"This trip should be different!" Weller said with evident satisfaction. The Erasmus Colony seems to be prospering on every level!

The planet loomed as a stunning blue orb in the view screen. "Beautiful, isn't it." Weller hummed. "Erasmus IV is a young planet. Ninety percent of its surface is ocean, and its main continent is relatively newborn, up thrust from its mantle only sixty million years ago."

Belden glanced at the geological readout underneath the display. "This is a New World, and even though it's beautiful, it must still require quite a bit of terra-forming to be made livable."

"The colonists knew that." Weller said. "The planet Erasmus IV is barely habitable. But this is also where we sent our best minds and our best technology. Erasmus was the university’s project, a research facility to be established as a sort of place where they could be among themselves, to think great thoughts, yet also facing challenges that would test their genius."

"It was a strange mix. Three hundred academics and their families, and three thousand support staff to do the things they had little mind to do, since their minds were on presumably weightier topics. And they’ve done well. Look, the colony now numbers more than fifty thousand souls. They have the necessities, many of the pleasures, and I do say they’ve learned a thing or two. "

He pointed to a green dot hovering on a slow circle around the main city. "That little green smudge. That’s the remarkable thing. Look at it magnified. It’s a floating castle in the sky. With hanging gardens, fountains and ivory towers, more a pleasure palace than an academy of advanced study."

Moore looked surprised. "A floating university?"

"Not in my sense of the word. More like a monastery. Universities service societies, and are patronized by them. This one comes merely with a retinue. No matter how high minded the motivation, it ultimately serves nothing but itself."

"Do we visit them first?"

"Our invitation comes from their capital."

"And what do you think they’ve learned? Asked Moore.

"That’s the question. There’s nothing really apparent looking down on them from a thousand miles. But at least they know about us, have kept to Transorian traditions, and we even have a spaceport to land in instead of a pasture!"

Weller brimmed with confidence. "This trip should be easy, no problems or puzzles at all."

Belden turned to Moore, and whispered. "A colony barely clinging to a barren rock and a floating island in the sky? Of course, no problems or puzzles here!"

________________

The shuttle trip was easy. The autopilot was soon engaged by the homing beacon, and was guided effortlessly to a small landing pad.

As they left orbit, Belden found the view from the window stunning. Ranging in the distance and in all directions was a range of mountains as high and forbidding at the Himalayas. The movement of the continental plates had twisted the small continent into a wide peninsula barbed like the back of a serpent with razor sharp peaks. Land transport was likely difficult, farming equally so, forcing the population as he gathered to look to the sea.

The city, although small, reminded him of San Francisco, but in a much smaller scale. Multi-storied buildings of glass and steel looked from the distance like a child's set of blocks, and rose like little pyramids and cylinders against the back drop of the towering peaks that surrounded the city. The shiny gray structures ringed a natural bay with water of the deepest blue.

The shuttle touched down on landing bay, and Belden noticed from the shuttle window a party of three officials waiting to greet them.

The party departed the shuttle, and was greeted by the smiling officials. A tall fellow emerged with an outstretched hand.

"I am Matthias Traffar, governor of the Erasmus colony, and my assistants Frederick and Paulette. It is wonderful to have you here! As I understand, you have finally mastered hyperspace, and a quantum computer no doubt. I would love to see it."

Weller smiled, and pointed to Belden, who gave an embarrassed and awkward salute.

"Then you must be its operator! You all have so much to tell us! Perhaps when we break for tea?"

Weller turned to Belden and grinned. "No respect for the one true mind, eh?"

With a satisfied smile, Traffar surveyed his city with a broad sweep of his hand. "Everything you see here comes from the seeds we brought, the blueprints we copied, the skills we handed down from each generation, and the genius of Ladagan science."

Weller pointed to the sky. "You mean the members of the floating academy."

"Yes. They built the fusion engines that provide us with power, pure water, and the machines that allowed us to carve a place for our society on this hard and difficult world."

"Then you must be grateful for their help. I am sure the academy is an institution that is cherished among your citizens."

Traffar looked to the sky, shook his head, and laughed. "I haven't heard that word to describe them in years. Yes, I suppose, if only to honor the intentions and legacy of a noble idea."

