School of the Year: 1973. His future was beginning to take shape.

During the following few months, he determined two important facts. One, a year at Nasson costs less than a third of his yearly stipend. And two, virtually anyone that paid that amount would be accepted. So, in the Spring Semester of 1980 James found himself enrolled. Although he could have easily afforded to live off-campus, his impression of college life was shaped wholly by the movie Animal House. The Fraternal hi-jinx portrayed therein appealed to him and he wanted to experience it fully. Since Nasson College had no Fraternities he chose the next best thing, dorm life.

Not long after his arrival, his enthusiastic anecdotes of his high school acting career, his outspoken dreams of tinsel town and his flamboyant style, earned him the nickname Hollywood. It was a practice he heartily encouraged.

Mouse found the appellation too cumbersome for casual conversation and shortened it to Wood. A few days of bickering had ensued until she joked, "Just think, girls who don't know your full nickname might think I call you that for another reason."

His smile came slowly. She had won that round.

Meredith grew up, an only child, in one of the wealthiest areas of Newport Beach, Rhode Island. She knew this because her family invariably managed to remind her of this fact. They were very well off. She lived extremely comfortably and her father worked very hard to keep things that way. For her end of the bargain, all she had to do was be perfect ... and become a world famous medical doctor like her dad.

For twenty years she had never questioned it. It was simply her destiny. She graduated first in her class from, as her mother put it, 'the best private school in New England.' She was accepted at Harvard even without her father's influence, and achieved a 3.94 average her first year there. Only one A- grade in Psychology fouling an otherwise flawless performance.

Then in the middle of her second year an adviser asked her why she wanted to be a doctor. It was a question she had been asked many times before and she launched into her stock reply about how her father and his father, and even his father, had all been important doctors.

The adviser sat silent for a moment, looked deep into her eyes and then said "Well that tells me why your family wants you to be a doctor. Now tell me Miss Main ... Why do you want to be a doctor?"

She had no answer for him then. As time went on the question continued to echo through her mind.

The next year found her at Nasson as she struggled to figure out what she truly wanted to become.

Now she sat on the floor and tried not to move, not to think. She was failing fast and knew she wasn't going to make it. She was less than a third of the way through when there came a soft knocking on the room's single door.

"Saved by the bell," she yelled bounding to her feet.

* * * * *

By design Emily met up with Pete just as he was finishing up his shift. She stared at Pete as he put on his shiny blue suit coat, and asked, "How can you stand to wear something that hot on a day like this?"

"I never sweat," he said simply and honestly. She had to admit he looked great.

She herself, was dressed in a very light pleasant yellow sun dress. She looked at her pale arms, bare from the shoulders, and longed for the deep rich tan they would have in few months.

Pete was in a taciturn reflective mood. He sometimes got that way lately when Jocie was away. He got straight down to business with hardly any chitchat.

"Did you talk to Mouse?"

"Nope, she was already out when I checked on her this morning. And she wasn't at breakfast or lunch."

"Did you check Hollywood's?"

"Right, I'm going to go barging over to his place early Saturday morning."

"Good point," Pete conceded. On weekends Wood never appeared before noon, and rarely before dinner.

"Well, he's probably up by now, if not out. How long before you head over to the field?" he asked.

"I've got about an hour." She looked wistfully in the direction of the far off soccer field. They began walking the length of Marland Hall toward Upper campus.

"This thing has really gotten under your skin. Hasn't it?"

"Soccer?"

"No, the pyramid."

"Tetrahedron."

"What?"

"It's a tetrahedron. It's got four sides, including the base. Pyramids have five."

"So what?," he asked flippantly.

She walked on silently.

"We really should name it," he offered as they turned at the first bend in the road to Upper campus.

Nasson was divided into three areas: the Quad, Middle campus which consisted of Fulsome House and Prior-Hussey, and Upper campus. Fulsome was a small women only dorm. Prior-Hussey was really two dorms, one for each gender that was joined by a central lobby and lounge area. Upper campus also contained two dorms, Upper One and Hanscom Hall. Until recently Hanscom had been called Upper Two. These two dorms were largely inhabited with Freshman. Middle and Upper campus were on the same road that began at the Quad and ended its half mile journey at Upper Campus.

"How about Skippy?" she joked.

He laughed, but went on seriously, "We can't keep calling it 'it', or 'the Doc's secret.'"

There was a quiet period, while they tried to think of what to call the enigma. They rounded the corner after Fulsome, and Prior-Hussey came into view.

"Doc Oliver must be calling it something.”

“Yeah, but we’d have to sign too many forms to find out what it is,” Emily snorted slapping his back.

They laughed as they climbed the three steps to the wooden walkway, which lead into the lobby of Prior-Hussey. The stairwell on the Hussey side went up and down a half floor allowing access to both of the dorm's levels. They descended and stopped at the first door on the right.

Pete knocked softly on the door. A second later the door opened.

* * * * *

Olivia didn't like it when her husband was unpredictable. Usually, on a sunny Saturday like this, she could count on his pilgrimage to New Hampshire. It didn't matter to her that he hadn't bothered to include her in his plans, nor that he had been acting strangely and secretive all week. She had, however been looking forward to having the house to herself.

Shortly after her father's death, back when they were still at Keene, just before her husband's scandal, she had started to develop opinions and stand up for herself. From the moment she had started to become a complete person, Walter had begun drifting away from her. Now whatever love there had been was gone. However she liked her roll as a teacher's wife, and was afraid to start over this late in her life.

She suspected that he might be starting on another teenage infidelity. As long as he didn't get caught again she could live with that.

She was startled when the doorbell rang. She had few guests and Walter rarely had any. Nobody ever dropped by uninvited. Upon opening the door she was even more surprised. On the step was a very attractive, very determined looking young women. She had straight blond hair and piercing green eyes. She seemed an inch or two taller than the older lady, perhaps 5 foot 4. Olivia noted that she was dressed in very baggy unflattering clothes. Much too covered up for a hot day like this.

Walter's doing quite well for himself, she thought. This girl didn't seem like the vacant chippies he was usually attracted to. Mrs. Oliver wondered what the young thing was getting out of this?

It was strange, and unsettling, that he'd invite one to the house, though. Except for one year when Walter had hired a student to keep their lawn neat, no student had ever come to the house before. Maybe she was wrong, she considered. Or maybe he no longer cared at all and was flaunting his newest conquest. Maybe he was ready to move on. A chill ran through her, but not as deeply as she would have thought. Maybe she was ready too.

Mouse stood there for a few moments, and finally broke the silence.

"Hello. Are you Mrs. Oliver?" She'd never had the slightest inkling that the Doc was married.

Olivia nodded slightly.

"My name is Meredith. Is your husband around? He asked me to meet him here."

I'll bet he did, she thought. Still, this girl seemed very confident. Walter tended to choose weak, mousy girls. Like me when I married him, she added bitterly. Still this woman appeared to have much to recommend her. Maybe her physique overcame his timidity.

"Yes, he is," she replied. A big friendly smile bloomed falsely, yet convincingly, on her face.

"Won't you come in? We don't get many visitors around here. Would you like some ice tea or lemonade?"

Mouse's plan had been to get in and out quickly. Pete and Emily had given her maddeningly little information. Just enough to firmly engage her curiosity. Also Pete was damn hard to say 'no' to when he was really trying. Her help wasn't too hard to enlist, the only snag was that Emily had her game to play, and Pete and Jocie were going to watch. There was no way she was going into Dr. Oliver's house alone.

The problem was remedied when Wood agreed to accompany her. Unfortunately, not long after, he purchased a hot dog from the Stop'N'Go across the street from the campus, and it hadn't agreed with him. It didn't seem too serious, but with his constant trips to the bathroom he wasn't going anywhere. In an attempt to get out of her promise she had offered to stay with him. She had known it wouldn't work. Like her, Wood preferred to be alone when ill.

So now she found herself in the Doc's home without a chaperone. At least his wife was there. She had never pictured him as married. If she had it would not have been to the pleasant normal women she saw in front of her.

"I'd like that, yes. Iced tea sounds lovely… if it isn't a bother."

"No trouble at all. Just have a seat," she gestured languidly toward the plush cranberry red divan."

"I'll be right back." Mrs. Oliver disappeared through the swinging half doors that led, she assumed, to the kitchen.

Mouse walked around the room, looking at the large brick fireplace with the ornate carved wood mantle. She liked the little knickknacks that adorned it.

Gingerly, she picked one up one to admire the exquisite work. It was a silver unicorn about a foot tall reared up on it’s hind legs. She marveled at how lifelike it seemed. Especially the fierceness in it’s eyes.

Returning the statue, Mouse continued taking in the view. She noticed the style with which the drapes, wallpaper and carpet all complemented each other perfectly. Someone here had great taste, she thought. She was reasonably certain it wasn't the Doctor. While he always dressed neatly, it was always in a colorless conservative way. He definitely did not possess the flair this room implied.

She did find it a little odd that there were no photographs on the mantle, shelves or walls.

Distantly she heard Mrs. Oliver yell to her husband that she, Meredith, was here.

Olivia returned carrying a silver tray with a glass pitcher and two tall glasses, already filled. Mouse noted favorably that the pitcher and glasses all had matching carvings of a quaint coastal scene. The detail and the craftsmanship were really quite exquisite.

"So, what are you and Walter up to?" she asked trying to sound like she was just making conversation.

"You mean he hasn't told you?" she asked startled. Emily had mentioned that there was a lot of secrecy involved, but this seemed ludicrous.

Suddenly, the Doc burst into the room. "Come this way young lady. Everything is in my study."

"But darling," his wife said getting his attention, "we've just sat down with some refreshments."

Darling, he thought? She often called him that, but usually with a sarcastic or hollow tone to her voice. Why was she acting so nice? And why was she involving herself in his affairs? This morning she had practically succeeded in driving him from the house.

He pushed the thoughts from his head. Best to get back into known waters. "She can bring the glass with her," he snapped.

"Come Miss," he said, turned and strode out without looking back.

Mouse stood up, gave Mrs. Oliver a sheepish apologetic look and thanked her for the tea. Then she went to catch up with the doctor.

Three walls of Walter's study were covered with book shelves containing a wide variety of research materials, text books and classics. Along the length of the final wall ran a counter that was covered with rocks -- some polished, some not -- and rock related tools and machinery. Affixed to the wall behind the counter were several framed cases in which various rocks were mounted. Each case had a plaque below and two lights above. In the center of the room were two desks. Each had obviously been designed to be set against a wall, but arranged back to back like they were, they appeared not only functional but was also very pleasing to the eye. Mouse could not see the surface of the desk facing away from her, but the closest contained only a square of light green packing foam. The kind plastic flowers are stuck in, she thought.

She looked at the Doc, waiting for her cue.

"This is it," he said gesturing at the foam.

She turned to face him. "Actually, no one has told me what this is all about. I was told you would fill me in." As she heard herself speak the words she inwardly cringed at the possible double entondra.

This caused her to misinterpret the smile that crept onto the Doc's face for a second. He was actually priding himself that his disclosure forms were working perfectly. Then he realized he had almost forgotten to have her sign one.

"First things first," he covered. "I'll need you to sign this form."

Her friends had prepared her for this, but she spent several minutes looking the document over. One strong lesson she had carried away from Harvard was to never sign anything until you had read and understood it. Even to her untrained eye it was clear to her that no lawyer had prepared this document. It would be worthless in a court of law. Had it had more merit there were a few clauses she would have required that he change. Eventually, she signed it.

He was silent until she handed the paper to him.

"I don't want to give you any preconceived notions. I would prefer to get your unbiased opinion on the object within. I will tell you that it is quite cold to the touch. You'd better use a glove while handling it."

He reached past her and pulled a glove from the left hand drawer of the desk.

Mouse was puzzled, but without remark she settled into the heavy oaken chair and put the glove on her right hand. Of course, he assumes I'm right handed, she bridled slightly. She wasn't.

Carefully she separated the two foam halves. Let's see what all the fuss is about, she thought. She was not prepared for what she saw. Although she conceded there were probably plenty of things in the world she had never seen, nothing she had seen had hinted that something like this existed. It was unnaturally black and very unnaturally uniform. Unearthly uniform. Everything she had ever seen had slight imperfections. Even the smoothest sheet of metal, or the cleanest mirror, had little variations in its surface. And always had some smudges or little bits of dust, she added. This object was perfectly black and completely clean.

Grasping it firmly -- it wasn't slippery like she had assumed from its appearance -- she pulled it free. Drawn to its only feature, she looked over the ring at length. At least that appears to be some type of normal metal, silver perhaps, she mused.

She jumped when the jagged edged ring moved as she touched it. After gently pushing it around the base with her index finger she took a firm hold of it and gave it a solid tug. Shocked that it didn't come loose, she pulled harder. Nothing.

She turned the chair around and inquired, "Do you have anything made of steel?"

"It's not magnetic. It doesn't effect a compass at all."

She stood up and said in a voice that would brook no argument, "I want all your written observations on this object and I want to take it to the Therm. Lab." She sounded much more like his equal than a student.

Walter himself had wanted to use the Thermodynamics Laboratory to run tests on it. Housed on the top floor of the Science Building it was the college's newest and most advanced lab. It was not exactly state of the art or even close to the functionality of labs at a large school like the University of New Hampshire, but it was surprisingly well equipped for a school of this caliber.

While it was used by a wide variety of students, from Physics to Chemistry to Electrical Engineering, he had no legitimate access to it. He as much as told her so.

"Well you're in luck, I not only have access, I have a key," she smiled pulling the small silver-plated key from her breast pocket.

Had he thought it through he would have guessed that she might have had a key. For while the Labs were kept locked, when not in use, to prevent the potential pilfering of the expensive equipment contained inside, certain gifted students working on Independent Study were granted keys so that they could conduct their experiments anytime that they had free time during the hours the building was open.

"I assume you have a key to the front door," she said, unintentionally snubbing him.

"Yes, of course," he barked.

"Then let's take advantage of tomorrow being Sunday. Is 9 AM convenient for you?"

"No, I'll be in church. Let's make it noon."

Walter had not attended church in forty years, but he didn't much care for the way she had just taken over, and he was determined to take control even if it was in a small petty way.

