by E. R. Mason
Professor Cassell’s sudden disappearance was an untimely annoyance to several different groups. The University had learned to endure his frequent tardiness and occasional recorder-dispensed classes, but this indiscretion was different. Never before had he neglected his duties for a full three days. Finding someone to pick up a quantum physics class three-fourths of the way through the semester was certain to be an onerous affair for the already overworked university staff.
For the University’s security department, the Professor’s unscheduled absence was no less a headache. Because he was well known for his eccentric behavior, they could not be sure this absence was worth looking into. They had once searched the entire college district for him for two full days only to discover he had locked himself away in his laboratory and not realized how much time had passed.
There were few relatives to contact. The professor’s wife had long ago abandoned him, fed up with his absentmindedness and infrequent attention. Only his lovely and devoted daughter had maintained some semblance of family. Except for his faculty associates, she was his only reliable link to the real world. Most friends felt Cassiopia had inherited the Professor’s streak of genius but been spared his lack of social grace.
Cassiopia fumbled in the darkness for the key to her father’s house. The faint illumination leaking through the aging curtains on the front door was of little help. A gentle Florida breeze, flavored by night jasmine, pressed at her as she searched for the key. She felt mildly irritated at her forgetful father. She loved him more than anything and was probably the only person who had ever understood him. In the laboratory, she usually assisted him better than anyone, and the fact that she often comprehended his work never failed to pleasantly surprise him.
Cassiopia winced as she recalled how many times her inherited intellect had been a source of social embarrassment. There was that time a would-be suitor had gone to great lengths to have his sports car break down in a secluded spot beneath a moonlit sky. To his dismay, she had graciously climbed under the hood and fixed the problem in only a few minutes. An awkward moment of silence punctuated by a disillusioned stare made Cassiopia slowly realize that her ingenious efforts were less than appreciated. Unfortunately little had been left to do but shrug it off and climb back in the car. Many such romantic blunders had left the angelic-faced girl with the long ivory-blonde hair still unattached at twenty-five. Men seemed to suffer an intimidation psychosis when dating women more intellectual than they. Somewhere deep inside Cassiopia felt a certain deficiency from that, and it was a feeling becoming more and more difficult to catalog and file away.
At last she found the key and let herself in. She called out, but there was no response. A quick walk through the house failed to produce her absent-minded parent. He rarely left lights on in his home when he was away; a futile effort to reduce his enormous power bill, which everyone but him knew was due to his basement laboratory. The man could explore and understand quantum mathematics, but not an electric bill.
Because some lights were on, it was likely he had again locked himself away in his lab, engrossed so deeply in some project that he had lost interest in the passage of time. She went down the carpeted, sparsely decorated hallway to the expensive metal door that opened to the stairs, and punched her access code into the keyboard lock on the wall.
The stairway lights were also on. She descended the carpeted stairs, pondering the best way to remind her dad of his commitments to reality, hopefully without embarrassing him too badly. She reached the gray-tiled floor at the bottom of the stairs and looked around, but to her surprise found the lab deserted. She rested her hands on her hips, and with a baffled expression, continued to survey the room.
Everything seemed to be in order. To the left of the stairs against the far wall, the chemistry bench was scattered with test tubes, Bunsen burners, and chemicals. Across the room were the familiar racks of power supplies and electronics gear. On the right were the many, disorderly stacks of experimental projects gone wrong, along with a hodgepodge of supply racks loaded down with cords, parts, and boxes.
In the center of the lab was the large, brown, veneered project table. She went to it, trying to discern the tangle of wires and electronics strewn across the surface. Something new was there, a six-inch Plexiglass cube barely visible through the colorful glob of wires and sensors attached to its surface. Cables ran to an array of black boxes that eventually mated with a computer terminal. None of the equipment in the room was operating, and she knew better than to switch power on to anything her father was working on without his consent. That knowledge had been learned through the growing pains of childhood curiosity.
There were no signs of him anywhere. With new concern, she hastily climbed the stairs, hoping a more thorough search of the house would provide some simple explanation.
After finding his car still parked in the garage, she reluctantly called the university, hoping they had learned something more. She stammered her concerns to an indifferent answering machine, and sat nervously by the telephone, fearing that she might be overreacting. Her father despised outside intrusions. She could only hope this was all a big misunderstanding, one that would be quickly and discretely resolved.
On the opposite side of town, Ms. Julia Vasal caught her son by the arm, anchoring him long enough to peel away the shiny box from his grasp.
“Now where did you get this?” a tired Mrs. Vasel asked of her energetic six-year-old.
“Billy found it in the garage of the old house that burned down, Mom,” he answered, hoping to avert any unnecessary responsibility.
“This is brand new, don’t you lie to me, young man.”
“I’m not! Me and Billy were exploring ‘round there, and there it was.”
“I told you never to go near that place. It’s not safe. Now go upstairs and straighten your room; we’re having guests later.”
After a second, brief look at the mysterious silver box, she decided it was a perfect addition to her china cabinet. She opened the glass door and placed it carefully on the top shelf.
Chapter 3