Weller looked about in disbelief. "But they enabled you to do all this!

"Oh, no. It was only in the first hundred years or so of the colony's existence that they possessed such rich inspiration and industry. Thereafter, how can I put it, they simply went mad. Eccentricity is perhaps a gentler word, yet something happened to the Lagadan Academy over time. In the beginning, they were indispensable, but now they're more trouble than they are worth. I suppose if genius continually teeters on the brink of madness, something over the years tipped them over."

"But you must have dealt with them often. Surely, their motive should be apparent."

Traffar shook his head. "Possibly, if they were the sociable sort. But we rarely see them, except when they call down for water, food, and other supplies, or have some miraculous contraption or scheme to foist upon us. They are a rather condescending lot. They do their business, don’t engage in much conversation, and then its back to their little castle in the sky. But we persevered, and transformed the land foot by foot. Erasmus was never a beautiful planet. Moss and mildew were the only things we could get to grow at first. In spite of hunger that plagues us every day. Nonetheless, we made a garden out of these barren rocks. Terraforming is not easy work, it consumes your time, your inventiveness, even your sleeping hours."

"But what is it they exactly do in their little castle in the sky?"

"We don't actually know what goes on up there. Not that it concerns us much anymore. Technically, our children could attend the university, but those few who made it past their ridiculous entrance exam and into their academy returned thoroughly indoctrinated in weird science, politics, and art, not to mention an accompanying attitude. They soon came to their senses and off their soapboxes when we ignored them, and when they began to starve. Nothing is more persuasive than an empty stomach. It forces you to think practically, to put to the test of survival every idea." He looked upwards at the academy and shook his head. "You can see that we don't need them, and would have their little floating city just meander away over those peaks. Unfortunately, we are a boat anchor of sorts for this thing." He sighed. "Perhaps some day, perhaps some day."

For a week the party was entertained and enlightened by the hard working Lagadans. Each evening Weller looked out the window to see Lagadan Academy brightly lit by the setting sun, floating as if in an infinite and invisible sea. It was above everyone, the city, and the colonists. It was above everyone's concerns. And to the Lagadans, it was fitting. The thoughts of these isolated academicians were lighter than air, as was the institute. Better to leave them there where they could be of least bother. But Weller thought that perhaps there was another opinion to be had. They would find out in the morning.

____________

The shuttle climbed into the clouds, and the Academy rose like an ivory candelabrum. It was astride on what appeared to be a rock, but on closer view was the irregular keel of an immense metal platform. As the shuttle approached the landing bay, Belden marveled at the marvelous intricacy of the place. It was a castle built for ornament, hardly for practicality, impossibly for defense. It was a child's playground full of spires, bridges, and tall towers, all enticing the observer to reach out and touch and explore. As the shuttle landed, Belden could see several children on the ground patiently waiting for them. A welcoming party for them perhaps? But where were the adults? That question was soon answered as he took his first steps outside in the bright Lagadan sun.

Belden whispered to Moore. "By heaven, they’re three feet tall!"

They were tiny to be sure, but their constant fidgeting and scurrying made them seem like overgrown mice. The 'children' it seems were the welcoming party, and a most mature one at that.

The first one jumped up and down excitedly. "I am Marv Slugman, Distinguished Professor Emeritus First Class Deluxe of the Lagadan Academy. And of course my esteemed colleague, Mik Chikenfri, most Revered Intellectual Potentate and Mellifluous Metaphoric Master of all things Psychologik."

"Yes, yes, yes, that’s me! Said Chikenfri. His high pitched voice reminded Belden of a certain cartoon woodpecker of his youth, only thing though, this one was irritating.

They gathered about him, tugging at his pants like children wanting some sweets. "Shall we show you around?" Slugman cried. "Oh yes, we must show you the sights. There is so much to talk about, so much to show! We have gadgets and gizmos aplenty, we have oozits and whatzits galore. Want thingamobots? We got twenty! But that's no big deal, we don't care, we want more! We got so much inspiration and invention, it makes you just dizney!!"