"Okay, I'll meet you at noon. You'll bring the notes?"

"I'll type up what I've got," he said reluctantly. He was simultaneously upset, worried and excited by her confidence and enthusiasm.

"All right, well thank you and I'll see you tomorrow. I can show myself out."

The doctor, of course, didn't think to thank her.

On the way out she returned the glass to Mrs. Oliver, thanked her, and left. As she walked across his front lawn, Mouse wondered if the old man had any clue what he had.

* * * * *

Emily was pissed. She told herself it shouldn't matter. She had played her best, but they'd had a few tough breaks. And, the other team was damn good, she admitted reluctantly.

The game had gone badly almost from the start. Their best goalie had landed wrong after an amazing save and had twisted her ankle. Her replacement had been out too late the night before and was sluggish.

Emily herself had scored three times, but the final score was seven to five.

"Christ, I've seen lower football scores," she cursed out loud, though she was alone.

Well, what's done is done. It had been a hell of a year anyway. Nobody had expected them to come this far. Nasson had never ranked nearly this high before. Maybe next year. Her last chance.

She kicked the ground a bit as she walked toward Dr. Oliver's house. It was only a few minutes after eight. Perhaps they were still there. Maybe puzzling over the enigma would take her mind off the game.

As she approached the turn to his house, she spotted Mouse walking away from her toward the road that would lead to their dorm. As she sprinted to catch up to her, she wondered why Mouse, usually a fairly stylish dresser, had chosen to wear such a plain frumpy pantsuit.

"Hey, wait up," she called out when she was a few feet away. "Did you see him?"

"I just came from there."

"And?"

"I'm not sure. I'm going to run some tests tomorrow," Mouse responded, though she was so rapt in her thoughts she was only dimly aware of the conversation.

"You have no comments at all?"

"I prefer to withhold judgment to until I have more facts."

This was not the first time Emily had run afoul of what she privately thought of as Mouse's 'lawyer mode'. She knew it was pointless to try and prod more details out of her.

They walked in silence until they reached the dorm. At the stairwell, as Mouse headed up and she down, Emily spoke.

"Is it okay if I come tomorrow?"

"You're as much a part of this as I am. If the Doc has no problem I don't mind. Meet us at the Science Building at noon. I could use a little moral support, and someone to keep Wally occupied."

"Wally?"

"The Doc's first name is Walter. He's got a wife too."

"Hmmm," was Emily's only comment before they said their good nights. Even though it was not even nine, she went straight to bed, and after tossing and turning a bit fell into a troubled sleep.

Mouse had promised Wood that she would leave him be until morning. She briefly considered disregarding this and checking in on him. Instead she went to her room and began making notes. And plans.

May 10, 1981

Mouse, still dressed in yesterday's clothes, continued to revise her ideas on paper. She had not slept at all but that only slightly diminished her frantic energy. During the night she had devised several comprehensive tests that should be performed. She then divided these into three categories: impracticable, difficult and basic. The first pile contained tests that required equipment she had no hope of obtaining, such as an electron microscope. The difficult tests required materials she might be able to gain use of with some effort, like a clinical x-ray machine. It also contained notes on avenues of thought that she would need to further research in order to know what was involved: such as carbon dating. The basic stack she should be able to perform with items in the lab.

On one of three clipboards, she had compiled a list of items she hoped to obtain before noon.

A little after seven she was roused from her musings, by a soft but rapid tapping on her dorm room door. Normally she would have yelled out for the visitor to come on in. But mindful of making too much noise at this early hour, she stood and opened the door.

She was startled to see Wood standing there.

"Strange, I thought it was Sunday," she said before he could say anything.

"It is," he replied hesitantly, a crease taking form in the center of his forehead.

"Then you sir, are an impostor. My man would never be up before noon on Sunday." She was teasing him but there was also an element of pride in the words she spoke. Some, like Emily, could not understand how someone so driven could be so approving of the aimless lifestyle Wood led. Mouse seemed to find disdain with signs of sloth in other people. The fact though was that Mouse found most peoples laziness to be motivated either by fear -- they simply avoided life -- or lack of energy or enthusiasm. The first she found disappointing and the later was simply too foreign for her to understand at all. Wood was different. When he didn't want to do anything he simply felt no urge to do so. She could respect that. It was a feat she had not been able to master, yet.

"I've been asleep for like 12 hours. And I knew you'd be awake."

He followed her into the room and leaned his rear against her desk. Poorly fastened to the wall, it shifted slightly under his weight.

"Actually I haven't slept at all," she paused and looked at him closely. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much."

"Are you hungry?"

"Nope, my appetite hasn't quite returned yet." It was his turn to pause and look at her.

"What is this your wearing?"

"This? This is my patented Doc Oliver leer protection suit," she laughed.

"Did it work?" His voice took on a protective tone.

"Like a charm. I think he thought I was a boy."

"I hardly think that's possible," he said pulling her to him and running his hand over her left breast.

She pulled back gently.

"Hey buster, don't get me started. I've still got a lot of preparations to make."

His hand moved to caress her neck.

"Well, if I helped would that free up 10 minutes?", he said in a voice part Groucho Marx part dirty old man.

"Ten minutes? Oh baby, you make it sound so inviting," she mocked him. "If you promise to run an errand in town I think that should give us an hour."

As Hollywood kept an automobile -- a blue '79 Barracuda -- on campus, this was not a big deal, but right then he would have agreed even if he had had to crawl.

He raised his free hand over his heart, "Oh, I promise."

As he nibbled on her neck, she remarked, "I thought you weren't hungry?"

"Ravenous," he replied.

She started to say something else, but he sealed her mouth with his own.

* * * * *

By eleven Emily returned from the task Mouse had sent her on. She had successfully obtained a sheet of photographic paper and had safely enclosed it in one of the doubled ended plastics sleeves photographers use to transfer negatives without exposing them to light.

At quarter of twelve, just as she was writing Wood a note telling him where to meet them, he arrived.

He handed Mouse an inexpensive looking wristwatch. Emily noticed it had glow-in-the-dark hands.

"I hope that's what you wanted. I had a bitch of a time finding it. I tried Ames, the hardware store, all the convenience stores, even Shaws. I finally found one in the head shop."

"It's perfect." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

Looking at the watch she noted the time. "We're going to be late. Can you give us a lift?"

She gathered up her papers and left a note on the door for Pete. Then they hurried down to the car.

* * * * *

Kyle was just about ready to give up when he spotted the group. He had found himself cut out of the loop and was determined to get back in. Unfortunately the only person he felt he could approach, Pete, was maddeningly impossible to track down.

He had deduced that they would have to get together with the Doctor on Sunday, when they would all be free. He didn't feel comfortable staking out the girls dorm, and Pete wasn't home, so he had picked a spot on the Quad where he could keep an eye on both the Science Building and the most likely route to Doc's house.

After four long hot hours it had finally paid off. He'd almost missed them too. He hadn't expected them to arrive from the direction of the parking lot.

Kyle ran to catch them but slowed when he saw the group sit down on the front steps. He tensed when he saw Pete wasn't with them. He joined them without a word, and when no one complained he relaxed. There was no sign of the Doc.

* * * * *

Walter looked over at the simple white wall clock and cursed. He was already running late. It had taken him much longer to rewrite his notes than he had allotted to the task. He had checked for, and removed, any speculations about the possibly alien origins of the artifact. He had also rewritten his earlier observations to seem more insightful.

He gathered up the papers and shoved them in his briefcase. If he hurried he'd only be a few minutes late. It was important to him to appear professional to Miss Main. It was vital to maintain control of the project. To be perceived as the chief researcher. That they remain his assistants.

* * * * *

From the second Mouse unlocked the lab door she became focused and in control. She went directly to work and barked out orders in short exact sentences.

"Dr. Oliver, please uncover the Artifact. I want to check the calibration on the equipment."

Walter's objection to her tone fell silent as he noted the device she selected from an overhead cabinet. The blood drained from his face as he considered the implications of the Geigercounter.

"She thinks it might be radioactive! I knew it was alien and it never even crossed my mind that it might be dangerous. It could be spewing out X-rays, Gamma rays or God knows what. And I've been handling it for a week," Doc screamed internally. As his thoughts spun round and round he withdrew from the events unfolding around him.

* * * * *

Mouse's biggest concern was keeping everyone busy while she performed the tests. It was quite natural for the group to be curious and there was no valid reason to keep them away. Still she would have preferred to work in a less chaotic environment.

The Doc had drifted into some sort of quiet revelry and Kyle seemed willing to rest, head down on the desk, until the work was finished. But Emily and Wood were active, joking and milling about aimlessly.

She decided to switch the order of her opening tests. She put the Geiger counter down on the hard slate countertop and walked over to the Artifact, which was now uncovered but still in it's travel case. Next to it she placed the developers sleeve Emily had obtained earlier. Next she grabbed one of the labs timers and set it for twenty minutes. That done, she closed the lid on the case.

Cut off visually from the object of interest, Emily and Wood drifted away toward a corner.

Mouse made a few notes and returned to the Geiger Counter. She made notations on the levels of background radiation present. Then noted the level that registered from the radium used in the glow-in-the-dark watch hands.

When the timer rang she removed the black developers sleeve.

"All right Emily, would you be so kind as to go get this developed. Just the first few pictures should be enough."

They had discussed this earlier. Emily understood that the pictures would most likely be blank. She took the accordion-like device in both hands and turned to leave.

"And Wood darling, why don't you watch the front door so she can get back in?"

Wood looked at her with an expression of thankfulness and relief and trotted out the door without a word.

* * * * *

Mouse stopped writing, looked up and folded her arms across her chest. "Okay, it doesn't appear to be dangerous. At least it isn't radioactive. In fact…"

Kyle's head snapped up from the desktop he had been resting it on. "Was that a possibility? It's just an old piece of art. Right?" he asked his eyes wide.

"Hasn't he looked at it?", she thought.

"Look at it…" she started in, but saw Doc shaking his head 'no' and moving his hand slowly across his throat in a cutting motion.

"He does know what he has," she realized and started over.

"Several Indian societies used uranium in their pottery," she improvised with the barest of pauses.

"Jesus, I wish someone had warned me," Kyle remarked in a sulking voice that set her teeth on edge.

"Well, as she said it's safe, and you weren't near it much anyway," Doc snapped.

Mouse ignored him and turned her attention back to task at hand. It was going to be a long day.

* * * * *

It was just shy of midnight when Mouse began to neaten up the lab in preparation to leave. She was alone. One by one everybody had left during the day, the Doc being the last to go. Around ten he had considered making her leave then grudgingly changed his mind and simply went home. The building's front door would lock itself when she left.

Suddenly she realized the Doc had not instructed her on where to store the Artifact. Most likely he had originally planned on taking it with him. "And being tired he hadn't thought it through when he left," she thought. Her estimation of the man dropped another notch.

After placing the Artifact securely back in it's foam, she used four lengths of duct tape to secure the foam halves together. She placed the package in the back of the dustiest, and therefore hopefully the most unused, shelf in the cabinets. She wrote a note to Walter and after going downstairs and slipping it under his office door, she left.

During the walk she organized her thoughts. It had been a challenging, fascinating and frustrating day. She felt sleepy, having not had a wink of sleep in two full days. However she wanted to write up the day's experiences before she went to bed, lest some subtle observations she failed to note down be lost.

The enigma had some very perplexing and seemingly contradictory properties. After she had determined that the object appeared not to be putting out any radioactive particles - if fact it seemed to block some -, she tested Dr. Oliver's statement that the tetrahedron displayed no magnetic effects. She had held a compass about a foot from the object and slowly brought it closer until it was touching. The needle hadn't moved. She was about to conclude he was correct when she happened to notice that the compass needle was no longer pointing North. She shook the compass several times, and each time the needle stayed where it landed.

She could think of only one possibility. But how to test it? A brief search through the lab turned up a small plastic container of iron filings and a magnet. Mouse placed a sheet of cardboard over the magnet and then poured the metal bits on top. The filings stood up and arranged themselves along the field lines of the magnet. Slowly she brought the Artifact closer until it was in contact with the magnet. The instant they touched the filings fell over. They did not stand up when the Artifact was removed. She was right, somehow it neutralized magnetic potential.

Mouse was eager to know if it could nullify other forms of energy as well. By sheer willpower she pushed these thoughts from her mind. She would stick to the planned experiments first and then devise new tests later. After a few hours she had confirmed the rest of the notes the Doc had given her. Everyone else had left by the time the sun had set, and she was alone with the Doc. However she was too absorbed to dwell on this and he did nothing to make her more aware.

Then what should have been an easy experiment ended up taking the remainder of the day.

All she'd wanted was to take the thing's temperature, she groused to herself as she reached her dorm steps. It seemed simple enough at the time. But several hours later she still hadn't managed it. She did however have a lot of interesting notes.

When using a standard mercury thermometer no change was apparent. The batteries in Doc's homemade electronic thermometer died when it was touched to the Artifact. Placing it in a flask of water lowered the water's temperature by three degrees over two hours. Yet strangely, despite only that small change, a very thin layer of ice had formed on the sleek black surface.

She had placed the object in the flame of a Bunsen burner, starting off with just the very tip, but eventually plunging the whole base into the fire. Immediately after removing it she pressed her finger to the base. Stone cold.

More than ever, she wanted to x-ray the Artifact. Also she needed to think of a way to expose it to more energy.

May 11, 1981

As usual walking down the dimly lit dorm hallway was a chaotic musical experience. With every few feet you changed from one zone of blasting sound to another. Kate had walked from Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, through the B-52's Rock Lobster, and on to a song she didn't recognize, but which sounded like The Motels.

As she passed an open door, a soccer player she knew as Denny, leered out at her and silently beckoned to her, offering up the joint he was smoking. She regretted not changing from the short blue sun dress she was wearing. Ignoring the overly thin, wasted student, she hurried the few doors to Alex's room.

Listening she heard snatches of Tom Lehrer's Masochism Tango, being played within at far subtler levels than the other rooms.

She glanced back to see that Denny had taken up position at his door, and was staring with such concentration at her ass, that it didn't seem to register with him that she was now looking at him.

Forcefully she pounded on the door. Abruptly the music, if you could call it that, died and she heard rustling. As Alex opened the door, Kate pushed passed him brusquely.

