by Eric Flint
He brought his hands together and interlaced his fingers.
“So. Pray tell me, what exactly is mechanical engineering, why are the merchants and local notables so convinced of its value to them that they’re willing to contribute to the university on its behalf, and if this institution were to carry on a course of instruction to that end, how would it be done? I wish to be thoroughly prepared to listen and speak of this question, before it arises again.”
“Oh. Well. I would define it as the use of mathematics and scientific knowledge to design mechanical devices. Its uses are beyond counting. As to why the merchants are interested, I think they’re looking first of all to the rapid movement of people and goods. The sooner and surer the arrival, the sooner and surer the profit. That’s what Master Brantley said to me. They see steamships, railroad trains, aircraft on the continent, and they want them here. Then there’s mechanical spinning and weaving—he was most fascinated by that possibility, being a wool merchant. Now as to the curriculum, I have some notes here, which one of the physics teachers in Grantville allowed me to copy down.”
Richard turned in his chair, and pulled a commonplace book from a shelf. He laid it on the table and flipped through the pages, then turned it so his visitor could see.
“Here, a list of courses for the degree in mechanical engineering, at the great California Institute of Technology. Calculus in multiple variables, linear algebra, differential equations, probability, motion and gravity, electricity and magnetism, the theory of relativity, particles and waves, quantum mechanics, theory and experimental practice of chemistry, biology of viruses, statics and dynamics of rigid and deformable bodies, thermodynamics, engineering design methods, fluid mechanics, technical and scientific writing and speaking, mechanics of materials, control theory, and practical mechanical laboratory sessions. Humanities as well, of course.”
Dr. Comber’s face was a study in consternation as he stared down at the list. “If all those completely unknown fields of knowledge are of similar scope and effort to the few I have at least heard of, it seems a most ambitious curriculum for a doctorate.”
Richard hesitated.
“It doesn’t seem so to you?”
“Ah...that’s for the bachelor’s degree. Bachelor of Science in Mechanical Engineering, a four-year curriculum. The advanced degrees dealt with research, original contributions to the field, and sometimes the leadership of projects and enterprises.”
Dr. Comber sat up again and stared at Richard straight-on. “The bachelor’s degree, forsooth! All that is what those mechanicians studied? And what we would have to teach, and find faculty and endowments for, were we to attempt such a thing?”
John broke in. “Richard, you’ve mentioned that place to me before. You did say Caltech was one of the most formidable engineering colleges in the world, didn’t you? A place for untiring near-geniuses to turn themselves into the leading lights of their profession? Out of all that, how much would be essential to do worthwhile work in our world?”
“Now, there’s a thought. Perhaps half could be put to immediate use. Of that, perhaps half is truly essential to do the beginnings of practical engineering work, while continuing formal studies. The Grantvillers call a student at that stage an ‘engineering trainee.’ Perhaps a little less than that. Thermodynamics is the key, for steam engines, and steam engines are practically the gateway to an industrial revolution. That comes about mid-way. So, a quarter perhaps.”
Dr. Comber sat back and folded his hands in his lap. He nodded gravely. “A quarter. So. A faculty of how many to teach such a reduced curriculum? Have you given thought to that question?”
“I’m uncertain. The Grantvillers were wrestling with it when I left, and hadn’t reached firm conclusions. But I think perhaps, if we considered only the minimum at first, and if some courses were given only in alternate years, and if we selected students for their ability to study independently, it might be done with eight or so. Perhaps.”
“Before Pan and Janus, Leamington, do you have the faintest idea of the magnitude of what you propose? It amounts to adding an entire new faculty to those we already have—medicine, law, theology and philosophy. Not only new academic seats, but new rooms—you said laboratories? Acquiring teaching devices such as your pendulum? Novel statutes for the university, I don’t doubt. And more students, likely as not. It’s like to founding a new college. And who would pay for all that? Who could, in these times?”
Richard sat, thinking.
“Put that way, I can’t dispute it. It reminds me of something one of the engineers said to me, in a moment of desperation. ‘If you have a mountain to move, and only a teaspoon to do it with, move the first spoonful. It’s a spoonful you won’t have to move later.’ ”
“I suppose that’s what you’re doing here, teaching what you’ve brought back, and translating this one book of mathematics into proper Latin? Carrying away a spoonful from the mountain you beheld?”
“I think what they brought to our world was a mere wheelbarrow full. A wagon load, at most. The mountain was left behind. But, yes. And were you to bring us that one professorship through your well-regarded diplomacy, I would rejoice for it, and not complain of the fish not caught. It would be another spoonful.”
As they sat contemplating that thought, John took a thick packet from under his arm and laid it before Richard. “I’d thought to give you this earlier, before other matters intervened. There’s a letter for you. It’s from John Pell, in Grantville.”
Dr. Comber looked up. “John Pell! Is it private, or is some of it meant for the university?”