Weller surveyed the place in amazement. "But so much brilliance, and a bounty of inspiration and invention. And yet below your subjects struggle to keep from starving."

Suddenly, Slugman stopped hopping, and looked as dour as a child upon hearing a parent's call to do his homework. "Oh, you mean those mundane, boring people below! All they want is food. They think that happiness is found in a mere full stomach. Look. You feed them, feed them, and feed them, and they keep coming back for more. They’re never satisfied. Indeed, give them three full meals, and their unhappiness just begins! Soon they’ll want place settings, salt and pepper shakers, toaster ovens, and their dissatisfaction will never end till they can pick up their meals, forks and all, in a donkey cart drive up window!"

"Pure fantasy!’ chirped Chikenfri.

Slugman continued. "Of course, we in our infinite wisdom know better. It’s not a matter of objects, for they never satisfy, but attitude. Food is not the issue, but a symbol of the real issue, namely a hope for food, an energizing optimism that right around the corner is a pot of gruel. You see, everything is around the corner when you really look at it, and whether or not you are satisfied with your lot depends upon a hope is eternal and boundless. "

"So you manufacture dreams?"

"Not dreams, reality!! Happiness is a real thing! We teach them how to be optimistic, to be confident that a next meal is soon coming, and that even starvation patiently endured has its rewards, as God will award them a heavenly buffet! If they just believe food is around the corner, there is less upset, greater effort, and happiness I might add. They might even find food, which makes it therefore all worthwhile."

"You see, while the others down below implore the Almighty to ensure a good harvest or just the next meal, we go beyond that to the heart of the matter, or should I say the heart of the motivation. In that last few months, we have founded a positivity institute, a gathering of the best minds on Lagado to really get to the bottom of this happiness thing. So far it just numbers me and Chikenfri. But we're just revving up. That is why we are greeting you first. We are sure that you will understand our optimystique philosophy, and will gladly spread it across the universe."

Weller pointed to the landscape miles below. "But the problems…"

Slugman looked down and shook his head. "But that's just it. Look at those poor souls down there! All they do is focus on problems, problems, problems! Why can't they look at the sunny side of things? Those poor devils, always worrying about the next crust of bread. The bread turns up somehow. It always does. It’s the worry that’s the waste. One should teach them to whistle while they worry. Carrying a happy tune makes it all seem better. They have a fancy for sports and plays and other cultural pursuits. But that uses precious energy that they can otherwise conserve. All that jumping and hollering and whistling! What a racket and commotion just for a little stimulation! We have a better approach that can stimulate better, faster, and create a warm social environment as well."

He proudly pointed to a little metal box that he had brought on a little cart. On its side was a rectangular metal box the length of man’s forearm, and on its front was a rectangular window, partitioned into three glass boxes. Behind each window was the picture of a mushroom, bell, and moon.

"This is it! Our Symmetrical Limbic Olfactory Transducer machine. Just pull a lever, line up the combinations, and if chance smiles you'll get a few tokens as a reward, and perhaps a lot more. In itself, its about as exciting as arranging shoes, except that you could get a little something or maybe, just maybe, a lot of something. It brightens the mind, gives one purpose, but without the histrionic pretense. It is motivation in the raw, the mindless essence of what we are meant to be. And happiness too!"

"Yes, happiness, happiness too!" Cooed Chickenfri.

Slugman continued. "We put these machines in special places where people can congregate and enjoy. We can supercharge the people with happiness! Even better, the experience is so good, folks will even want to pay for it. We can program that into the machine too!"

"And we can make a social event out of it. It'll be a place where people can get together in collective merriment. And we'll make it festive with red velvet, flashing lights, and exciting ringing and dinging sounds. We'll take clocks off the walls so that our visitors can get that timeless flowing sensation."

"Yes, flowing!!" tooted Chikenfri.

Slugman nodded happily. "And they will thank us for it. You'll see."

Weller looked at Dr. Chikenfri, who seemed about to burst from his eagerness. "And Dr. Chikenfri, I presume you take equal responsibility in this accomplishment?"