"I really hate coming here!" she yelled as he closed the door.

"I love you too."

She paused.

"I'm sorry," she said slowly then added, "I love you too."

She stared into his eyes for a few moments then continued, "But I'm serious, some of the guys in this dorm give me the creeps."

Kate had been in some scary situations in her life, and Alex knew to listen closely but also to keep the conversation light. It was a thin line to walk and he wasn't proficient at it yet.

"Have you been flirting again?" Alex chided and knew as the words left his mouth he'd taken the wrong tact.

She punched him, none too softly, on the shoulder. "Damn it, listen to me. I don't feel safe coming here alone."

"Okay, okay. Which ones are giving you trouble," he asked just buying time.

"What difference does that make?" She didn't like the tone of her voice and was now making an effort to calm down.

Alex almost made a joke again, but he was listening carefully now. "You know it's only for two more months now. This summer we'll be married and we'll get an apartment for our Senior year." He paused thinking the conversation through, "Do you have an idea?"

"No, I just get so frustrated at those guys hitting on me," she sighed, her body beginning to relax.

"Tell me which ones, I'll beat them up," he said in a Dudley Dooright, superhero voice. He placed his hands to his hips, elbows thrust out.

Kate broke out laughing, the image of her scrawny bookwormish love, locked in battle with these brainless louts.... It was a ridiculous picture.

She gave him a tender kiss and sank down into the green bean bag chair. Her conversation however, had made Alex start wondering what he would do if something ever happened to her.

"Maybe I could spend more time at your dorm?" he offered.

Having already moved past this conversation, Kate was momentarily confused. She took a long pause before speaking. "You know Fulsome is very strict."

It was true. There were only two all girl dorms on campus. Prior-Hussey was split into two wings of two floors each. One wing housed only women, the other men. A lobby, with a TV and several couches, separated the two, but it was a loose dorm and no one really cared who came and went. Fulsome however, the college's smallest official dorm, housed only twenty women. It had a very strict RA, the resident assistant, and men were only allowed in until 7PM.

"Then I'll just have to meet you after your 3:30 French History class."

Similar plans had been attempted in the past but Alex had a habit of being distracted by his studies, or his thoughts, and simply loosing track of hours, or on a few occasions, days.

"Like you'll remember," Kate chided. She paused and then added in a softer voice, "But I'd appreciate it if you'd try.

They talked for an hour, alternatively venting and sharing the amusing incidents that occurred since breakfast.

Alex now sat on his bed with his back propped up against the wall. Kate's head lay in his lap and she stared up at him as she talked. His fingers stroked her neck and gently toyed with her hair.

"By the way," she started, suddenly sitting up, "Pete wanted me to ask you if you still had access to U.N.H.'s (she pronounced it “you knees”) laser?"

Slightly taken back Alex asked why.

"I'm not sure. I got the impression he wanted you to steal it."

Alex Christopher was sure that she meant Pete wanted him to borrow it, with permission if possible, without if necessary.

Nasson College had no Computer Science department. His freshman year Alex discovered that computers might be his true calling. By the end of that year Alex also discovered the love of his life, Kate. Unwilling to risk transferring to another school, even one that was only 80 miles away, Alex had explored his options.

Nasson did offer Independent Study courses. With the help of the schools only computer literate teacher, Alex designed a class where by he would go to U.N.H. twice a week and use their computer system. The University of New Hampshire had a large mini-computer, a PDP-11, that ran systems all over their campus. It even ran a few terminals at most of the colleges in the region.

In a dusty room at Nasson, Alex had found one such terminal. After cleaning it and performing a few simple repairs he had begun to discover and explore his love of computers.

Alex might have been able to do his course from the terminal at Nasson, but it was slow, and he convinced Professor Martin that he needed access to the materials and students of U.N.H.

Of course Alex - being Alex - occasionally got side tracked. On one of his explorations he found a rolling cart in a storage room near the computer room. The cart had housed a portable laser. Awhile ago he had mentioned the unit to Mouse, as an example of how nonexistent the security was at the university. Mouse naturally had told Pete.

But what would Pete want with a laser?

"Guess, I should go talk to him. Any idea where he is?"

"Probably still at the Commons, unless Mouse has had greater success at romancing her man, than I'm having tonight." She nudged him.

He rubbed her shoulder absent-mindedly in commiseration, his thoughts still working on the puzzle of Pete and the laser.

"Well, I'm not sure I've eaten today. Let's get something to eat, okay?"

"Let me guess, at the Commons?"

"Come on," he said grabbing her hand and tugging her to her feet.

Arm and arm they forged through the musical barrage and out into the May night. The temperature had dropped significantly.

May 13, 1981

Mouse stared out of the van's side window at the houses that flashed by as they traveled swiftly along route 202. She was alone on the middle row of seats and had turned herself sideways, her legs tucked up under her. The back seat had been removed, and the space was empty awaiting it's cargo. Up front Alex was sitting rigidly in the driver's seat. He was unused to navigating such a large vehicle. The way the wind would periodically shove the van sideways was making him very tense. Attempting to appear calm was adding to his displeasure. Apparently he wasn't being very successful, as every few minutes Pete, strapped in on the passenger side, asked him if he thought he should take over. Stubbornly Alex maintained he was fine.

Oblivious to the tension in the front seat, Mouse distracted herself by wondering about the lives in the houses they passed by. As always it struck her strange and vaguely saddened her that she would never know these nameless people. That they were, and would probably remain, irrelevant to her life, bothered her in a fundamental way that she would never be able to articulate.

Despite having set the current events in motion, she was rather upset with the unfolding itinerary.

They were driving to the University of New Hampshire to steal an expensive piece of scientific equipment. Four days ago her being involved in, let alone masterminding, such a stunt would have been unthinkable. True, they were going to return it. True, they had a cover story. True, they needed it for exciting work that might add to mankind's store of knowledge. Maybe. Okay, that was a stretch. But it was important.

Still, she was nervous. Something could go wrong. And she didn't trust the Doc to back them up, although she had insisted that he personally pick up the rental van they were driving. He'd have a tough time talking his way out of that. He'd have to honor his word.

However none of this was the central issue. While she was only dimly aware of it, what really had her on edge was simple. It was immoral. It was wrong. She could see no way around it, but that didn't make it right.

As she always did on those few occasions when her objectives overcame her morals, Mouse unconsciously fingered the gold charm bracelet on her left wrist. It was a thick 24 carat gold herringbone chain. Off of it hung six small gold hearts. The bracelet was given to her by her mother on her ninth birthday. The six hearts symbolized the love of her grandparents, her mom and her dad. When she was twelve a longer clasp had been added. Twice later as she grew more, she'd been forced to have the bracelet lengthened. It was her oldest and most cherished belonging, and when she was nervous or upset her fingers worked the charms.

It had been easy to talk Alex into obtaining the Laser. He had been eager for the chance to prove his assertion that U.N.H.s security was laughably lax. Far more difficult had been the planning. Who would come had been a simple matter of logic and circumstance. Alex knew the layout and was familiar with the science building. Mouse wanted to be there and was convincing in her argument that she could provide distraction if needed. Emily wanted no part of this scheme. Originally Wood was going to supply muscle, but the days practice proved that he could not take the operation seriously. When he insisted that he wanted to dress in all black, face paint included, Mouse decided he wasn't coming. She didn't tell him, she merely failed to inform him when they were leaving. He wouldn't be mad later, Wood rarely dwelled on past events. However had she told him in advance, he would have harassed her relentlessly. This was the way she often handled him.

Pete subbed in for Wood.

Alex made an almost conscious decision not to tell Kate about the caper until it was over.

No one thought to include Kyle.

Scheduling had been a larger problem. Since the experiment would require the Therm. Lab. It would have to be run on a Sunday. As they would very soon be too busy studying for finals it should be performed this Sunday. Mouse insisted on having a few days to practice with the machine. Thus they needed to obtain the device on Wednesday, Thursday or Friday. While she would have liked a few more days to plan how the device would be obtained, Wednesday was the least disruptive to everyone's schedules. Leaving around 4 PM, only Pete would miss a single class.

The moral issue was not Alex's concern. He didn't like the idea that they would be working with an unknown. The Artifact, which he still hadn't seen, was an unknown quantity. What if it somehow damaged the Laser. He would be responsible. It made him uncomfortable. He was also worried that taking the device would not be the cakewalk he had theorized. More than anything he hated appearing foolish in front of his friends.

Outwardly Pete appeared relaxed and composed, but inwardly he was totally frazzled. Emily would have known by his quietness and lack of animation that he was upset. Alex and Meredith didn't know him quite that well.

His mind was racing, imagining several disastrous outcomes from the looming fiasco. Over and over his mind raced. He would no longer be able to work at the police station. He might lose his scholarship. His family and Sheriff Bowen would be very disappointed.

In an attempt to calm down, he ran through the plan again. They would wait for the hall to be empty. There were only three real entrances. The front door had a long outdoor walkway. They could be sure of an uninterrupted 30 seconds from that direction. Mouse would make sure that no one left the computer room. The final entrance was the elevator down to the loading bay. This would be their exit, and unless they were extremely unlucky the bay should be deserted. In the unlikely event that they were caught, there was the backup plan. Dr. Oliver was willing to swear that this was an exercise, perhaps misguided, for an independent study in Collegiate Security. The story, though weak, should stand up being backed by a reputable teacher.

At ten minutes past six, the Blue Econoline Van that Wood had driven Doc into Sanford to rent earlier that day, rode slowly down Durham's narrow Main Street. It pulled into a free parking space in front of Nell's Coffee Shop. The moderate rain that had been with them all day was now only a slight drizzle.

They had almost an hour to kill.

* * * * *

Despite the comfort of the overstuffed divan, Kyle fidgeted. Poetry class was one of the few places that he normally felt at ease. Although he could never truly tell whether his works were any good, others praised many of his poems. He felt accepted and appreciated here.

Officially this class was designated Creative Writing, but as Kyle was not one of the few that wrote stories, he always thought of it as Poetry class. The class was taught by Mr. Raliegh and consisted of eleven students. They meet once a week: on Wednesdays at 6:30. Attendance was almost always perfect. They met in Fuller Hall which was a small three room building next to the bookstore. Like the bookstore, this building had begun it's life as a private dwelling before being absorbed in the fifties by the expanding school. Little had been changed to convert it for educational purposes. The first floor room where class took place consisted of several comfortable chairs and sofas. Thick curtains covered the two windows, trapping the student's attentions within. A thick turquoise carpet and a small bottled water cooler completed the relaxed surroundings.

Kyle was always somewhat nervous when reading his work before the class. Tonight he was more so because his poem contained a message, barely hidden.

Karen Welch sat directly across from him. The light from the lamp beside her illuminated her long brown hair. She was dressed in a thick, tight but tasteful, plush blue dress. Kyle stared into her deep brown eyes, looking away whenever she glanced his way.

Karen confused Kyle. She was always nice to him. Always complimented him. Always seemed to appreciate his attention. But she never acknowledged that he was interested in her. Of course there was also Bill. He sat next to her on the couch now. Tall. Nordic. Athletic. Creative. Bill.

Usually where Kyle's fantasies about women were concerned, he was powerful, often violent or manipulative. But in his dreams of Karen he was tender, caring, romantic. He concluded that he might love her. The possibility was foreign to him.

Unable to tell her, she secretly became the focus of much of his writing. Tonight he risked letting her know. If she, or one of his classmates, noticed then his secret would be out. It was left to the gods to decide. Kyle liked to leave difficult decisions to the gods.

"Are you ready Mister Ouellette?" asked the teacher, his voice tender and caring, totally in character with his muted sixties hippyish style of dress. Mr. Raleigh was a kind man. A teacher that really cared. Not just about the teaching but about the students as well. It was a class that could, with another leader, have been competitive, petty and bitter. But under his tutelage they nourished, supported and honestly critiqued each others creative impulses.

Kyle took a deep breath, leaned back, and read slowly from the handwritten sheet in his lightly shaking hand.

Keen in dress she lies back slightly

And gently shakes her hair.

Reciting from her soul in softly spoken tones.

Every need is laid bare, vulnerable

Never hiding in tangled phrases or empty metaphor.

While listening I become enthralled.

Eyes meet mine and linger.

Longing to, I still betray no weakness

Caught in traps, I turn my gaze aside.

Hiding in darkness, my light just a smile away

Kyle placed the paper down on his lap, leaned back and waited.

The group clapped expressing it's approval. Karen beamed at him.

For the next 10 minutes Kyle sat on pins and needles as they discussed his work. He had spelled out Karen's name with the first letter of each line. He was worried that someone would notice, and equally fearful that they would not, and his life would continue in stalemate.

If anyone figured it out, no one mentioned it.

After an eternity, it was Denise's turn to read her work. A very entertaining story about traveling in Asia.

Now that the period for discovery had passed, Kyle felt let down. He considered submitting the poem to the school publication. He had often sent in his writing in the past; always under an assumed name. Many on campus would be very surprised to know that Marshall Greene's lovely poetry was scripted by Kyle Ouellette.

But no, the gods had spoken. He'd let the matter drop.

He spent the rest of the two hour class secretly stealing glances at his dark haired beauty.

Afterward six of them stood around outside discussing the class. Karen praised his work and he glowed all the way back to his dorm and long into the night.

* * * * *

Just before seven Alex backed the Van up to the dark loading ramp. As they had expected, the large metal shutter door and the small normal door next to it were locked. They walked around the building, up the hill and down the long hedge lined walkway to the front entrance.

Once inside they checked the four small dark offices to make sure they were empty. That done, Mouse removed her rain coat revealing a tight red sweater, short short skirt, and fishnet stockings.

"Whoa, wow!" Pete said appraisingly, "I should go on missions with you more often." His tone was light, playful.

"Did you know she was wearing this?" Pete nudged Alex.

Alex shrugged and muttered, "I didn't even know she owned something like that."

"I don't. This," she waved her hand down across her torso, "belongs to Brenda Steele."

"That explains the fit." Brenda was smaller than Mouse.

"Nice effect I must admit," Pete conceded.

"Yup, this should keep those computer geeks in place, don't you think?" she asked striking several poses.

"Hey, that's my potential profession you're slamming," Alex complained.

