The StarSight Project

by S. P. Perone

  He had thought very little about the teaching obligations that accompanied this kind of position. Most young research-oriented professors didn’t. And most research universities didn’t ask them to. After all, it would be one’s research achievements which would determine whether or not an Assistant Professor would be promoted to Associate Professor, and attain a position of tenure, at the university. This decision would be made generally within four years of starting; so most universities took the ironic approach of excusing their newest professors from much teaching responsibility during their early years. But Daniels University was a bit old-fashioned. His Department Head had required Shane to teach two graduate courses his first semester on board. He had very nearly cracked under the strain of preparing these courses from scratch, while simultaneously trying to get his research program underway. But, by the end of that first semester, he had discovered many rewards of teaching at this highest level of the educational process. He loved being in total control of the content and the style in which his curriculum would be delivered; he reveled in the process of creating exams which discriminated deftly among different levels of achievement; and, finally, he enjoyed working with mature self-motivated students. Now, 10 years later, after having been promoted first to Associate and then, most recently, to Full Professor, he had not lost one bit of his enthusiasm for this wonderful profession.

  Realizing his mind was wandering again, Shane decided to close his lecture a few minutes early…a ploy that was always well received. “Don’t forget the second problem set is due on Thursday,” he reminded them as they gathered their notebooks and backpacks. “I’ll be handing out the next problem set for you to work on next week, while I’m out of town.”

  One of the departing group of students, a good-looking male with curly dark blonde hair, athletic build, and medium height, broke off and came up to Shane as he was erasing the whiteboard for the next lecturer. “Hey, Doc! Are you gonna be able to come over tothe House this weekend after the Wisconsin game?” he inquired. It was mid-October, in the middle of the college football season, and home games were always an excuse for a party.The House was a 75-year old two-story 10-room frame bungalow, complete with full basement and a front porch wrapping around three of its sides. It had become an institution, having been occupied continuously by Comp. Sci. grad students for the past 15 years. Bill Campbell lived there with five other male grad students. Just off-campus,the House was the scene of frequent social gatherings for students and younger faculty. A football weekend called for at least a pre-game and a post-game party. In fact, some attendees were known to miss the game completely, particularly if it was a cold, wet, or snowy Saturday.

  Tony Shane, a 36-year old bachelor, was frequently invited to parties atthe House , as were several other younger faculty with their spouses or dates. Shane’s handsome youthful looks, and casual good humor, as well as his reputation for being “approachable” and fitting in with the grad students, assured that he would be accepted in this circle as an “equal.” This was a sometimes-difficult path to walk, as his professorial position was inherently dominant. But, in contrast to many faculty, he never asserted that power outside of the classroom. Most importantly, he never regarded himself as deserving any special accommodations from students. Accordingly, they often brought Shane into their confidence on many matters. Shane was included in pick-up basketball games and touch football contests. Some of the students became regular opponents for Shane on the handball and racquetball courts at the student rec. center.

  Shane finished erasing the whiteboard, and turned to see Bill Campbell standing there waiting for his reply. Bill had been working in Shane’s research group for the past three years and was well into his Ph.D. thesis work. He was single, very bright and a recognized leader among his peers, both in and out of Shane’s group. He was a frequent handball partner of Shane’s in the doubles matches that were set up by his students. Bill was also the only one of his students who knew about Shane’s brief affair with Sarah. Shane knew that Bill would never reveal this secret, but he regretted that Bill had been burdened with it at all. Nevertheless, it was one of several circumstances that defined a unique bond between Campbell and Shane.

  Realizing he had again drifted off into his inner thoughts, he finally answered, “Of course, I’ll be there. I want to see how much I can steal from you guys.” Shane was referring to the weekly bets Campbell and his housemates were eager to place on the college football games. They each came from different schools…Indiana, Illinois, Virginia, Iowa State, Nebraska, San Diego State…and Shane could generally count on them to make ill-advised bets on their alma maters.

  “OK. You ought to come over early. Don’t forget, it’s Homecoming weekend, and there’s gonna be alums all over the place. We’re gonna cook up some breakfast about 10 o’clock,” Campbell said. “Are you gonna bring a date?”

  “Didn’t know one was required?” Shane replied. “Is something special going on this weekend?”

  Campbell looked down at the floor for a second, and then looked away at the exit door to be sure no one was in ear shot before answering. He looked back tentatively at Shane and said, “Just thought you should know that Sarah will be there too. And I think she’s coming with Dr. Clarkson.”

  Shane felt his face flush, as the multiple implications of this last statement settled in.Clarkson! What was she thinking of? he exclaimed to himself. Professor Janus Clarkson was a young and single faculty member whose star had risen equally rapidly in Shane’s department. Because Clarkson and Shane had been hired in the same year, a natural rivalry had developed. Adding a sharp edge to that rivalry had been Clarkson’s aspirations for academic administration. He longed to follow a pathway leading to the office of Dean of Science, and perhaps to Provost or President of this or some other university. Shane, on the other hand, couldn’t care less for anything smacking of administration. He loathed the paperwork and bean counting associated with any management position, and steadfastly refused to be considered for anything that might take him along that path. He served on the departmental and university committees that were part of his academic obligation, but rarely accepted a chair position. There were always plenty of faculty who cherished those roles, Janus Clarkson being one prominent example.