"Oh, no, no. I just cheer him on, congratulate him for his genius. That's important you know. Mutual congratulations, self-congratulations, or just plain congratulations written on the wall. It’s the power of affirmations, the spark for the intrinsic motivation that will have you like doing what you're doing just because you're doing it! I am interested in consciousness, the creative selfhood imbedded in each individual mind. Consider for example a headache. Tell me Captain Weller, what do you feel?"

"That's not hard. It's merely a head pain, a throbbing feeling, discomfort."

Chikenfri looked at him impatiently. "But surely you can see it otherwise, in the poetic metaphor of giants stomping about in your noggin, of bees in your bonnet?"

"I suppose."

Chikenfri perked up enthusiastically. "Well there you have it! Stomping giants and busy bees! You can feel those things too, and that's important. You may say its mere metaphor, but to us it is pictures, fragrances, and memories evoked by allusions. To the minds eye they are real you know, and will stay that way despite the dead hand of your soulless biology. You'd want to reduce headaches to constricted blood vessels and pain receptors, but that denies the phenomenological, the metaphorical, the things that distinguish us from animals and machines. And believe me Captain Weller, when we are reduced to mere mechanism, we begin to think of one another as mere robots, and we deny the evident uniqueness and importance of our human consciousness and creative selfhood."

Weller shook his head. "Really, I don't think that the biology of headaches makes me any less likely…"

"Oh yes it does." Chickenfri exclaimed.

"But you haven't tested it, you don't know.."

"And a splendid concept that is too, Dr. Chikenfri!" shouted Slugman.

"And I must say you are all the more splendid for affirming it!" sang Chikenfri.

"And you are even more splendid for saying that!" chimed Slugman.

The two men began to excitedly hop about again, hugging, patting, and congratulating each other. Belden thought that were like Tweedledum and Tweedledee, living a fanciful world full of, well, affirmations.

Weller eyed a hallway that beckoned escape. "Shall we go?" he said.

Belden smiled ironically. "Affirmative!"

They walked down the broad and open hall. It was covered by intricately carved arches of inlaid ivory. Belden thought it seemed like an open aired shopping mall somehow merged with the Taj Mahal. On the side were doors leading presumably to the various departments of the academy.

Weller stopped. "Here's a good place to start, something that would appeal to you Beld!"

The sign above the door was Department of Scientific Theology. The door opened with a creak into a dimly lit room. The office was disheveled, and was filled with scrolls, stone tablets, and assorted parchment that was scattered about in disordered piles. An old fellow with a long white beard looked at them from his cluttered desk. "I am Teilhard Rheingold, Professor of Clerical Science and Inquisitor of Grand Things. You are the visitors from Transor. We've all been informed. Have you come for enlightenment?"

"In a manner of speaking I suppose." Said Weller. "I gather it is important to your academy that you reconcile science and religion."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Reconcile? What's the point of dialogue between knowledge and faith when neither have more importance than the next meal or the next diversion? We've been set up to guide these people, to write texts of surpassing genius on our place in the natural and supernatural. Long ago, we were like an infallible priesthood, but now, they just don't believe in us anymore. It’s a prideful stubbornness. After all, from what we have done, we should be as gods to them!"

"But my dear sir," said Weller. "These people seem reasonable, have you tried to talk with them?"

Rheingold shook his head. "No, no, no! Talking just won't help. We've tried. The downlanders are quite a simple folk, and we've long noticed that they don't listen to the noble philosophies we spin for them, no matter how simply put. Better indeed to put the fear of God into them, then they would come to us willingly for the consolation of our philosophy. In the past we came down with tablets, lightning bolts, and burning bushes. We've even tried to seed the clouds to make a deluge or two. Later, we made crop circles, molded clouds into the images of horses and ghostly sprites, and kidnapped their cows. In desperation, we even timed all this to occur with the conjunction of the planets in this system. You would think that they would see the correlation, and that done, spin in out into complex belief systems that would anchor their behavior to the motions of a star, and that they would come to us for revelation."

He shook his head in disgust. "No effect! You'd think that they would get the slightest bit superstitious. If we couldn't get them to bestow upon us an intellectual priesthood, then at least we would get a black cat, a rabbit's foot, something! "

"And you got…?"