"Yes, but you'll be king of the geeks," she teased his hair.

"Well when you put it that way… " his voice trailed off. He was too tense for clever retorts. He glanced through the thin glass window into the storage room that housed the Laser.

"It's in there," he confirmed.

Mouse glanced at her watch.

"Okay, I'll meet you at the Coffee Shop in 10 minutes," she said and strode in the computer room. Both the storage room and the elevator were slightly visible through the small window in the door. Mouse's job was to keep anyone from looking out the window, and to make sure no one left the room. She looked around, there was only one other woman present. If she tried to leave she'd have to improvise. Half the male eyes had already noted her approach and were already glued to her. The others stared intently at the glowing screens in front of them.

Mouse, walking with exaggerated motion, wiggled over to an empty terminal and sat down. She had no idea how to work a computer.

* * * * *

It's name not withstanding, the computer room did not house the actual computer itself, it merely held some terminals; the input and output for the computer, not the machine that did the calculations. Some terminals had CRT screens, most used paper readouts. However, unlike the computer rooms scattered throughout the university, the computer was in the building. The unit, a PDP-11 made by Digital Equipment Corp., sat in the middle of a room thirty feet by twelve feet. It left only a small walk space surrounding it. Technically the computer was only one of the five closely connected machines. The others were storage devices, magnetic tape recorders, that stored the tremendous amounts of information that routinely flowed through the system. Along the tops of all five units were hundreds of multicolored lights that blinked continuously and seemingly at random. The room had a glass wall that allowed it to be viewed by travelers heading for the computer room.

Pete positioned himself against the wall across from this window. From here he could view Alex's progress, hear the front door if it were opened, see into the computer room at the end of the hall, and possibly hear the elevator in the unlikely event that someone tried to enter that way. Should anyone happen to see him it would appear that he was merely gawking at the machinery.

* * * * *

With the briefest of looks around Alex pushed open the storage room door and stepped inside letting the door close behind him. Against the back wall, next to a dust covered photocopier adorned with a yellowed hand written note saying simply 'Out of Order', was the Laser. Initially Alex had thought that the device sat on a rolling cart, now he realized that it was the cart. The Laser was a three foot square of metal approximately waist high. It was on two inch wheels, one in each corner. Despite their small size Alex noted that the tires were inflated, not solid rubber. The cube had three visible steel doors each of differing size and location. It had no other noticeable characteristics save for it's markings. On top, neatly painted in large red letters, was:

Light

Amplification by

Stimulated

Emission of

Radiation

DANGER: Do Not Touch Without Written

Permission From Dean Thomas.

Stenciled diagonally in large army green letters across one side was: PROPERTY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NEW HAMPSHIRE.

Alex gripped the cart and tugged it toward him. It didn't budge an iota. Swiftly, but quietly, he moved aside a couple of large boxes of old papers and was able to get between the cart and the wall. Braced against the wall Alex pushed with all his might. Nothing. He glanced toward the door. He was already several minutes behind schedule.

* * * * *

What is he doing? Pete thought frantically. The window of the dark storage room cast a slight reflection on the glass in front of the computer. Pete could make out motion but no details. Alex should have come back out almost immediately. Pete wondered if he should abandon his post to find out what the problem was. Alex was after all renown for getting side tracked.

He glanced through the window at Mouse. There were now three guys hovering over her shoulder. Pete glanced at his watch. He'd give Alex one more minute.

* * * * *

By knelling down and pressing his shoulder to the floor Alex was able to perform a hand inspection of the wheels. He discovered a simple locking mechanism. After releasing the four brakes, Alex again positioned himself behind the device and pushed. It moved. It didn't roll easily, but Alex let loose a huge sigh of relief.

Alex unlatched the storage room door and then pushed the cart up to it figuring to push the door open as he forced it into the hallway. However when the wheels came up against the slightly elevated doorway sill it steadfastly refused to budge. Worse it had progressed far enough forward to nudge the door open. He was both stuck and exposed.

* * * * *

For Pete three things happened at once. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the storage room door pop open. Alex was finally ready. Then, as if part of some terrible self-willed prophecy, he saw a short rather homely girl heading to leave the computer room. He felt his blood run cold, but before he could react he saw fate was not through with him yet. Through the glass, he observed with increasing panic that a technician was emerging from behind the machinery. He must have been working on the computer since their arrival. The heavy bearded man needed only to look slightly to Pete's right to notice Alex struggling with the Laser.

The technician saw Pete and waved. Pete put on his best smile and waved back. In his mind's eye he watched his scholarship floating away.

* * * * *

Mouse disliked propetuating the stereotype of the vacuous blond, but that was what the situation called for. Besides she had no right to be comfortable. She was posing as a student, her first time on the machine. Her fallacious task was simple, use the text editor to compose and print a short letter. However she had, she lied, forgotten her ID and password.

Three of the bolder students had offered assistance and were showing her the basics of the computer's operation, while attempting to stare down her v-necked sweater, or perhaps position themselves for a date. Most of the others were enjoying the spectacle from the safety of their terminals

Mouse turned her head to ask a question, but was really sneaking a look out into the hallway. The storage room door was open. A large metal box blocked the doorway from inside.

The small disheveled girl Mouse had noticed upon entering crossed her field of vision. She was headed for the door, but had turned her head to give Mouse a disgusted look.

Improvising, Mouse gave the girl her best sad longing look, which said, she hoped 'Please don't leave me alone with these guys.'

The girl stopped, looked angry for a few more seconds, then seemed to have a change of heart. Her features softened and she altered course purposely toward Mouse.

"Step aside boys, give the girl some air," she said with far more assertiveness than Mouse was expecting. Two of the boys scuttled away. The third she gently pushed aside.

Grabbing a chair from behind her she sat down next to Mouse noisily and extended her hand, "Name's Amy, whatcha havin' trouble with?"

* * * * *

Alex froze when he saw the motion in the room across from him. He watched unable to move while the older man in dirty overalls waved at Pete. He waited for the man to look over and see him. Part of him argued that even if the man did notice him, he wouldn't think twice about it. The other part didn't believe that for a second.

Alex waited a ten second eternity and then stared disbelieving as the man grabbed a small package from out of sight somewhere and then disappeared behind one of the tape drives.

* * * * *

Pete had been totally unaware of his body and surroundings while he stared in barely concealed terror at the workman. It wasn't until the man was out of sight that he recognized the taste of bile in his mouth and the dampness on the back of his neck. The other's could take this lightly he thought, but he had seen firsthand people brought in for offenses far less than this would prove to be. He had some faith that Doc could get them out, but not before the police had "questioned" them.

Pete took exactly two seconds to settle his nerves, then ran the few feet to the storage room.

"What the fuck is going on?" he cursed uncharacteristically. His voice was low but full of anger.

"I can't get it over the sill." Alex whined.

Pete whipped his head to both sides, then reached down and grabbed the base with both hands. Adrenaline racing through his body he tugged with all his strength. The front wheels came over the jam, but it had been a close shave. The box must weigh over two hundred pounds, he figured. Actually it was closer to five.

After he had gotten it moving Alex had leaned into it and used the momentum to get the back wheels over the rise. With the cart now in the hall, Pete leaned across the corridor and pushed the elevator button.

* * * * *

In all his exploration of this building the elevator doors had always opened the instant he pressed the button. Now, of course, they didn't. Alex realized the elevator must be down at the loading dock. Being a freight elevator, it was not particularly fast.

Alex stood dumbly in front of the elevator and waited. He caught Mouse's eye and shrugged. Beside him Pete shook visibly.

* * * * *

A whole minute later, the longest of Pete's life, the elevator doors opened with a deafening chime. Pete looked at the floor. Where the elevator's doors ran was a grooved surface, but it wasn't too bad and the gap between it and the floor was very small. It wasn't nearly as bad as he had feared. Finally they had caught a break.

Pete and Alex put their bodies behind and pushed, the front wheels glided fairly easily over the opening, then bounced as the elevator dropped ever so slightly. The cart ground to halt, it's rear wheels resting firmly in the gap. It was stuck again.

"Hey boys, " they heard shouted behind them. He turned to see the technician closing in on them rapidly.

Pete almost screamed.

"You need a hand with that?" he asked as he approached them. His voice was jovial and friendly.

Without waiting for a reply he joined them and together they were able to coerce it into the elevator. The older man stood in the doorway and looked down at the writing.

"Where's this thing going?" he inquired, his voice conversational.

"The Dean says one of the Docs wants it cleaned up and functional," Pete heard himself say in a calm detached voice. He was unaware of having thought up these words.

The guy chuckled and got out of the doorway.

"Far be it from me to hold up the Dean's business," he laughed and headed back toward the front door.

Behind him the elevator doors closed.

* * * * *

Mouse had been keeping one eye on the events in the corridor. As soon as the elevator doors closed she grabbed her forehead and announced, "Arggh, all this learning is giving me a headache. I think I'll call it quits for tonight."

"Well I hope I was some help," said Amy.

"Oh you were, there's just so much I can handle at once. I think I'm full," she answered, bristling inwardly at herself.

"Besides, it's not due until Friday," she added.

"Well then, good luck."

"Thanks, and thanks for your help."

Mouse got up and walked out the front door. She walked down the short road to Main Street and crossed diagonally over to the Coffee Shop. Both the rain and the wind had picked up. Despite her raincoat she was damp and cold when she got there. She ordered a hot cocoa - coffee made her manic - and sat at a table by the front window. There were only three other patrons present. She settled in, warming her hands on her cup. She stared down the street back toward the road she had come from. It should only be a few more minutes now.

* * * * *

When the man had appeared behind him, Alex had panicked. As often happened to him in times of extreme stress, his emotions shut down. He was now completely detached and slightly aimless. Even after the 'danger' seemed passed he was still out of it. It would be awhile before he returned to normal.

It occurred to him even before the elevator doors opened. Long before they rolled the cart down the long cement tunnel. Well before the vertical freight door was lifted. It occurred to him, but it could no longer faze him.

He lifted the freight door and helped push it onto the dock. All the while he realized it was hopeless, but he could not react to that knowledge.

Then Pete saw it too. The loading dock was about two feet higher than the floor of the van. Both had seen this upon arriving, but at the time neither of them had been aware of how heavy the item was. Since then there hadn't been much time for reflection.

Pete stopped cold, and put his head in his hands.

"All for nothing," he muttered, broken. He sat down on the cement platform. Moisture from the damp concrete soaked through his pants. He didn't notice.

Alex watched this analytically, studying the situation.

"Let's see if we can lift it?" he offered.

Robotically Pete climbed back to his feet. Silently he reached down and grabbed the base, so did Alex.

"On three," he said," one… two… three!"

It never left the ground.

Alex studied the area. The loading dock edge had a small ledge to it. If he could find a plank they would only have to drop the device an inch and it would roll into the van. Alex looked around but the dock and surrounding area were surprisingly clean.

"The door," Alex shouted with sudden inspiration.

Pete was startled and jumped around thinking someone had opened the freight door.

"What?" escaped from his lips.

Without answering Alex ran past him to the normal steel door next to the larger freight door. On the inside he inspected the pins.

"Yup, just might work. Pete, get me the tire iron."

Pete did not notice the metronomic quality to Alex's voice. He jumped off the dock and started tearing up the van's rear floor. He sprinted back and handed Alex the iron.

It only took Alex a minute to pop the pins. Pete pulled the door off it hinges.

Pete held the door in place while Alex backed up the van until the door would reach forming a ramp. There was hardly any drop from the dock to the door, but the slope was steeper than Alex liked. Once this thing started rolling they would not be able to control it. Hopefully, the seat would stop it. Hopefully it wouldn't bounce back out of the van. And given that they had less than a foots width free on the door, hopefully it wouldn't fall off the ramp.

If Alex had been in his right mind, he would have just given up. There was no way he would have endangered the device this way. But in his current state Alex was all about statistics and strategies. Consequences would be for another time. Pete's grasp of physics was not strong enough for him to comprehend the gravity of the situation.

Carefully they centered the Laser before the ramp. Slowly they pushed the front wheels onto the ramp. Nothing left to do now but push a little more.

It moved slowly, then suddenly pulled away from them rapidly. Once it's full weight was on the door, the van lowered considerably. The door qua ramp moved forward but stopped just shy of the edge. As it careened into the van the suspension was just starting to compensate. The cart smashed into the middle seat, which bent significantly but held. As the device recoiled backward, the bouncing van launched it slightly while the angled seat sprang back some applying unequal pressure to the top of the cart. It went up on two wheels while coming to a halt.

In his memory it would seem that the cart hovered like that for an impossible length of time. Then it tipped over and landed solidly on it's back. The sound was deafening, like several thunderbolts striking metal roofs. Despite the competing noise, Alex clearly heard glass breaking.

That would be the optics, he thought, referring to the delicate and precision crafted focusing mirrors that were vital to the Laser's operation. They were now the horrified owners of a very heavy, very expensive, paperweight. The Laser would be useless.

For moments they were both frozen, listening to the echoes of thunder.

* * * * *

Pete recovered first. They had to get out of there. That was not a sound that could go uninvestigated. Their only advantage lay in the fact that it was too monumental a noise to be easily located. But they had to move fast.

He noticed that the box was sticking out the rear an inch or two. He dropped down and bracing against the loading dock wall, pushed the device with his legs. Even given his adrenaline wracked system he was just barely able to slide the device along the van's carpeted floor. The rug was tearing and bunching up. Another inch and he would not have made it.

He was dimly aware that he had injured his left leg.

Meanwhile, Alex was warming up the van. Just as he was closing the rear doors, a man in his late fifties, most likely a teacher, turned the corner of the building.

"Hey!" was all Pete heard as he threw himself into the back of the van and yelled "Drive!"

* * * * *

Mouse was getting worried. She stared at the small intersection as if willing the blue van to appear. What could be keeping them? By deliberate effort she turned her attention to the boulder across the street. She couldn't read the green tinged plaque from where she sat but she watched two pigeons fighting for territory around it.

She had just begun to relax when she heard a terrible explosion. It sounded to her like a bus falling off an overpass. The waitress behind the counter dropped a cup of coffee. Everyone turned in the direction of the science building. Toward the source of the disturbance. Mouse couldn't see anything, but figuring the boys were involved, stood up and walked outside. Two patrons came out to stare across with her. They tried to strike up a conversation but she ignored them and they ended up talking to each other.

