The Sunspacers Trilogy by George Zebrowski Page A

scientists,” Praeger continued, “each of you must be able to share in the general culture, if for no other reason than that it is the culture that supports science. I know the dedication required to make a success of a career in science, to even get to the point where one has a chance at making a contribution, much less something major.”
    “I wish he could talk,” Van Cott said.
    “It’s still us against them,” Morey added.
    “But the investment of time and patience also belongs to the burden of an artist or writer. I remember what it took for me to get degrees in physics and chemistry.”
    “No kidding,” Van Cott whispered in surprise. “He has scientific degrees?”
    “We’ll be reading the so-called great books. There are only a few hundred of these. Read casually this term, but you’ll find that your care will grow as our discussions become more pointed. Your interest will increase and you’ll be pleased to work harder. Many past students have told me that this work complemented their scientific careers, putting their later work in a much-needed human context. I hope that you will come to feel the same.”
    “We’re in church,” Van Cott said softly.
    “Quiet,” I said, nudging him.
    “Human cultures have advanced on more than one front at a time. Science is one of the most successful, and the one that sets the most exacting models of honesty and attention to merit. But on other fronts—”
    “Example!” Van Cott shouted.
    “Well, the habit of complex observation in literature, for one. Human characters are entered, social systems observed, with a personal accuracy that cannot be accomplished in other ways. An analog of experience remains that is often truer than formal histories, of how people felt about themselves and the universe. Then there’s music, a realm of striving forms, pure feeling and beauty, atmosphere, rationally expressed, voicing the ineffable …”
    I was moved by Praeger’s love of his subject.
    “Sounds good,” Van Cott said loudly.
    “How many of you have read Milton?” Praeger asked.
    Van Cott laughed. “You mean that clumsy poem where all the science is wrong?”
    “Can someone else answer?”
    I raised my hand and stood up. “It seemed very real to me.”
    “Exactly the point. The cosmology of Paradise Lost, or Dante’s Inferno, was the real stuff for many people, once.”
    “Astrology!” Van Cott shouted.
    “It was a way of dealing with human fears and hopes.”
    “So is hiding under the bed,” Van Cott added.
    “I see it’s going to be an interesting semester,” Praeger said, completely undisturbed.
    Van Cott was a go-getter; that was why Morey liked him. Dedicated as Morey was, he needed to see others swimming in the same direction. I had nothing against dedication, but Van Cott was shouting his to the world. I didn’t like his style, even if he was brilliant; but that made me feel backward, even primitive, to notice his style and not his substance. I think Morey needed to see me swimming his way, but I felt that maybe I had nothing to crow about. If I did, then maybe I’d be snickering along with the two of them and having a fine time of it.
    As the lecture hall began to empty, Van Cott turned to me and grinned. “That was pretty good, Sorby.” For a moment I thought he was making fun of me, but then I saw that he meant it. In his own way Van Cott was sincere.
    And then I didn’t know what to think.
    Sunlight from the rings was warm on my face as I lay in the grass on the hillside. I thought of all the course work, but I didn’t see myself doing it, even though the first day of classes had filled me with visions of new worlds to know.
    I sat up and looked around. This bit of ground near Bernie’s lock would make a great reading spot. I lay back again and closed my eyes. The Sun was very special here, tamed and turned inward by the mirrors of human dreams made real. The past seemed like a bad dream, the future too far away to even think