"Nothing. Not the simplest prayer, not a genuflection, not even a fist raised to the heavens. They're a stubborn lot, must be that Transorian stubbornness. I tell you, it's not right. They ignore us, but deep down they know we are right, they cannot discount our value."

Belden looked at him skeptically. "In other words, at least you get your stipend."

"Well, yes." He said haughtily. "And deservedly so. Without it we would not be free, and be chained to the whims of the mob. That's not an image that is agreeable with the creative spirit. But you can do something about it. You need to wipe them out."

Weller looked at him incredulously. "What?"

"Why kill them of course. Well, not exactly, there must be a few down there who still believe. But you can leave that to me. It's really simple. You can pull down an asteroid or two to hit the ocean. The tidal wave will wipe them out, except of course the people I've chosen to survive. They will build anew, and we will help them from above. But this time we won't show our hand. We will be forever floating out of site, and out of mind. It's better that way. Let them build on the mystery. I think they will be very creative in finding new theological explanations for their predicament. Who knows, we may get several major religions out of it. You will help of course, you are an enlightened people. I know you will say yes."

Weller was dumbfounded. "Well…"

"We will start fresh."

"Well…."

We shall be decisive"

"Well…."

"We shall act!"

"Well…"

Weller nodded, and motioned Belden to follow him out the door. Rheingold looked at them with a triumphant smile.

Weller closed the door and turned to Belden with evident relief.

"We shall leave!" he said.

Belden looked down the hall. "Let me choose this time. Look! Here's something I've never heard of: a Department of Sosobiology. Hopefully, this can't be worse!

He was sitting on a chair five meters high, and was fitted with a serving tray. To Belden it was a child's high chair fitted for either a big person or a person who thought big of himself. Seeing that the fellow was of average size, its purpose was evident.

The man looked down on them condescendingly. "I am Tobey Pynkerton. I am world famous here, if by world you mean this rock. But that's just fine for me!"

He held up a book. "You will find all the answers here. It's titled 'How our Noggins Work.' It is my greatest work. My grand premise is that we are not what brains are, we are what brains do, and I can reverse engineer all that mechanics in the gray pudding that’s your brain. Inputs and outputs are all I need. As you know, the brain is but a computer, right? Thus if it has a hankering to compute certain things, you can only make sense of it if you can find the designer of the program that's etched into our cerebral noggin."

"What is our behavior but the resultant byproduct of the activity of computational Modules etched into the brain? Its all evolutionary really, nature selected it all over eons, so all we have to do is figure out logically how our brains would have adapted to a prehistoric reality. So, if our brute ancestors needed to play checkers to survive, voila, we shall have an inbred preference for checkers! Our predilections are thus made to order. It's an evolutionary pressure cooker. Just add the right ingredients and the right pressure here and there and then you have creatures that become like virtual Transor Army knives, with a computational module to cut through any problem. Once we have this sublime principle, the rest is merely a matter of logic. Thus I have boldly and correctly discovered stamp collection modules, fear modules, sex modules, and potato chip eating modules that explain everything. These exist because cause it was all naturally selected. Life is just a just so story, and I am the grand storyteller."

Belden whispered to Weller. "In other words, he fancies himself Humpty Dumpty. Let's get out of here before he falls on us from his teetering chair." Weller nodded, and the two waved goodby and hurriedly made it out of the door.

Pynkerton struggled to escape his high chair. "Wait listen to me, I've got more to say!"

As the two left, they heard a muffled crash from Pynkerton's office. "I gather it won't be easy to put him back together!" Belden muttered.

As they left, a man shaking his head in disapproval approached them.

I am Staddly Fantinko, Professor of Radical methodological teleological behavior-ism. You look a bit frustrated. I can understand. This place is a haven for fools."

Weller looked at him in relief. "Then you understand!