She was about to give up when the van came speeding up the street. It gave two short beeps of the horn, rounded the corner hard, and fled up Main Street; out of sight.

Mouse sighed and returned to the shop. That had been the prearranged signal that it was too risky to stop. She would have to take the bus home. It wasn't that big an inconvenience. The bus stopped here at the Coffee Shop and would arrive in less than half an hour. She would spend the two hour ride trying to figure out what the hell had happened.

May 14, 1981

Kyle was only dimly aware of the cold wall against his bare backside as he inched silently toward the doorway. He stopped and strained to hear above his thundering heart. He was only a few feet from freedom. A couple more steps and he would run naked into the Delaware neighborhood in which he had grown up and escape the drunken madman that pursued him.

Painfully slowly he slid along the wall. His eyes, long since adjusted to the dark, frantically scanned the dilapidated corridor. Just a few more feet.

"Where are you, you worthless little bastard?" his father bellowed. Alcohol turned 'worthless' to 'worshlesh'. The sound had come from the kitchen, from the rear of the house. Kyle faced the doorway and ran. The door, already ajar, flung open as he collided with it and he launched himself into the cool predawn air. Beyond him was the porch, a short lawn and then the row of trees which marked the beginning of the forest. That would provide him sanctuary.

Suddenly a huge hand grabbed him by the neck, spun him around and dropped him hard on his tail bone. Pain shot through him.

"I'll teach you to hide from me, boy."

Kyle felt hot breath and spittle on his face as his father yelled. His father's mouth was inches from his fetal form.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Without relaxing his face, which was trying to fold in on itself for protection, Kyle timidly opened one eye. He looked up at his Dad. Normally twice his height, his father was bent completely over; face to face with his prone son. His face was beet red with rage, alcohol and the exertion of doubling over. His large stomach was compressed against his chest but the balding forty three year old was having no trouble breathing.

Kyle was rolled up to protect as much of himself as possible, but one hand lay limp - exposed. Exploiting this weakness, the heavy man grabbed the wrist and hurled the small form back into the house.

The boy felt surprisingly little pain as his shoulder pulled free of it's socket. Then his head caught the mahogany newel post of the staircase and he spun slightly and landed hard. His father was lifting him to his feet even before his vision cleared. Unable to support himself his father held him upright by his short hair.

"Mom," Kyle said in the exact intonation another might reserve for his deity.

"That lazy bitch can't save you now, boy."

They were now in the bedroom. Kyle was unclear as to how they had gotten there. Something brushed against his damaged arm and he yelled in pain.

"Stop being a girl." Something in his face changed. His drunken eyes strayed over the boy's naked body. Though Kyle would have previously thought it impossible, his terror increased.

"You want to be a girl? I'll teach you what it feels like to be a girl."

Suddenly his father's pants were gone. His cock was hard and huge. Effortlessly Kyle was flung up on the bed, face down. Behind him he felt the monster close in.

Kyle awoke screaming. Drenched in sweat he found himself sitting up. He looked over at his clock: 3:13.

The details of the dream occasionally changed minutely. Sometimes it was the house in Ocean City that he had lived in during his teens. Sometimes he was forced to perform oral sex.

Also the image of his father changed a lot.

This was not surprising. His mother had kicked her husband out when Kyle was only five. Apparently she had also burned his pictures. Or maybe there had never been any. Regardless, Kyle had no knowledge of what his father had looked like.

The dream had abated in frequency during his first year in College. In the last few months it was escalating again. It was occurring about twice a week now. It was impossible to get back to sleep after the nightmares and consequently he felt tired most of the time.

As had become ritual after the nightmares, Kyle debated whether this dream represented actual events or not. There was evidence for both sides. His dad had been gone when Kyle was only five but age wouldn't have deterred the creature from his sleep.

What had been the event that finally made his mother rise up and send the bastard packing? He didn't know. She didn't talk about him much.

True he didn't personally remember such an assault, but after almost two years of psychology he thought he recognized some of the symptoms of suppressed memories and sexual assault in himself.

First he had a terrible memory. Sometimes it was difficult to remember the details of the previous days events. He had only a handful of memories from before high school. He had read that this was often a sign of a mind that was repressing childhood trauma.

Beyond that, he didn't trust people. That was not surprising. An abusive drunken father. Whatever the man may or may not have done to him, he had robbed his mother of the ability to show love. Receiving little feelings of love during his formative years could be the cause of his social withdrawal. But an inability to get close was also a sign of sexual abuse.

His sexual fantasies involved subjugating his prey. Forcing or tricking women into servicing him formed the basis of his daydreams. Also the sex never involved intercourse. Usually it involved oral but occasionally anal sex. Whatever act it was always forceful and uncomfortable for his partner.

In class last year they had spent a day on valence transference. This was a psychology term for a victim taking on the characteristics of the oppressor. Valence transference made sense of his sexual preferences. It lent serious weight to the possibility of the nightmare being real.

It was important to Kyle to know. Inwardly he wanted a normal life. He didn't see one developing.

Most around him - who happened to question it - would assume Kyle to be a virgin. In point of fact, depending on the definition he may or might not be.

His second month at college a girl that Kyle had felt no particular attraction to, expressed an interest in him. On the first date they had slipped off into the woods after walking back from the cinema and she had knelt before him and sucked him off. Their second date found her in her dorm room. She was on her back while he straddled her chest fucking her mouth. When he finished she began to choke.

Kyle, who had dreamed many times about choking a women with his power, found himself scared rather that aroused. He had leaped off of her muttering 'are you okay?' in a whiny childlike voice.

When she had recovered the slightly pudgy large breasted girl wanted him to pleasure her. Feeling unsettled and turned off he mechanically began to finger her.

After a few minutes the girl mewed dreamily, "Yes, that's the spot. You can do that forever."

"That's what I was afraid of," Kyle said, his voice weak but high pitched. He got up, dressed, and walked out without saying another word.

Without discussion the five day relationship was over. It was the longest romance he'd had to date.

His only other sexual experience came toward the end of that school year. Nasson had a tradition of concluding each year with a campus wide party known as Dean's Day, or more simply: D-Day. By noon casualties of the party - students, workers and teachers - littered the campus.

After drinking for several hours Kyle had started to stagger from the Quad back to his room. His plan was to rest for a few hours and then return for the night's festivities.

When he got to the dorm sitting on the steps was a fairly attractive extremely sloshed women named Hillary. She was a junior. Kyle had noticed her many times in the past. He had fantasized about her more than once.

"Hey Pete," she uttered almost falling over.

Kyle sat down next to her, wondering which Pete he appeared to be.

Lurching awkwardly Hillary grabbed his closer hand and smacked it into her chest.

"Once more for old times sake?" she tried for a throaty voice but a girlish snicker was added spoiling the effect.

She took the continued presence of his hand on her breast as acceptance. They used each other to climb clumsily to their feet. His room was closer.

They lie naked in his room. He had tried to steer her head into his lap but she was either unwilling or unable to comprehend his intention. Currently they lay side by side. Her hand was deftly sliding along his shaft trying to overcome the effects of the alcohol in his system. He could barely feel her.

Eventually he became aware that she had stopped. A small snore reached his ear. She had passed out. Kyle was hard. He leaned on his side and shook her. She did not awaken.

Kyle maneuvered himself on top of her and clumsily entered her. Kyle could still barely feel her. He thrusted a couple of times before discovering he had gone limp. Frustrated he fell back down beside her. He stared at her mouth. He stroked himself with one hand and one firm breast with the other. Eventually he was hard again.

This time he mounted her chest but he needed both hands to press the soft flesh around his tool and was unable to balance himself at the same time. He moved in on her face. Her mouth was closed. He pulled on her jaw. He was shocked that he couldn't open it. Her jaw resisted his hardest tug. He thought briefly that she must only be pretending to be asleep. If she was, he couldn't tell. Drunk and frustrated he managed with great difficulty to climax off on her face. Suddenly exhausted he dropped back beside her.

He placed her hand on his crotch and drifted off to sleep.

When he awakened she was gone.

She would assume he had fucked her. The thought pleased him. Then he recalled that he had been unable to perform. He wondered if he was impotent.

Since then he had not the opportunity to find out.

Unwilling to introspect any further, and still unable to sleep Kyle dressed and prepared for a walk in the cool night air.

* * * * *

Alex dangled his feet over the stone precipice and stared down the twenty odd feet to the calm waters below. Deering Pond was a small body of water, barely 40 feet around. Formed by an ancient sinkhole it was ringed by boulders. Near the spot where Alex sat, a rope was tied about a tree and dangled down into the pond. Put there years ago, the rope was to help out any unfortunate soul that might blunder in. The hole existed after all less than a quarter of a mile from Hanscom Hall. It was only accessible if one knew where to look for the nearly invisible path through the forest behind Upper Campus. It's existence and location were handed down from student to student. It was unswimable, being too cold much of the year and stagnant the rest. It was however a wonderful place of solitude and quiet. It was where Alex usually went when upset.

He and Pete had picked up Mouse at the next Bus stop. After a brief argument they had driven the rest of the way in a strained silence. Upon arriving back at Nasson he had left his two companions to work out how next to proceed. He had come straight to Deering.

Here his thoughts had run in circles for hours. He sat stationary staring at the reflective surface far below, oblivious to the cold that had crept into his body.

For most people their personal ethics systems – the rules by which they determine, usually unconsciously, right from wrong -- are based on either religion or the law. Alex's wasn't. When he had at an early age first read about the Greek and Roman gods he had compared them to his own family's Christian beliefs and found them equally mythological. He had delved into other religions and by the middle of high school was a staunch Atheist. As to the law, Alex had what had been widely diagnosed as a problem with Authority.

He could call upon many examples to illustrate his frustrations with those in command. However it was a simple childhood incident that seemingly most strongly affected his psyche. Alex had been a bright child, and like most that truly loved to learn, he had drawn the anger of those less gifted. Quite often he was picked on at school.

One day in the fourth grade Alex was standing at the edge of the school playing field during morning recess. He was watching some older kids play soccer having become fascinated with the geometry involved. Suddenly he felt a hard slap upside the back of his head. He whirled around to look up at a large fifth grader who had tormented him many times before.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Brainiac?"

Before he could answer the older boy punched him in the stomach.

"Answer me."

Again before he could catch his breath, the bully boxed him in the ear.

Anger and frustration grew in Alex and for once he struck back. He lowered his head and rushed the larger kid. Caught off guard his tormentor had the wind knocked out of him, and they tumbled to the ground. Alex landed on top and started pounding him in the face.

Suddenly he was hauled up into the air. He found himself held by one of the teachers responsible for monitoring the recess. They never seemed to be a round when he was being beaten.

"What are you doing? No fighting. You know better than that," the old woman informed him, talking to him as if he was a ill trained puppy.

"He started it," Alex whined.

"It takes two too tangle, young man," she replied.

Tango. Two to tango, he thought but didn’t bother to correct her.

"No it doesn't…" Alex started on the real issue but was cut off.

"I don't want to hear it. Both of you, off to the principal's office."

"You are so dead," the older boy whispered in his ear.

The principal had dealt with the other boy first, then when they were alone she started in on him.

"Seems like you're in trouble a lot," she started.

"I was minding my own business."

"It takes two to fight."

This time he didn't bother to try to point out that this was nonsense. "What should I do, stand there and take it?" Alex asked, growing angrier.

"If someone gives you trouble I want you to come straight up here and tell me. No more fighting. You understand?"

He nodded, calming down. A simple agreement had been reached. A solution had been agreed upon. Some of his troubles were over.

"Now go out and play."

Two days later the same boy kicked him in the ribs. Alex ran directly to the principal.

"Ma'am, Randy kicked me for no reason," Alex said tears of pain and rage running down his cheeks.

"Oh, don't be such a crybaby. You've got to learn to fight your own battles. Nobody likes a tattletale. Now go back to the playground."

An overpowering rage built as he thought over this irrational betrayal. Then it became very clear: the teachers and the principal had no clue what they were doing. They were just trying to hang on, to survive like the rest of them. Later on, incidents in high school, watching Watergate unfold, and a few brushes with the law expanded this realization to include all Authority. That was how he thought of them, not as individuals but as Authority with a capital 'A'.

He did not trust or respect Authority. It was important to avoid Authority's detection for you never knew how it would react. It was just trying to survive, just trying to maintain the status quo. He would never go to it for help, it was just as likely to turn on him. Not that he would go out of his way to damage Authority. He simply treated it like a crazy relative, and gave it a wide berth.

With neither religion or law as a basis some would have developed without an ethical foundation. Alex however developed a fairly strict code of ethics. Possessing the logical mind he did, he codified it:

1) An action is wrong if you have to lie about the action or the results of the action.

2) Strive to leave those around you happier than they would be without you.

3) Try not to destroy.

Of course these rules didn't apply to Authority. It was okay to lie to Authority. In fact it was often important for survival. Thus to Alex it was, for instance, a thousand times worse to destroy a work of art than to defraud an insurance company.

To Alex's way of thinking the Laser was as important as a work of art. It was a one of a kind item. He had destroyed something irreplaceable.

"It might also put you back in the hands of our old friend Authority," a gruff voice, perhaps like that of a chain smoking gargoyle, whispered in his ear.

"Hodge," Alex sat up straight in surprise listening to the voice in his head. Hodge had begun his existence as a childhood imaginary friend, but during high school had gained a life of his own. Alex had read about imaginary friends and inner voices and Hodge seemed more real than what they described. Alex secretly feared he might be schizophrenic but wasn't able to trust a psychiatrist for to him they were a part of Authority. Alex was reminded of the old joke:

"Doctor my husband thinks he's a chicken."

"Why don't you take him to a doctor?"

"We can't. We need the eggs."

For whatever Hodge's cause, he was very useful as a tap into Alex's subconscious. He noticed things Alex missed, made connections Alex didn't, and remembered things Alex forgot. He was very useful and usually showed up when Alex was in trouble or turmoil.