Richard said, “We’ll soon see.” As he opened it, a small, beautifully printed sheet of cream-colored paper fell free from the rest. He picked it up, and smiled. “Well! A birth announcement. Deborah Lucille Reardon was born on November 17 to Landon Reardon and Sarah Beth Cochran Reardon. So Mrs. Reardon has been safely delivered. Good news, indeed, in many ways. The Reardons have been much in my thoughts.”
Dr. Comber was eyeing the corner of a glossy sheet of paper poking out of the stack. “Is that a photograph?”
“It looks to be. A black-and-white one.” Richard pulled it out and laid it on the table. John came closer, to see over their shoulders.
Two figures were seated on a brocaded couch. There was a large picture of a saddle horse in a pasture on the wall behind them. A tall, graceful woman with long dark hair sat on the right, wearing a flowered print dress and a single string of pearls. On the left was a husky man with lighter hair, wearing an up-time business suit. They faced half toward the camera, and half toward an infant sleeping in her lap. They were holding hands.
“It’s a Reardon family portrait. A new one, obviously.”
John mused, “A beautiful woman.”
Richard let slip an involuntary snort of amusement. “Indeed, and a most persistent and determined one, into the bargain.”
Dr. Comber raised an eyebrow. “Oh, how so?”
“You’d need to know the Cochran sisters. They have a long-standing reputation for letting nothing stop them, once they decide a thing must be done. There’s a story that Sarah stayed at the school well past her usual time one day, to deal with a student discipline problem, a boy on the edge of getting himself into serious trouble. By the time she and the guidance counselor were done ramming some sense into his head, the grocery stores had all closed. Nevertheless, she put dinner on the table that night. With a squirrel rifle.”
“Remarkable.”
“Not by their standards. She’s no better or worse a shot than a thousand others. Well, let’s see what Pell has to say.”
He held up the first page where the light from the sky could fall on it. “He sends his best wishes to all of us and hopes that we are well. Manfred von Ochsendorf has joined the high school faculty, and finished his translation of the second volume of the Resnick and Halliday physics series—that’s introductory electrodynamics, the course after the one I’m giving now. The University of Prague wa
s clamoring for it before I left. Oho! He reports that President Piazza has nominated Sarah to the state board of education. That can only mean big things are in the offing over there.”
“How so?”
“For close on a year now, she’s been the de facto leader of a small group arguing that the Grantville schools must better manage the teaching of mathematics and the sciences, to the end that they may concentrate their efforts toward educating a new generation of engineers and scientists with all possible speed. She argues that their survival requires re-creating the essentials of an engineering college of their own era. They’ve been consulting, planning, and persuading among the teachers, the citizens, the public leaders, and anyone else who will listen or speak to them. She once asked me to address the city council regarding the state of mathematics and experimental science here in England.
“The thing is this. Piazza was formerly the principal of Grantville High School. He’s acutely aware of the place education holds in their world. If he’s put forward her name, it means he’s convinced himself of four things. First, that the proposal is sound. Second, that its importance justifies the expense and talent it will demand. Third, that he can rely on her to bring it to fruition if given the authority. Fourth, that Congress will confirm the appointment. For that matter, that Sarah herself will accept the challenge, and the citizens will agree to the public expenditure.”
Dr. Comber leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “You know these people, Richard. Your opinion? Can they carry off such a thing?”
Richard chuckled. “I think every bit of progress will be a struggle, full of unexpected delays and difficulties. To misquote one of their sayings, no plan survives contact with reality. But they’ve already shown a talent for bending to reality—you’d hardly believe some of their educational expedients. With the state government standing behind it, I think they’ll make it work, one way or another.”
Dr. Comber stroked his chin, gazing pensively out at the few scholars taking advantage of the sudden fair weather to read beside the fountain. “A very different set of difficulties from ours, for certain. So they would turn necessity into iron resolve?”
“They have before.”
John looked over, from where he’d resumed his place by the door. “That’s—very interesting. It may present a solution for us as well.”
Dr. Comber cocked his head. “How so? I see no prospect of royal favor for a similar thing here, nor donors in the offing wealthy enough to endow a small faculty. If we can gain a professorship of mathematics, we’ll be doing well.”
“I mean, their college itself may be an answer for us. If all we can teach toward this curriculum is a few courses in mathematics and physics, it doesn’t mean our efforts are wasted for not completing the whole. Students could begin here, and go on to finish their studies there, for as long as it takes us to catch up. And soon there would be Englishmen with degrees in engineering and experimental sciences, who could return here to work and teach.”
“Move the first spoonful, eh?”
Richard tapped his fingers on the table. “I think that might well be an answer to one of their great difficulties as well. They’re practically crippled, when it comes to giving instruction in Latin. It handicaps them, and remedying that will take many years. And where in the world can they find able scholars, who can rapidly absorb abstruse knowledge printed only in English, and who are accomplished in Latin?”
“Ah, of course. Where else but here? If there’s one thing a Cambridge M.A. knows how to do, it’s learn difficult material quickly.”
“Exactly. They’ve already welcomed Pell and me. They’d be ecstatic to receive more.”
“So, you two describe a way forward that might fall within our means. Ingenious.”
“You’re considering it, then?”