"These people. All their accomplishments can be measured in the promiscuity of their metaphors! Such an abuse of language! I say away with it! Measure what's real, and consider only that. Stray away from a reality that all can agree and you're asking for a philosophical muddle, a cacophony of voices that in sum mean nothing. Take a fellow emerging from a ride on a Ferris wheel. 'I am having a great and splendid time he says, a peak experience raising my consciousness to new altitudes.' I tell you what does that prove? Nothing but that he gave you a verbal report, and verbal reports I say are merely the consensus and tilt of the mob. His behavior is the only reality that we can only know, the fact that he keeps pressing that ticket lever, running to his seat, even babbling his favor."

"So you don't give much credence to his own enjoyment?"

"His self reports that is! I say give them a ride that makes them run and jump and ask for more, and you won't need to pay attention to enjoyment! It's all in the behavior, events that can be measured, quantified, and universally weighed. Indeed, that's all we ever can hope to know. Look here!" He pulled out a graph marked by a single ascending curve. Its all in this record, its all cumulative. Take a rate of behavior and map it to simple patterns of information, and you can play human beings as if they were piano rolls. It's all so simple! You people are all the same. Let me plot you, I'll demonstrate."

"Thank you but no!" said Weller, as the two men began to accelerate their walk down the hall."

Belden eyed an avenue of escape. "Here, this office should be maybe a little saner. See, it’s a simple bioengineering department."

As they closed the door behind them. A jovial man in a white coat beckoned them forward. "My name if Proctor Gamble, I am chief bioengineer here. No fancy title for me, just pretty fancy inventions!" He motioned to them to take a seat on a nearby sofa.

"You look a bit harried. No doubt you met the others. Those philosopher types, I can see why the downlanders hold us in contempt! I tell you what they need, its exactly what they've been asking for!! They'll tell us what they want and then we'll not only do it, but do it one better." He pointed with obvious pride at a small device the size and shape of a salad shredder.

"This is my crowning invention, the universal DNA analyzer! On Transor, you had something like this but you never used it. It would have been different I'm sure if you had this dandy model. Just give me a strand of your hair, some basic information on your eating habits, how often you exercise, that sort of thing. The processing is quick, only a few minutes, and you have a proper estimation of your own mortality!"

Belden looked at him warily. "You mean, the time of your death?"

"Yes. Not to the minute of course, but its 99% accurate within the time frame of a month or two."

"You'd be amazed how accurate this device is. I just can't understand why you good people never put it to use. This machine is the conveyor of all convenience. Think of it, if you know when you are going to die, you can plan your life with a lot more ease, even save money. You won't need insurance or even plan for retirement expenses. It gets rid of the worry, the concern, and even the superstition. No more hand of God in your future, it's all you see in your genes.

He motioned to the machine. Come, please, would you like to try it?

Moore recoiled. "Thank you, no. I would rather take my chances with the fates, which look a lot nicer now compared to this certainty that would replace them."

Gamble looked at him condescendingly. "Then it is your loss." He sniffed.

The two men excused themselves again, and began to jog down the hallway.

"Let's get out of here!" said Weller. "I've had enough genius in one day. Suddenly Belden stopped. From a distance, he could hear the faint thumping of drums. Belden me pointed ahead. "It's coming from this door." The door plaque said Rych Fainman, Fyg Newton Chair of Physiks.

"Must you?" said a fatigued Weller.

"It's physics!" said Belden. "How could they screw that up?"

They opened the door, and before them stood a thin man with long white hair dressed in a saffron robe, and playing bongo drums. He continued on for a minute, and then looked at them.

"You're the two from the Nole. Weller and Belden I think? I'm flattered that you took time to see me! You probably found out that the professors at this academy are a rather daft bunch. You can't blame them really; good science ultimately comes from crazy notions. The problem though is that madness must come full circle to arrive at the truth. You just have to have the courage to complete the circuit, crazy isn't enough, you have to transcend even that. The question is not if you're crazy, but if you're crazy enough!"

Weller laughed. "After what we've heard, I think that's hardly possible."

Fainman raised a finger to the sky. "Well then, consider this. Look at a simple electron. Why in the universe are electrons all the same? Why is that, did they take a vote? Why not just have one electron zipping about from past to present to future and back again, sort of like a single thread that weaves together all we know and all we see. By why look at things in 4-D? Add dimensions aplenty, infinite universes, and prove it all not through a mathematical proof, but better, through a thinking machine that uses them all. We don't need monkey's typing encyclopedias when we can have a search engine examine all the possibilities in an instant. With infinite knowledge comes the infinite power that attends it, and all at our fingertips! And all, all of this is derived from the simple motions of a single infinitesimal billiard ball!"