Alex had made himself a promise that if Hodge ever started telling him to hurt others or something like that, he would get help, but until then Hodge was a useful eccentricity; a friend. Of course, Alex kept his existence a complete secret. The only person he had ever told was Kate. That had been as a symbol of his love and trust. Even at that he had watered down the truth some. She had thought it cute.

"Feeling down, Boyo?" Hodge said in his stony voice.

"What am I going to do?" Alex said speaking aloud although he didn't have to.

"You're going to survey the damage and repair whatever needs repairing."

"I don't know the first thing about creating optics," he protested.

"First of all, that's not true. Second of all, it doesn't matter, because we can find someone that does. And thirdly you don't know that the optics are damaged because you didn't look. Seems like we need more info, doesn't it?"

"Well it will have to wait until morning. Mouse has the keys," Alex stated, already feeling the better for having a clear course of action.

"So?"

"So it's…," Alex paused to look at his watch, "one in the morning. She's asleep."

"If you'll remember, Hollywood has complained aloud many times about her lack of sleeping."

"Well I can't go barging into her dorm at this hour."

"Given the situation do you think it likely she is at the dorm?"

"Where…Oh you think she's at the van."

"Only one way to find out."

"Okay," Alex said as he climbed to his feet, stretched and searched in the dim moonlight for the path back to campus.

* * * * *

Considering how impossible it had seemed at first, Mouse thought the transfer of the Laser from the van to the lab was going very well. There had been many obstacles, but they had caught a few lucky breaks. Firstly Pete's older brother, Jake, was part owner of an automotive repair shop, Rustic Repairs. And he was willing to loan his brother an engine winch at 11 PM, no questions asked.

Using the winch they had been able to slowly remove the case from the van and turn it upright in the process. Alex had joined them toward the tail end of this procedure.

The plan originally had them storing the unit in the unused laboratory in the basement. Dr. Oliver had reluctantly given Mouse the keys to the lab and the front door. However, there was no way they were going to get this monstrosity up the front steps.

For two hours she sat under the parking lot light and thought about the problem. In a few hours it would be dawn. By then they would either have to have gotten the Laser into the building or put it back in the van and wait another day.

It wasn't until Kyle arrived that the problem got solved. He had spied them while crossing the parking lot on his way to Stop'N'Go. He usually went there after working up a thirst walking off the adrenaline rush caused by The Dream.

After Mouse filled him in on the situation Kyle asked, "Why haul it up the steps just to bring it down again?"

"What are you talking about?" Mouse inquired puzzled.

"How do you think they got all those desks and photocopiers and such in there?"

Mouse looked at the building through new eyes and realized that the steep front steps led up almost a full floor. What she thought of as the basement was almost level with the ground.

"You're right," she grabbed his arm in excitement, "there must be a service entrance.

"I'd try over there. Around the side closest to the road," Kyle said his attention lingering on the warmth of her touch. Alex, as he had been for hours, was reading the spiral bound notebook that had been found in the controls compartment of the Laser. Kyle, Pete and Mouse headed off around the corner.

The door was right there, almost on street level. Only two concrete steps and they went down. Of course, the key didn't work. It wasn't even the same type of lock. It was a much older style. The door was solid wood and had no windows. The decayed leaves at the base of the stairwell suggested this passage hadn't been used in a long time.

"I wonder if anybody still knows where the key for this is?" Pete's voice had an uncharacteristically fatalistic tone to it. Despite being very helpful he seemed to give up anew at each additional problem. He didn't seem to Mouse his usual optimistic self.

"It doesn't matter," Kyle said beaming. He patted his breast, then frowned and looked down at it perplexed. "Shit. Hold on. Start bringing it around. I'll be right back," he said and sprinted off toward upper campus without elucidating further.

"Interesting," was Mouse's only comment.

The tired trio then attached the wheels to the tripod shaped base of the winch and hoisted the Laser off the ground. Having to keep the assembly on the concrete paths forced them to take the long way around the building. They were almost to the short stairwell when Kyle returned breathless. Without commentary, but with a smile for Mouse, he removed a small black leather fold from his breast pocket.

Studying the lock he finally said, "this is an old one, outta be a breeze." He pulled two metal tools from the fold. One was a short flat bent piece of steel, the other was straight but had a toothed edge.

His senior year of high school Kyle had taken a job at Finneys Hardware Store. It was a boring but hassle free job, and it gave him some spending money. It was not a busy store and it left the employees with a lot of idle time. To amuse himself the locksmith had taken to teaching the art of lock picking to some of the clerks. Kyle, it turned out, was a natural and had picked up the skills with impressive ease. The locksmith also sold him a set of lock picks.

He fiddled with the tools for less than a minute before relaxing, standing straight and theatrically pushing on the door. Nothing happened. "Damn it," he said his moment of triumph diluted. He put his shoulder to the door and shoved. It gave an inch. "Well, it's unlocked. You'll have to do the rest," he said indicating Pete with his eyes. He left the stairwell sulking. He rubbed his shoulder and palm.

Two heaves rewarded Pete with the groan of rusty hinges and the opening of the door.

"Way to go," cheered Alex.

"Kyle did the hard part," said Pete modestly.

"Yeah. Good job Kyle," Mouse cheered patting his shoulder.

After an hour of slow tedious effort the group finally had the Laser down the stairs, through the hall and into the pilfered lab.

Pete sat down on a old wooden crate and massaged the aching muscles in his arm. Twisting in Mouse's direction he yawned and asked, "you need me for anything else? I'm beat."

Looking at his watch he added, "I can still get a good two hour nap if I hurry."

Mouse thought for a moment. She was feeling tired too.

"Yeah, go," she waved her hand.

"And Pete," she amended quickly, "thanks for your help."

"No problem, Boss." Pete was not the type for recriminations. He had participated willingly in all that had transpired. Any grudges he harbored were with himself.

"I'm a tad tired myself. What about you guys? Ready to call it a night?" Mouse crossed the room to grab the blanket she had procured earlier. She expected no disagreement and was preparing to cover the instrument for the night.

"Actually, I'd really like to fire this puppy up and make sure it wasn't damaged," Alex said patting the laser. He had to know.

Kyle was torn between sleep, which he felt he could return to now, and staying within eyesight of Mouse, who once inside had removed her coat revealing Brenda's clothes. He'd stay as long as she did.

"How long do you think it'll take?" she asked Alex.

"Shouldn't be more than an hour at the most. I've looked over the manual and a low frequency test firing looks easy enough." After all there was no point in mentioning any trouble until he was sure there was some.

As Mouse sat down and started going over her notes, Alex located the small metal flap that covered the housing for the power cord.

Suddenly Alex swore loudly startling Mouse and Kyle.

"Yes?" Mouse inquired.

"The damn thing requires a 220 volt socket."

"The Therm lab has one."

"Christ, it's going to be a bitch getting it to the elevator. Well, no sense putting it off," Alex gave the unit an experimental shove.

"I think that perhaps that might not be the wisest course of action. Considering the lateness of the hour. By the time we get it up there and set up, we won't have time to get the machine back down here before people start arriving," Mouse said firmly.

Alex had no choice but concur.

As dawn prepared to rise over the campus, the very tired but somewhat relieved group started home to get a few hours of sleep before classes. Kyle made no effort to keep pace with Mouse and Alex and so they were alone as they approached the twin raised plank walkways that led into the dorms. Identical spotlights illuminated the short piers. Mouse veered off onto the closer one as Alex headed for the one leading to the boys side. Before she had reached the door he called over to her.

"What time can we start preliminaries on the Laser?"

"You haven't forgotten that you and Julia are the designated cooks for tomorrow's Pagan Party?" She looked at her watch. "Make that tonight's Party."

"Aw, Christ."

"You know, for an atheist you invoke the Lord's name a lot?" she teased.

"I was raised a Catholic."

"That explains it," she smirked.

The conversation lulled and Alex pulled it back on track. "How about after the party? It looks like our sleep cycles are going to be all shifted around anyway."

"I have to return his keys when I brief Doc in the morning."

"We could get copies made," Alex paused. "Then again we didn't need one tonight…Let me see if I can arrange for an additional dinner guest."

"Oh great. Thanks for the warning. Well, this ought to be interesting," Mouse replied half laughing and sighing.

"Okay, if we feel up to it afterwards, we'll go check things out," she said.

"Well good night. Sleep tight," she continued her voice sounding childlike.

"Night," said Alex pulling on the cold steel handle of the large door.

She gave him a reassured smile -- she had been a tad worried about him, he'd seemed overly troubled earlier -- and went off to bed.

* * * * *

Upon reaching his room he found a neatly written note taped to his door. It took his blurry eyes several moments to focus on it.

Where have you been hiding stranger?

If you return to the living before nine I'll be at the library.

--- Love Kate.

"Only missed her by eight hours," he mumbled, unlocked his door and stepped inside. He made a mental note to take Kate to breakfast. Right after a quick nap.

Alex was asleep practically before he hit the bed, and definitely before he set his alarm. He awoke at 2PM having slept through all but one of his classes.

* * * * *

"I swear I thought that poor clerk was just going to die," Pete spoke excitedly across the diner countertop to Jocie. She sat comfortably, listening intently and nibbling on a small salad Pete had whipped up a few minutes before.

"I mean, picture it. Here, as far as the clerk knows, Doc has damaged the seat of the van fairly seriously. She gives him, what I thought was a very reasonable bill…"

"How much?" she asked pausing to rub her hands on her napkin.

"A hundred and fifty. And Doc just explodes at this poor girl. I wanted to pretend I didn't know him."

"Why were you there anyway?"

"I drove the van there. I used it to return the engine winch first. Doc drove his car to bring me back in."

"He was probably taking out his frustrations on her," Jocie offered.

"And that makes it right? This whole thing was his idea anyway. If anyone should be taking out frustrations…"

"I guess I'm just lucky you're not like him," she leaned over and stroked the side of his face with the back of her hand. "You growing a beard?" she asked pulling her hand back.

"No, just didn't make time to shave this morning."

"Ever think about it? I kind of like the idea."

"I don't know, mom instilled in me the idea that people with beards are hiding something. Makes people trust you less."

"That's silly," she actually giggled. "Do you thing Wood is hiding something?"

"Actually, I've never fully trusted him, he uses all that comedy and drama to hide his true feelings."

"So, tell me Mr. Freud, what are his true feelings?"

"That's Dr. Freud to you, and I don't know because he hides it so well," he stuck out his tongue at her.

She thought briefly for a rejoinder and then looked around.

"Pretty dead in here today isn't it?"

"There's only been two other people in here my whole shift. Not too surprising given that this is the first decent weather in a few days."

He glanced over at the large Michelob clock near the door.

"My shifts almost over. Shall I walk you to your class?"

* * * * *

Directly behind Prior-Hussey was the remains of an old tennis court. Grown in with weeds, the net long gone and the tall metal fence doorless and rusty, it now served mostly as a shortcut to upper campus. Occasionally there would be a Friday night party, replete with beer kegs and a burning barrel. During the day some students played various sports on the broken tar.

There was a rise on the dorm side that was free from vegetation on both sides of the dirt path that bisected it.

It was on this rise that Kyle often sat, enjoyed the sun and wrote. This week he was experimenting with haiku. He didn't quite see the beauty in it, but it was an interesting form to struggle with. He stared down at his pad.

"An old man stares at echoes of his youth,

long since past

and smiles sadly."

After a short internal debate on whether smiles was one syllable or two, he let the words he had written flow over him. Beyond my years, he thought and smiled.

He was beginning another one about wasted youth.

"Kyle," someone yelled. He could discern neither the caller nor the direction. He looked around.

"Hey! Up here."

He looked up behind himself and caught the motion of Alex's arm waving out his dorm window.

"Hi."

"Can you come up here for a moment?"

Without answering, Kyle jotted down a couple of notes, stood up and dusted himself off. He walked along the rear of Hussey Hall and ambled up the metal steps of the austere side entrance.

When he arrived at Alex's room the door was open but the room was empty.

"What the hell?" thought Kyle. Maybe he had to go to the bathroom, he decided. He hung around the doorway for moment before curiosity pulled him inside. He had never had the occasion to be in Alex's room before. He had just been invited up, he was sure he was suppose to wait inside.

Kyle went three steps forward and took in the room. As a sum of it's parts Alex's room was standard issue. However, it had been altered. The walls of Prior-Hussey were constructed of cinder block and painted a uniform gray. This room was painted an ocean blue, the ceiling a sky blue. Normal dorm rooms were symmetrical. Starting at the door each side contained a closet, a desk and a bed. The bed was constructed of a rectangular wooden base which contained three long drawers and a mattress. Someone, Alex he assumed, had piled up both wooden bases so that a bed frame four feet high with double thick mattresses lined the left side of the room. On the right side, the desk had been extended over to the window and a six shelf book case had been constructed behind it. The workmanship on both items was very professional.

The shelves were full, two books deep in spots. School books lined the lowest shelf. Judging by the books he recognized it seemed that Alex forwent the usual ritual of selling back his school books to the bookstore at the end of each semester. Also, here and there, along the shelves wherever there was space were various trinkets, knickknacks and small toys.

This room could no longer house a second student. Kyle wondered what Alex did each semester when the school assigned new roommates. He himself had one of the dorms two single rooms.

Kyle continued to look about the room and was immediately drawn to the large corkboard that was affixed behind the other desk. There were a multitude of papers pinned to the board. Papers of all shapes and sizes. Some torn, some cut. Some hand-written, some typed, many were both. Some from magazines, others not.

He looked first at the two buttons stuck in the lower corners. Remember: The Early Worm gets Eaten by the Bird read the first, and the other "It Never Hurts to be Paranoid". Hand writing on small slip said: Make sure my way ain't got your way in it. A longer one that appeared to be a computer printout contained:

"An unjust society will contain laws proclaiming that ignorance of the law is no excuse in violating it." Below it on the same sheet was handwritten: LRH?

Proudly displayed in the center of the board was a large piece of paper obviously cut from a magazine. It had then been bordered with golden sparkles. The sign's three word message stood out in massive stone letters, one word per line:

CRIME

DOESN'T

PAY!

This didn't seem to jibe with the spirit of rest of the board, which puzzled Kyle until he looked closer and realized it was the front of a card. The top of the card was kept closed by the thumbtack that held it in place, but he pulled the bottom up enough to read the neat feminine writing inside:

PROOF POSITIVE!