“As I said at the beginning, it’s much too soon for that. But I believe what I will do now is open a correspondence of my own with John Pell. I need a feel for what’s happening there. I wonder if there’s anyone there from Oxford? Probably. Perhaps I’ll write to this Mrs. Reardon as well.” He shook his head. “Women in the colleges. New mothers founding them. Well, we must get accustomed to the idea, it seems. It’s a strange world.” He came to his feet. “But we must continue this later, as time for Hall approaches. For now, I’ll leave you to your discussions. I thank you both for your thoughts.”
John moved to close the windows as Dr. Comber left. The brief warm spell was over.
* * *
John Rant was feeling like a fish out of water. This was his first time at a meeting of the major fellows of the college. Dr. Comber hadn’t really explained why he wanted him there, but presumably it would become clear in due course. He listened closely and kept silence.
James Duport was holding forth. “Yes, I know he’s a fine scholar, and well regarded. But he hasn’t completed the scholarly work we expect of a candidate for the M.A. and makes no pretense of doing so. How can you possibly speak of giving it to him?
It would devalue the university’s name, besides flouting our statutes.”
Herbert Thorndike’s posture and tone dripped exasperated patience. “Not the ordinary M.A. The honorary one. A case like this is the reason we have it in our statutes.”
“The sheepskin given to the favored by unwritten royal command? I know of no such interest in Leamington’s case.”
“No, the honorary degree conferred by the grace of the master and fellows of Trinity College. To recognize scholarly achievement outside the ordinary course of things. Don’t say it’s unheard of. It’s just seldom heard of. You do understand why he’s chosen not to pursue the M.A., I hope?”
“His ill health? I sympathize, but that doesn’t alter the case.”
“That, and the simple reality that one more scholar intimately familiar with the abstruse minutiae of Aristotle’s cosmos would make very little difference to the world, while the same time spent in teaching advanced calculus and experimental physics will be of enormous value to our future. Logically, Newtonian mechanics fills the same place in the curriculum as astronomy. In fact, Newton’s laws are chiefly the harvest of the last century’s astronomical measurements. I venture to suggest that our curriculum itself may soon come to greatly resemble Leamington’s studies. Or at least it should.”
“Aristotle’s works are the very core of a Cambridge education, Thorndike. They have been since the earliest days.”
“As I recall, you were present at the Foucault pendulum demonstration. You can still say that, after seeing that effect? As if that weren’t enough, the experiment to measure the gravitational constant should have driven the final nail into Aristotle’s coffin. It showed universal gravitation in the most direct and unmistakable manner. It demolished any need to imagine crystalline spheres to carry the planets around.”
“Well, there was no public demonstration of that. Just an exhibit of the apparatus and the reading of a report. And why was the supposed experiment done in the middle of the night? Eh? Tell me that.”
“Why? Because we were measuring minuscule forces! The ground vibrations from a passing oxcart would be enough to disturb the torsion balance. What, do you think John’s technique was faulty, or that he couldn’t compose an accurate report of what happened during the experiment? If you think that, come into what we laughingly call a laboratory and run the damn experiment yourself! We can put the apparatus into your hands in an hour.”
Dr. Comber raised his hand. “Heated words will do us no good. The question is whether we shall pass this grace.”
Thorndike took a deep breath. “Your pardon. I apologize for the outburst. But I stand by the invitation. As Leamington continually reminds us, science progresses by repeatable experiment. The proper way to challenge a scientific result is in the laboratory. Any conclusion may be challenged in that manner.”
Duport wasn’t done. “Speaking of that, I believe I heard it said that it was you and Rant who did all this, wasn’t it? Leamington ha
d little or no hand in it? So why are we discussing an honorary degree for him?”
“Rant, and the others who were in the class from the beginning. I’ve only audited physics since the pendulum demonstration, and joined the probability lectures. John did most of the design of the apparatus, and supervised its construction. It was he who made the decision to send for piano wire, and Thomas Crosfield who devised the adjustable fluid damper. But, Leamington is a teacher, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Well, yes.”
“So what was he supposed to do, carry on everything himself, or teach others to do it?”
“By that reasoning, to teach. Certainly.”
“And has he?”
Dr. Comber cleared his throat. “Thank you. Let us return to the main business. The donors are growing impatient. They question whether we can make a firm commitment to a regimen of mathematics and science on which an engineering curriculum could be built. There are veiled hints of endowing a chair of physics at Oxford if we don’t satisfy them soon, rather than a chair of mathematics here.”
Thorndike snorted. “I wish no ill to our brothers at Oxford, but you may readily guess my preference between those alternatives.” That brought a few dry chuckles from around the table. “If we confer the honorary degree, we do two things. We do justice for meritorious scholarship, and we take a clear public stand. We commit ourselves to the future instead of the past.”
Thomas Randolph spoke for the first time, chin propped on interlaced fingers, in measured cadence to match. “There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries.”
“A quotation from Shakespeare is something I’d expect from you, though not necessarily that one. But I couldn’t imagine anything more apt. Much hangs on what we do now.”