"Of course, designing the thing is another matter. Gears, pulleys, and simple circuits just won't do. That’s what my peers have offered. They're idiots the lot of them. Perhaps you can help me with the electronic parts I need?"

Belden recoiled in shock, and looked at Weller "Monkeys at the keyboard!" he whispered. Given infinite time and an infinite search and one must discover Hamlet!! You musn't forget what 'I ' am, or at least the thing that represents me: a universal quantum computer. It can do anything and be everything because it can realize infinite things. But it doesn't need 'time' for it, the jobs are done in parallel. Have these people gone so mad that they've arrived at me?"

Weller looked at Fainman and nodded. "Well at least this one has. Dr. Fainman, we will consider your offer."

"Ah, excellent!" he said.

As the two departed, they heard him ask softly: "Do either of you play bongos?

Suddenly, a group of Lagadans approached them. It was led Chikenfri and Slugman, walking to them presumably with an entourage of dignitaries from the Academy.

"Good! You're still here!" said Slugman. "Surely you must stay for dinner! We have so much to talk about. You have not even scratched the surface of our accumulated genius. He unfurled a scroll that unrolled like an errant wad of tissue paper. These are just a few of our inventions, we will regal you with all of them over dinner." He jumped up and down with a gleeful look on his face. "It will be splendid."

Weller gulped in apprehension, while Belden looked for some way out. He soon found it in the guise of a man walking past them down the hall. He was dressed in gray, with a serious look that turned ever so noticeably into the slight outline of a scowl. An unhappy man in happy academia! This is a fellow I should follow, Belden thought. He let the group walk a bit ahead of him, then inconspicuously turned to follow the man. He disappeared through a side door, and could be heard racing down a flight of metal stairs. Belden followed from a distance. The stairs were dimly lit and led to a gray iron door. He pushed hard, and with a loud creak the door opened to a narrow hallway. Down the dark hall was a door ringed by a white light.

He knocked lightly on the door. No sound. He pushed it slightly ajar. "Come in", said the voice.

The man sat behind a desk piled high with a sea of papers. Bordering each wall were tall bookcases brimming with manuals, books, and computer disks. Focusing briefly on a computer monitor, he turned the device off and turned to his visitor.

"I am Robert Kuhn, information manager for the Lagadan Academy. You are new here, on a tour no doubt?"

"My name is Belden. Sorry to intrude, but there was something about my tour that I, well, thought about taking a path on my own."

Kuhn smiled skeptically. "A path to me?"

"Yes. You seemed unhappy. Perhaps you were just busy, preoccupied, but nonetheless my intuition told me to follow you."

"You should know that a little intuition can be a dangerous thing,

"Genius declined, but not its illusion. Perhaps both of them feed on each other.

"But I'm sure they’ve given much back to you land dwellers. After all, it was their purpose."

Kuhn laughed. "I said I don’t know what they do because they haven’t done anything, much. Oh, that doesn’t mean they haven’t tried. It’s just that the inventions and schemes they brought us didn’t work, didn’t make sense, and had a habit of flying to pieces when put to use, or just flying away into the clouds like a bird, never to be seen again. They said we didn’t listen, didn’t want to follow instructions. From the stories I’ve heard they were more than a little exasperated with us. I guess we were a bit too simple minded or perhaps single minded for their tastes."

"I must say I’m a bit surprised Mr. Kuhn. You don’t seem to the simple minded type."

"Actually, it started out with a simple premise, to isolate and preserve the genius of Transor. You see, we were the best Transor had to offer; we were the most brilliant Transor had to offer. We were the hope of the future. It was this institution that allowed us to survive, even prosper in this barren place. This floating island, the structures that rise from it, and the fusion engines and propulsion systems that make it fly all came from the collective minds of the Erasmus Institute."