  Clarkson had done a substantial amount of publishable research. Shane gave him that. But it was clear from the outset that he was only interested in getting thenumbers of publications, not in their quality. He needed to reach the Full Professor plateau from which he could launch his assault on the Department Head position, and the rest of his agenda.

  Shane and Clarkson were promoted to Associate and then to Full Professor in unison…as if it were planned that way. Neither had been privy to the heated discussions among the Full Professors in the Department who had had to decide on their respective promotions. Shane and Clarkson had both submitted their curriculum vitae, lists of publications, and copies of selected publications to the promotions committee, along with a list of prominent scientists at other institutions who could be called upon to submit confidential critiques of their research. For Shane, that was the end of the process. While he waited for the Full Professors to meet (as they always did, in November of the academic year in which promotion was considered), Clarkson was discreetly lobbying several of that group.

  If Shane had sat in on that meeting last November, he would have understood why, and how effectively, Clarkson had lobbied. While Shane’s promotion was approved nearly unanimously after several glowing letters from outside scientists were read, a bloody battle had ensued regarding Clarkson’s promotion. Standard procedure called for the promotions committee to solicit letters from some scientists who were not on a candidate’s list. Nearly all of these additional referees had commented on the shallowness of Clarkson’s research publications, and had recommended delaying promotion until this characteristic was corrected. Having anticipated this kind of outside references, and desperate to secure his promotion no later than that of Shane
, he had selected for lobbying those faculty among the Full Professors who would be most in tune with Clarkson’s political agenda. In the resulting battle at the promotions meeting, that clique of politically savvy professors effectively argued that Clarkson’s overall record for teaching and departmental service should compensate for what might be a deficiency in his research. This argument was presented during an era when universities were being criticized for weighting research achievements inordinately heavily, and neglecting their teaching and public service roles. Not surprisingly, these arguments carried the day, and Clarkson received his promotion alongside that of Shane’s, as he had desired.

  Shane knew nothing of the bloody promotions battle, nor of the fierce lobbying that preceded it. He only knew, from several encounters at faculty meetings and social gatherings, that Clarkson was a two-faced opportunist. That he was intelligent and articulate, no one could deny. But it was obvious, at least to Shane, that he was a self-promoter who could not be trusted. Clarkson had once made the mistake of trying to persuade Shane that one of their faculty colleagues, Ted Jackson, had made discriminatory statements about an award candidate at an awards committee meeting. Unknown to Clarkson, Shane had been present at that award meeting, and realized Clarkson was taking Jackson’s comments out of context. Shane wondered how Clarkson had come to see Jackson’s confidential comments of that meeting, but he simply told Clarkson that he, Shane, had been there, while Clarkson had not, and that the comments had been taken out of context. Shane thought that would be the end of it. But, when Clarkson again made these same slanderous statements to a newly formed awards committee, of which Clarkson and Shane were now members, Shane had literally shot up out of his chair. He heatedly challenged Clarkson, asking the committee to read last year’s confidential comments and judge for themselves.

  Clarkson backed down, but Shane was left drained, and embarrassed, at his own extreme behavior at the meeting. Most distressing was his conviction that Clarkson had purposely baited him; and it had worked. Shane had used strong earthy language, the likes of which he had never before used in a professional setting. He deeply regretted tearing away the veneer of civility and refinement, which he had cultivated since leaving the rough-edged Irish-Italian neighborhood of his youth on Chicago’s southwest side. While his Irish father would have been proud to see him combating the likes of Clarkson…only regretting that blows had not been landed…he could still hear his Italian mother gently reminding him that he had to rise above the level of people like Clarkson. He vowed never again to let himself descend to that kind of street-level mentality.

  But here he was, getting upset that Sarah would be dating Clarkson. He knew it was irrational. She was an adult. Their thing was over…at his request. And yet, he still cared for her very much. Sarah knew of his feelings about Clarkson, and Shane wondered if she was bringing Clarkson tothe House just to irritate him. Clarkson had rarely been there for parties, not actually having been invited to one for at least the past five years. Shane was irritated, not only because Sarah would be there with someone else, but also because she had been the one who had insisted that theirs had been a secret affair. Her public flaunting of a relationship with another faculty member, especially Clarkson, would test his limits of self-control. He hoped he would not say anything he might regret.

  Realizing that he had been quietly packing up his lecture notes and secretly fuming for several seconds, and that Bill was viewing him with some concern, Shane suddenly smiled and said, “Didn’t know Clarkson was a football fan. Thought that kind of activity was beneath his pure academic breeding.”