You were right.

The Government does run it!

Happy Birthday,

Love Kate.

Kyle laughed and scribbled a paraphrasing into his notebook.

He had just located a rather cryptic one when Alex bounded into the room, slightly out of breath.

"Ah, there you are. I must have missed you."

"I came round the back," Kyle explained. Still perplexed he pointed to the board. "Beware of String?" he asked.

"Strings. Beware of Strings."

"Ah that's much clearer," Kyle responded with a sarcastic tone.

"It's my version of: There ain't no such thing as a free lunch. I always hated that expression. Of course there are. Things happen all the time with no consequences. What they really mean is look out for obligations or more simply: Beware of Strings."

With a shrug that spoke volumes about how bored he had become, Kyle changed the subject, "So why did you call me up here?" He sounded more put out than he had intended. It didn't matter, Alex didn't often notice these subtleties.

"I know it is short notice, but we are having the Pagan Party tonight and I thought you might like to attend. It's a friendly dinner and discussion."

Kyle knew full well what the Party was, as several of his favorite girls including Karen attended. It was held every other Thursday. The beginning of last year he had dropped a few hints but had never been invited. Why now?

"Why?"

Alex briefly considered telling him he needed him for his lock picking skills. "No, you catch more flies with honey," he told himself.

"You catch even more with dead animals," Hodge chimed in.

Alex ignored him.

"I figured sense you were helping with the Artifact and all…but if you have other plans… I understand," Alex played him guiltlessly.

"What time?"

"Seven O'clock, at Billings." Alex referred to the little building just before Prior. It was one of seven buildings on campus which had once been small dorms but were now used as function halls by the students.

"Okay, I'll give it a whirl," Kyle said trying to act much cooler than he felt.

As distraction Kyle asked, "By the way, what is your take on the Artifact?"

"You know, I actually haven't even seen it yet."

* * * * *

"Thanks again for helping me with the shopping," Alex said over his shoulder to Wood, who was carrying two bags of groceries. Alex also had two, which he shifted awkwardly to one side so he could open the door to Billings Hall. He found it unlocked and heard Julia singing in the kitchen.

"Hey, songbird," he said entering the room. Gesturing to Wood he added, "just put those anywhere."

"Watcha got cookin'," he inquired.

"All sorts of wonderful vegetables. Found some wonderful greens for salads too. You'll love the dressing."

He was afraid to ask her what she meant by 'found'. Julia was a stocky nineteen-year-old of Italian descent. She had shoulder length straight black hair that was often, but not now, in a pigtail. She was five foot two and had a radiant smile. She had been a Pagan for only four months but had drawn the cooking card three times. A strict vegetarian, for health not conscience reasons, her first meal had been memorable, and quite enjoyable.

Secretly she thought they might be rigging the draw, but she didn't mind. If true it was quite a complement, and she loved to cook.

"Bill's in the bathroom," she referred to her boyfriend of five months, "and Kate dropped by a while ago, said she'd be back at… oh," she looked at her watch," about ten minutes ago. What do you need for your meal?" Her arm swept in the direction of the stove.

"Just one burner and the oven."

"Ovens all yours. I only need one burner. What are you making?"

"My world famous lasagna surprise. And stuffed mushrooms, of course."

"No snails," she and Wood said in stereo. Hers a question, his a statement.

"Sorry, there just wasn't time," Alex looked sheepish.

"Don't look sad on my account," she beamed," I don't eat animals, It's just I've been hearing about your snails since I started coming here. I was curious."

"It's on my account you can feel sorry. You can't hook a person and then fail to deliver. I've been waiting for another hit all winter. Now pay up. I say, nay I demand, that we have a snail hunt Saturday," Wood said waving his arms with high drama and self-importance.

Alex wanted to be working on the laser from the moment the building was deserted on Friday. He would probably work straight through Saturday. Then again a little break before he started would probably do him good. He could always change his plans depending on what he learned tonight."

"Saturday's no good. But we can do it after my last class on Friday."

"So, about five?"

"Right at five, and I need to go straight out and back."

Wood agreed rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. Alex unloaded the groceries and started preparing dinner.

* * * * *

The Pagan Party was not at all what it's name implied. It had been born six years previously as a religious discussion group. It's founding nine members practiced a wide variety of religions or lack thereof. Originally they had met the first Friday night of every month.

Two years later, it's ranks had dwindled to six. The next year Wood found the group, and transformed it into Dinner Party. When he got Alex and Mouse to join, it became dinner followed by general discussions. Conversations could be on any topic and some very weird discussions ensued. Their membership grew to sixteen, and would have expanded further but due to the size of the hall they agreed to cap their patronage at twenty. After that they became very selective about who could join.

They had wanted to meet more often, but Tina, who did most of the cooking, balked. A system was developed for designating the cook. Cards were dropped in a hat. Each drew and the two that got the red Aces, cooked. The results were often as interesting as the discussions. Clean up was a communal affair that kicked off the discussion period. And as it's new members were more socially outgoing, the party was moved to Thursdays. Every other Thursday.

Wood had deemed it the Pagan Party. Paying homage to it's religious roots, he had said.

Those that knew Alex cooked, had come to look forward to his meals. This time they were disappointed. His lasagna was good but average. His stuffed mushrooms, always different but always a favorite, didn't quite work. His usual inventiveness just wasn't visible. Even his failures were usually at least comment worthy. Uninspired was the word that made the rounds in hushed whispers that evening.

Luckily Julia's selection was riveting. A salad made from various weeds including Lamb's Quarters and dandelions. With a dressing made from oil, lemon and wild raspberries. Once a few got over the ingredients most agreed it was fabulous.

By tradition, the cooks started the first couple discussions. It came to no one's surprise that the first topic was computer related.

"I was reading this week, that the creation of artificial intelligence isn't coming as easily as they thought it would. Do you think intelligence can be created in a computer?"

"Define intelligence," asked a short boy named Walt. Walt was big on definitions. Most discussions started this way. Some of the members found this trait of his annoying, but it was Alex's observation that there were far more confusions and senseless arguments on the nights Walt could not make it.

"I think," said Mouse chiming in. She almost always began sentences with 'I think' or 'I feel'. She hardly ever spoke, as most did, as if her opinions were undisputed fact. "I think, that is one of the big problems. The objective hasn't been, and might not be able to be, defined. I myself, would settle for a program that could reach conclusions from a variety of information sources. That is to say, the ability to combine existing information to reach new associations and generate new ideas, or even new questions."

"Don't you think it's just a matter of getting all that information into a computer," asked Emily. She was usually quiet during technology topics.

"No it's more than that, it has to be able to prioritize it. To organize it usefully, and then it has to make that leap to using it," Alex answered.

"Look at something like humor. Could a computer ever recognize or create humor?" Emily threw in.

"Why not?" Kyle asked.

"We can't even agree on what humor is, or what makes something funny," Pete responded.

"But there is an underlying sense of what is funny. A common ground. That's why comedians don't starve," Kyle retorted.

Mouse was surprised to find Kyle so well spoken. He never seemed attentive in the two classes they shared.

"Define humor," injected Walt.

"I just said, we can't…"

Mouse cut Pete off, "Humor is the juxtaposition of the expected with the absurd." She quoted the dictionary compliments of her eidetic memory.

"That's irony," Kyle argued.

"No, irony is the juxtaposition of the expected with the unexpected," she corrected.

"The absurd is usually unexpected," he countered.

"And irony is often a great source of humor," she finished him off. Sense he was new to the group she threw in a kind smile lest he think she was angry.

"If we are expecting computers to reach conclusions that we wouldn't, they will…probably… create humor we don't get. That we don't think is funny," Alex spoke, the words coming out of him slowly as if he were speaking as he reached these conclusions.

"Can you give an example?" Pete asked.

"Give an example of an idea beyond human understanding?" he said sarcastically, then paused. "Wait. Maybe I can. Nobody answer, just raise your hands. Who knows who Renee Descartes is?"

Twelve of the sixteen raised their hands.

"Again don't answer. All of you know his famous quote?"

Two of the hands dropped.

"Okay, here goes an old joke. Renee Descartes walks into a bar and sits down. The bartender asks, "Would you like a beer?" "I think not," says Descartes, and disappears.

A few laughs, a few snickers and several groans.

Alex waited. "Your point oh Master?" prodded Wood.

"Bill, Julia, Sally - who was the other one? - did you find that funny?"

"I didn't get it," offered Sally.

The others shook their heads.

"Descartes is quoted with having said, 'I think therefore I am.'"

"Oh," said Julia, "…clever."

"See even given the connection it isn't as humorous as if you made the leap naturally. If computers are made to make these, and much more obtuse connections will we recognize their humor?"

"Will we even see it as humor, or will we just think we've failed or that they're mad?" Karen asked.

The conversation went off-track from there.

* * * * *

Kyle had been looking forward to and dreading this evening. Now he was surprised to find he was honestly enjoying himself. The evening had started wonderfully with Karen welcoming him as she introduced him to the group. She'd said many pleasant things about him.

He'd felt comfortable from the get go, and being relaxed he had been charming, insightful and witty. Everyone was treating him so nicely.

Karen was speaking now and he listened intently as she looked over at him.

"Many of you might not know that we have a talented poet in our midst."

"Have a new poem for us, do you Karen?" Walt teased.

"Not me silly." She slapped playfully at his shoulder, "Kyle."

Kyle was stunned, and for the first time this evening began to tense up. "Talented isn't quite the word I'd use," he stammered.

"No false modesty allowed here," chimed Wood.

"That's right, we'll be the judge of that," Mouse laughed and hugged Wood closer.

"Yes, that's a wonderful idea. Read them this," Karen said handing him this week's class sheet. Kyle looked down at the 'Karen Welch' poem, then over at her, searching her eyes for signs of betrayal. All he saw was sincerity. Still there was no way he was reciting this.

"At least let me read one I like," he said with mock confidence.

He flipped through his book. The one he had with him contained only a few unfinished works. While pretending he was reading from a page Kyle prayed softly then improvised:

The broken dream sighs

Watching out a cottage window

As the snow boasts a single bundled person.

The wind is already busy removing the footsteps.

Minutes die

The flicker of the candle

lends it's remark.

The face is blank

Kyle paused drinking in the silence. Everyone was focused on him, the room was totally still. Karen's eyes were big and round. His mind went blank for a second. Then he continued.

Only the eyes betray emotion

Conveying a wish that something could be done.

Outside, the cold strives to fortify the pain.

I look back

And watch her face slowly vanish

As her breath freezes on the window pane.

Too late.

I turn and disappear

Into the snowy horizon.

"A bit hokey," Kyle thought, "but I hope I can remember it later."

There was quiet for a moment.

Karen clapped vigorously, jumped up gracefully and crossed the room to him. She bent down and gave him a quick hug.

"I love it. Are you going to be reading that in class?"

"Well it's really still a work in progress," he could only remember a few lines now.

Over her shoulder he heard Wood's booming voice. "You've been holding out on us. You've got real talent, my lad." He was imitating a cartoon character Kyle thought he recognized but couldn't quite place.

Kyle sat back and smiled. Quite an evening indeed.

"Who would have thought?" Mouse whispered in Wood's ear.

* * * * *

The Pagan Parties usually broke up around eleven. This one seemed like it would go on forever. Julia, Sally and Emily had gotten into an argument over the creation of Hell in early Christianity. Alex found the whole argument pointless and his mind wandered. This was not rude. There were few topics that interested everyone and some often tuned out when bored.

It was nearing midnight and Alex could not think of a way to go off with Mouse without Kate wanting to know more than he wished to tell. He hated keeping secrets from her. But he hadn't told her about taking the laser and wasn't yet prepared to meet her disapproving stare. Nor had Mouse approached him about going to the Science Building.

"Tomorrow will be soon enough," he told himself.

"I'm not really in the mood anyway."

He was more tired than he expected, considering how late he had awakened.

May 15, 1981

Kate lay next to Alex. They were both naked and the sheets hung down beside the bed. Being completely exposed like this made her feel decadent, daring and sexy. However she had lost Alex's attention which was having just the opposite effect on her mood.

She reached over and fondled him. He hardened nearly instantly in her hand. His mind was still elsewhere.

She turned toward him and her red hair fell across her face. She pushed it to one side. "This is getting too long," she said. Stopping just below her shoulder blades, it was almost a foot longer than she was used to. But Alex seemed to love it so.

"I'm going to have to cut it soon."

No response.

She propped herself up on one arm and whispered in his ear, "What's it like where you are?"

He mumbled something nonsensical, remained motionless for several moments then slowly turned and looked at her.

"I'm sorry darling," he started then became aware that she was stroking him. He gently stopped her hand.

Seeing the seriousness in his eyes she asked, "What is it?"

He proceeded to bring her up to speed on his activities the last few days. He made no attempt to alter the facts to improve his actions. One of the traits that she loved about him, was his ability to take the blame when it was due. Of course, sometimes she wished he'd own up faster or better yet discuss his plans before he had anything to confess.

She lay beside him and listened. She occasionally asked for more details or a clarification, but made no comments until he was finished.

Now it was her turn.

"Okay let's start on the outside problems, then we'll discuss us. As I understand it we have an expensive, stolen device which you have managed to break. Can it be repaired?"

"I haven't been able to inspect it. Mouse and I were supposed to look at it this evening, but the Party ran late, and you… didn't know yet."

She started to react to that, but simmered down and got back on track, "If you can repair it, do you think you can return it?"

"It's going to be a bitch, the thing being so heavy and all," he paused, "of course we don't actually have to return it, just get it close by."

"Right, and leave the hard parts to the innocent," her voice dripped with disappointment.

"It's a back up plan in case we can't return it."

"Much better than simply telling them the truth."

Alex felt this was not a good time to launch into a diatribe against telling Authority the truth. "That's another plan," he lied.

She knew him better than that, but let it go for now.

"Okay, so we don't know enough to plan yet. So we won't worry about this until we do. We need to get more information quickly, starting with: can you fix the thing?"

He smiled, she'd learned that line of reasoning from him. And he'd learned it from Hodge, who had given him nearly identical advice…was that just yesterday?

"Now about us," she said sternly. His smile faded.