Kuhn looked up and sighed. "Oh to know such genius again, even for a second!"

Belden nodded. "Genius, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder, but I must tell you, I’ve met nothing but blind men today!"

Kuhn smiled in relief. "Wonderful! Then you too can see the ‘genius’ in these mental invalids! Who are you, and your people? No one comes down here unless is with a question about the heating."

"We come from Transor. We are the expedition sent to find you. But we came a different way. You see, we’ve mastered wormhole technology. You are now a simple hop in space!"

Kuhn stood up excitedly. "I can’t believe it! The computing power to do that! No, too crazy even for Lagadoan scientists, when they still had their brains of course. Hmm, I guess I believe you, and no hurt if you eventually prove to be as daft at the others."

"But that's the problem. These people are loony. This place was supposed to be a haven for genius after all. What went wrong?"

Kuhn sighed. "Three hundred geniuses can do many things, but even they could not surmount mortality, or their confidence in the superiority of their genes. They died, and were replaced by their children, and in time their children’s children. The standards stayed the same, after all they controlled them. Thus admission remained for the elite, and because their kids had many more educational opportunities compared to the poor souls on the lower world, the Lagadan academy should I say stayed in the family. Still, I really don't think I can blame them. They were protective of their perquisites, and protective of their children. After all, working to clean lichen covered rock is not exactly conducive of great thought, or great happiness. Nonetheless, they should have been more mindful of their own genetics, since with a population of only a few hundred, one cannot help but regress towards a much lower mean.

"We’ve noticed the ‘lower’ part." Weller said, moving his hand down, as if measuring the height of a pet spaniel.

Kuhn laughed. "Oh, them! Those chipmunks! They’re harmless really. Their institute is merely a clubhouse for children who like to torture language. How many new words have they invented for happiness? I think it was 352 by last count. To them, if they were to rename a rose, by every other name it would smell differently sweet! It makes me angry to think that this is what our 'best' minds have come to: three foot tall clowns, mugging intellectually, mere ciphers for the devolution of a noble people and a noble premise."

"But it's not just genetic, it’s a drift that infects any intellectual people. At first the motives were economic, the pressing needs of basic survival. This barren and barely livable place demanded that much. And the academics responded from a common need. Intellect blended seamlessly with pragmatism. Then the downlanders, secure in their slight hold on this place became confident and independent, and provided subsistence to them, but demanded nothing from them. From its perch high in the atmosphere, the Academy could not begin to understand why they were no longer needed. When the rift came, the Academy tried to compensate for its uselessness, and failing it that, its remedies became ever more extreme. Combined with its steady genetic deterioration, the result is what you see here."

"But there must be a solution, better communication perhaps, an infusion of new talent from below."

Kuhn gave a knowing smile, as if he had thought about all of the possible questions beforehand. "There is no solution, no quick and ready answer for this. It's madness, the madness that you must seek to escape. It is why perhaps you are here. After all, why would you travel so far and at such risk just to keep an eye on the children? No, the problem with the academy is the problem that you have now. You simply have time on your hands, infinite time. You have a choice, you can entertain yourselves mindlessly and repeat the past forever, or you can search out new answers that are beyond you or forbidden to you. The downlanders are simply repeating the motions of survival, and the academicians here are pursuing a separate truth only madness can provide. Tell me Mr. Belden, what is your truth?

Belden looked blankly ahead. "I don' t know." He said.

Kuhn smiled. "Then that is your salvation. Pray that you never find it."

_________________

John Michael Belden woke up, and stared at his computer screen in the cubicle that imprisoned him it seemed from dawn to dusk. Lagado was a mere memory, the Nole and its crew was a mere memory. They were an interlude that filled the little nap he took on his lunch hour. They were a passing dream that dwelled only in his sleep. He used his browser to move from screen to screen, and cascading in front of him were pop up ads for new cars, new foods, new deodorants, new movies, and new ways to lose twenty pounds. They were faster, better, cheaper, and more stylish. But nothing was really new. They were items for one who had time on his hands, one who has all the time and all the memory in the world. He knew he was repeating himself, repeating his own vision. He closed his eyes and longed for the unknown land of dreams.