  “You’re right,” Bill laughed, suddenly relieved that his major professor appeared to be OK with the message he had just delivered. “I think he just wants to rub elbows with the real political force in the Department.”

  After Shane had finished chuckling at that comment, Campbell added, “You know, he wasn’t invited. Sarah must have asked him. She never said anything to me, though. Dr. Clarkson just stopped me in the hall this afternoon to tell me he would be there with her Saturday.”

  “Well, that should be interesting,” Shane commented, signaling that he didn’t want to talk any more about it. They strode out of the lecture room, walking together up the two levels where Shane’s office and research complex was housed. The conversation turned quickly and comfortably to the status of Bill’s research project. Each of Shane’s students was working on a different fundamental project which, taken together, provided the capability that was essential for the success of the StarSight project. However, none of his students had been given a DOE security clearance, and Shane was careful that none of them was aware that their fundamental research was benefiting a CIA project. “StarSight” was not a term they had heard. They knew only that Shane was a consultant working with Sandia National Lab at both Albuquerque and Livermore, with occasional visits to Los Alamos and Livermore National Labs. Because Shane often consulted with various organizations, industrial and governmental, where confidentiality was imposed, his research group thought nothing of the fact that he could not discuss the technical aspects of his work with Sandia.

  On the other hand, his research group was aware of the massive steel vault built in to Shane’s over-size office. They were also aware that three of the university’s security officers had been required to obtain DOE clearances so that the vault and its contents could be maintained secure. One of these officers had to be present whenever classified materials were removed from the vault, and remain in the vicinity until the materials were returned. His research group was not aware of the additional security devices that had been installed, including video surveillance, motion detectors, and perimeter alarms. Shane often chuckled to himself that he felt sorry for any student who might try to lift a copy of an exam from his office after hours.

  This kind of elaborate security system was exceptional, and rarely seen in a university environment. DOE was not eager to absorb the expense; and universities were very reluctant to expose themselves to the kind of public scrutiny that such agreements would attract. U.C. Berkeley had suffered much bad press over the years that it acted as the contract administrator for the nuclear weapons laboratories, Los Alamos and Lawrence Livermore National Labs. It was a testament to the intense concern of the DOE (and CIA) for the rapid success of the StarSight project, that they had agreed to establish not one but three of these satellite security islands at universities. And, like the administrators at U.C. Berkeley before them, these three universities had succumbed to the prospect of enormous unrestricted overhead funds supporting the DOE contracts, and agreed to tolerate the security provisions required. University officials treated the DOE contract like any other federal contract, recognizing that the security arrangements were highly unusual. But no one, aside from each principal investigator, was aware of the relevance of this research to the CIA’s StarSight Project. Their interactions with the CIA were conducted informally through the Senator, who maintained ties with both the DOE and CIA

  It was five thirty in the afternoon when Campbell and Shane reached the hall entrance to his office and research complex. After opening the door and walking down the corridor separating the two huge partitioned eight-person lab quarters, Bill went off to his lab desk, and Shane walked toward his office at the end of the corridor. Pausing in front of his door, he noticed movement in the office immediately to his left. As was her habit on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Sandy Harris, Shane’s secretary, had delayed her departure until Shane returned from his late afternoon lecture. “Dr. Shane,” she said as she came around her desk and hurried toward him, “Senator Moorhouse has been trying to reach you. He said it was urgent. He said you could reach him at home after seven o’clock Washington time. I left his home phone number on your desk.”

  Sandy had been working for Shane for the past year. She had a B.A. in Liberal Studies from Michigan State, and was working at this job because her husband was a graduate student in Physics, and would probably not finish his Ph.D. for
two or three more years. This pleased Shane, as he relied heavily on his secretary to maintain some semblance of order in his chaotic life. He did not relish the thought of breaking in someone new. Perhaps he could find a job for Sandy’s husband here in Rockville after he got his degree, he mused.

  “Did he say what he wanted?” Shane asked, knowing that it was most likely a question related to the upcoming project meeting in San Francisco next week.

  “No. He just said it was urgent,” she said. “But the funny thing is he called himself. Usually, one of his staff places his calls. And he’s never left his home phone number before.” Standing in front of Shane, Sandy put her hands on her hips, and looked up at her boss’s face a foot above her petite five-foot-two vantage point. A look of concern spreading across her freckled face, she let her steel-blue eyes ask the silent question,Are you in trouble, boss?

  Shane knew what Sandy was thinking. She was the only one who knew that Shane was working with the CIA. And, she knew that Senator Moorhouse was the facilitator for that connection. This was not classified information, but it was very sensitive. Shane did not want the university community to be aware that his DOE research had any connections to the intelligence community. His research contract had specified that all intellectual property would be owned by DOE, so there was nothing illegal or improper about the CIA arrangement. But it was not something he wanted to advertise. Universities were well populated with liberals who could make life quite miserable for him, and could exert pressure on the administration to terminate his research contract.