"Now you're in for it," said Hodge loudly making Alex jump slightly.

"As you know we each agreed to work on certain character flaws - and we've both made remarkable strides - but it's important that we talk about it when we screw up. Why do you think you didn't discuss this with me before you went to Durham?"

He thought, then said, "I didn't want you to stop me?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

Alex was quiet for awhile. Kate became afraid he had gone away when suddenly he said, "I knew you'd want to stop me. And I wanted to impress Hollywood."

"Yeah, that makes sense," she thought, "I suppose it's practically my fault. I relayed the message, and didn't sound disapproving at the time. Course, I thought Wood was blowing smoke. I didn't imagine you'd actually do something this stupid.

"I know you value your friendship with Wood, but you don't have to try so hard with him. He's your friend no matter what."

"She never pulls any punches," he smiled at the thought.

"I always know where I stand with you. It's one of the things I love about you."

She smiled. He'd once informed her that he'd never told anyone else that he loved them. She was his first love. She had had many - though they paled drastically to what she felt now - and none of them had been able to communicate their feelings. She basked in the ease with which he shared himself with her.

"Ready to sleep?" she asked.

"Nope."

"Good. Oh, and one last thing. I want to come with you and see this thing," she said exhibiting one of the character flaws she was supposed to work on: she was jealous that he and Mouse were putting in some much time together. She was a good friend - probably her best here - but she was pretty and so smart. Kate, secretly, had never felt herself smart enough for Alex.

She reached over and stroked him again. Instantly he was hard again. This time he cradled her neck in his arm and played his fingers across her breast.

* * * * *

Mouse felt Wood's soft breath on the back of her neck. She lay silent and motionless for several minutes allowing him to fall into a deeper sleep. Finally she slowly lifted herself off him and rolled over dropping softly to the floor. She stood, dressed and left the room. Passing the lounge she noticed two freshman women watching TV. She knew their names but had never really talked to them. Nor did she stop to do so now.

Upon returning to her room, she kicked off her shoes and grabbed the seven spiral bound notebooks that comprised her observations and speculations on the Artifact. The last chapter of the most current one discussed her frustration with being unable to devise a way to test the objects ability to absorb radio waves. She was sure it did.

At first she had thought that it neutralized forms of energy. After testing and rethinking, she had concluded that it absorbed energy that reached it. It was a fine but important distinction.

She struggled with the radio wave problem for an hour, going over and over her notes before deciding she was wasting her time.

Undressing and putting on a thin nightgown she climbed under the covers and prepared for sleep. Her mind was still working on the problems at hand but she was now slowly putting these thoughts away. Letting her subconscious wrestle with them for the night.

"It was like a black hole," she thought. "Except it had a heavy, but normal ranged weight and of course it didn't absorb…" her eyes opened wide and she sat bolt upright.

Her mind made another connection, "That's why it's so black. I'll be damned, we're not seeing the surface at all. We're seeing the absence of light. It's absorbing the light too. Of course it is, light's energy too."

From the bed she reached over and snapped on her desk light and began writing furiously in her latest notebook. Eventually she slowed, scribbled a bit more and stopped.

She glanced around the room rapidly while her mind whirled. She had to test this tonight. She glanced at the clock. Damn, it was almost 3 AM. She needed to get into the lab, she had a key for that. She needed to get into the building, into Doc Walter's office and into the locked bottom drawer in which he didn't know she knew he had secured the Artifact. She thought, "Only three keys stand between me and… Kyle!"

She'd have to wake him. Worst he could do is send her packing. She'd have to be alone with him. Very alone. However, having spent time with him the last few days he had moved up in her estimation. Sure he was lonely, and horny but not as creepy as he had previously seemed. This evening he had been very witty, even charming. She had been genuinely shocked when Karen had gotten him to read one of his poems. It was quite… human.

"I'm sure I can handle him," she decided.

Mouse got up and grabbed the closest clothes in her closet. A faded pair of jeans and a turtlenecked pullover that she hadn't worn for a long time. She realized her jacket was still at Wood's. "Long sleeves, should be warm enough," she considered rubbing the material against her left arm.

Eight strokes with the antique mahogany brush to try to tame her hair and then she ran out into the hall toward the boys side.

* * * * *

Kyle was having a dream which was thankfully not The Dream. In this one he was attempting to seduce a girl who was sometimes Karen Welch and sometimes Betty, the teenager that used to baby-sit him. The dream had had a few pleasant kissing scenes, but they kept getting interrupted before things could progress.

Now Kyle and Karen/Betty were alone on a beach. They fell to the sand hugging and kissing. He basked in the fact that she wanted him. Finally, there was no one around to disturb them. His hand moved to her…

A loud rapping pulled him awake. He lay disoriented. Then he heard a persistent yet quiet knocking on his door. He looked questioningly at the clock.

"Who the hell? It's after three," he thought, his irritation growing. Most likely some lost student, drunken or stoned.

The possibility of a fire or other emergency crossed his mind, but the knocking seemed wrong, not urgent enough, more restrained.

Kyle got up and felt around the floor with his foot for his bathrobe, and stubbed a toe on a leg of the room's lone chair. Swearing and rubbing his toe he went for the light switch. The room illuminated, he was easily able to locate the thin red cloth.

The knocking persisted.

Striding across the room he flung the door open.

"What…" 'do you want?' he had intended to finish, but the sight at the door stopped him cold. Mouse stood there. She wore a purple pullover that hugged her chest in a heart stopping manner. Kyle felt his groin tighten.

"I'm still dreaming," he thought. The lingering pain in his foot convinced him otherwise.

"Kyle, I'm so sorry to wake you."

"Hmmm," he managed.

She went on apologizing for a moment before arriving at the point.

"I was hoping you could do me a favor. I think I've just realized something about the Artifact and I really want to check it out immediately."

She paused while Kyle, finally coming fully to his senses, invited her in. Still slightly angry but mostly to maintain her sympathy he said, "And this couldn't wait until morning?" His voice didn't have the harshness he had intended.

She went on enthusiastically, "I think it absorbs light."

"Of course it does, it's black." Kyle had always been fascinated by blackness. He knew a lot about the properties of blackness, including that the color (a mixture of all colors actually) absorbed all wavelengths of light that struck it.

"I don't think we are actually seeing the surface at all. I think we are seeing the effect of its property to absorb energy."

"What's the difference? If it looks black, it's black. It's like when someone tells you, you only think you're happy. If you feel happy, you're happy.”

He waited briefly for a response, then added, “But I'm fully awake now, how do I figure into this?"

Kyle knew exactly what she must want, but he wanted her to ask. He would do it, if only to stare at that incredible body. Those wonderful lips. And to have a chance to be her hero, even if only in this brief and limited manner.

He let it take several minutes for her to persuade him to help.

He asked her to turn her back while he got dressed, she opted instead to wait in the hall.

A quarter of an hour later found him through the outer door of the Science Building and working on the lock to the Doctor's office. It was a tougher lock and his sleep deprived brain was having a difficult time of it.

"How do you plan to prove your theory?" he asked as a distraction. He had wanted the task to seem simple - a testament to his skill. It was taking longer than he expected.

"I haven't figured that out yet. I’m hoping for an inspiration."

"Well that's… there we go," he exclaimed opening the door.

"Two down, one to go. Think you can open that one?" she indicted the filing cabinet.

"Are you kidding? These are the easiest. They might as well use chewing gum to keep people out."

True to his word, it took him two gestures to open the locked bottom drawer. He recognized the silver case immediately once.

"Doc told you it was here?"

"No. When he and I were talking he'd glance at this drawer every time the Artifact was mentioned. Also he stood protectively near it when we were standing. I knew he had it in the building, because he was no longer carrying it when he showed up at school. So I figured it must be here."

"Pretty observant," he offered.

She shrugged.

They left the room unlocked and headed to the basement.

With some difficulty Mouse disassembled the stand of a microscope and used the lens to study the object. She stared into the blackness, Kyle at her.

His whole universe was reduced to the defined roundness of her breasts. He was distantly aware that she was sharing her observations with him, but the words did not fully register. He became completely fixated on the gentle full slope, the way her bra made the upper portion crest into a fuller dome. He longed to touch it, stroke the firm flesh. Feel its soft texture. Experience its heft.

Kyle began to have cyclical arguments with himself. What could it hurt? What could she do? What would she do? Slap him? Yell at him? It would be worth it. Just one touch. If she allowed him to experience her he could free himself from this obsession. Man, she was beautiful.

"You don't have to stay. I know this must be boring for you," the words impinged and he looked up. She was still looking into the microscope.

"No, I won't fall back to sleep now anyway. Might as well stay and find out the outcome." He managed to sound nonchalant.

"I don't think I'm going to learn any great truths tonight, sadly. I just don't see the proper approach. Maybe we could wake Alex?"

Startled, Kyle struggled to remain an audience of one. He told a lie that just happened to be true, "Probably not a good idea, I think Kate's with him tonight."

She didn't ask how he knew.

Mouse turned back to the scope, prodding the tetrahedron with a piece of copper wiring. "If there is an effect horizon, it's thinner than my eye can see."

"Effect horizon?"

"An area of effect surrounding the object."

Kyle shrugged and returned his attention to her right breast. If only…

Aided by his sleeplessness, his hormones launched a successful coup d'état against his brain. To his surprise his body reacted to his thoughts of the last hour and his hand shot out and cupped the object of his desire.

Startled, Mouse began to reflexively jump back, then both caught and calmed herself.

"That little prick," she thought.

Seemingly calmly she grabbed his hand and slammed it toward the slate countertop. Kyle initially resisted, then went limp causing her to mash his fingers much more forcefully than she had planned.

"Ouch. Damn it," Kyle held his fingers in his other hand. One felt broken, at least sprained.

"I think you'd better leave now. And if you think you're in pain now, try anything like that again, and I'll mention it to Wood. Then you'll know pain." Her words came out slowly, individually and without emotion.

She turned her back on him and waited for the sound of the door closing. Then her shoulders slumped and she shook a bit.

"Bastard. I'll never understand men. What was I thinking? Oh man, look what I'm wearing! What did I expect? No!!"

She jumped at the force of her reaction to the thought. This was not her fault, it was his. She had a right to wear what she wanted. She had acted professionally. She had done nothing wrong. He was the transgressor.

Her thoughts jumbled up on her. Then she sighed and looked around. She wasn't going to get any more done now and she was tired.

She packed everything back up, and returned the Artifact to Dr. Oliver's office. She was grateful she'd had the foresight to leave the doors unlocked. Maybe subconsciously she had known the little creep would try something.

She thought about preparing her notes for her morning briefing with the good doctor but found she couldn't concentrate. She left for her dorm room. At the last moment she decided on Wood's place instead. Sneaking in, she climbed, fully clothed, into bed and nestled in his arms. This once she wished he wasn't such a sound sleeper, but she didn't wake him.

"Bastard," she thought once more then let the matter rest. Wood shifted a little and slipped his arm snuggly around her waist. She slipped off to sleep.

* * * * *

The alarm woke Kate and she stretched languidly. She loved Fridays. She had only three classes squeezed tightly together from ten until one o'clock. Alex's classes were more spread out and she regularly got up early to have breakfast with him. Today it was his alarm that woke her.

He looked up at her sleepily.

"I'll set the bell for another half hour. Go back to sleep. I'll be back in an hour and we'll go down to the Commons together," she said softly while dressing in yesterday's clothes. She gently kissed his forehead. He had already returned to sleep.

* * * * *

Kate fidgeted on the simple wooden bench. Only the bike rack obscured her view of the Science Building steps and it was no obstacle. Still she couldn’t shake the feeling that Mouse would enter unseen. During breakfast they had agreed that they would meet here at three. Alex would join them a little after four when his last class let out. It was now twenty after three. Kate could not think of another time Mouse had ever been late.

Originally this meeting had merely been a ploy to separate Alex and Mouse a little. But now she was anxious to talk to her. Over breakfast Mouse had laid out the problem of proving the Artifact absorbed light. As it was the first she had heard about it, Mouse had backed up to explain about the thing. She had sat through an explanation of the problem three times because first Wood and then Emily arrived during the discussion and Mouse had restarted each time.

It was later, during Art class that Kate thought she had an answer. A chance to out-think the great Mouse, what an ego boost.

Immediately Kate felt guilty for her thoughts. The two girls had been good friends ever since they had been brought together by Alex and Wood. Mouse had proven to be loyal and thoughtful, but Kate had always felt inferior to her. She never seemed to need to study. She had a quick wit and never forgot anything. Not to mention a body that made Kate feel like a boy. Added with the fact that she never seemed cowed or nervous Kate could have easily hated her if she didn’t like her so much.

Where was she?

* * * * *

>>> Doc, being briefed by Mouse

>>> Kate, with Mouse at Lab, discuss Kyle, Alex and being bridesmaid.

Also shows Mouse how to test surface.

* * * * *

"Windex?" Kate guessed, her voice light with laughter and relief.

"Exactly. Like I was saying, as I was preparing to move it upstairs I noticed this blue puddle under the cart. So, I'm trying desperately to figure out what sort of blue fluid would be in a Laser, and I'm not coming up with anything. But it's not like I'm some sort of big expert on them or anything, so anything's possible. You know?. So I start looking for where it's leaking from and eventually I find some drops hanging from the seam of a side compartment," Alex delivered in one rapid rush, then paused for breath.

"And inside was several cleaners, some rags and a broken bottle of Windex," he concluded.

"So all your worrying was for nothing?" she patted the hand that was draped across her leg, then rose from his lap to stand beside him.

"And it's 'were several cleaners', not was," she whispered in his ear.

"Why… why am I engaged to a English major?" he starred in mock prayer at the ceiling.

"Oh, knock it off, you. I know that secretly, deep down, you want to sound like a civilized being." She dropped back behind him and began firmly pressing her thumbs into the base of his neck, moving them in small circles.

"Does big ape man embarrass fair maiden?" Alex teased his voice part ape part baby.

"You are such a pain," she said with feigned irritation and started to turn toward the window.

"Wait, don't stop," Alex cried out, grabbing her hand and returning it to his neck. "That was really helping."

Kate recommenced massaging his neck, this time with more attention, and noticed the magnitude of knots under her fingers.

   &nbs