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CHAPTER I - THE MADNESS OF DREAMS
Conversations quieted and died down as Professor Jones entered the lecture hall. His footsteps echoed loudly in the barely populated room as he approached the front desk and set his backpack on it, taking his time. Andrew could see a couple of first-rowers exchanging nervous glances and double checking their notes. Henry Jones had that effect on most students.
The half-bald scraggly-bearded professor pulled a clipboard from his pack - Andrew could catch glimpses of a list of student names on it - cleared his throat and turned toward the rest of the room. Sunlight streamed through the high open windows and bathed the lecture hall golden, throwing shadows of dancing leaves onto freshly painted wooden desks and the attentive faces of the seventeen students present.
"Well, moment of truth." Professor Jones' voice was rough and resonating, but his British accent was precise and clipped, making for an odd and jarring combination. "I had hoped that you all would be ready, but I see that that is not the case." His eyes moved through the faces and locked on two second-rowers who were exchanging notes, both of whom froze like deers in headlights. The moment dragged on for a few seconds too long until the professor cleared his throat again making the two students jumped, before sheepishly dropping their hands and rotated to sit in rigid straight-back poses, visible sweat trickling down their forehead.
"Right." Said Professor Jones. "I will give you 10 minutes to come to an actual decision." He emphasized "actual" as if it was a concept he found incredulous.
Andrew could feel beads of sweat on his own face, albeit not from the idea of being under Jones' attention. His eyes dropped to the two stacks of paper in front of him, one several pages long and filled with notes and the other a single line of text on an empty sheet. Two choices. Any sane, logical person would know exactly which to choose. Still, his eyes kept dragging itself back to the single line on the blank sheet even as his mind begged him to just, drop it. The clock on the wall ticked awfully loud in his head like drumbeats. And he had thought today would be simple.
Andrew woke up that morning full of energy. The semester was drawing to a close, and the summer air was fresh and bright and saturated with life. He was early, the dorm still completely quiet and Matt still snoring lightly when he rolled out of bed. The sun had partially risen above the horizon, glimpses of it peaking over the treetops across campus.
May had always been his favourite time of the year, not only due to the weather but because in one week, he would be able to go home. Plus, that morning his schedule was clear except for Professor Jones' Comprehensive Science Seminar. The professor was notorious among students for being strict and unforgiving when it comes to work standard, but Andrew was one of the few who wasn't terribly afraid of Jones. Not that he was one of Jones' star pupils or anything, there had been less of those than he could count on the fingers of one hand since the man started working at UoC. He was just always prepared.
That morning however was not just any lecture. They would be presenting their topics for the Graduating Thesis next semester, and depending on whether or not the professor was happy with it, would either skip and whistle happily all the way home, or throw away all of their preparation and spend the next month coming up with new pitches until Jones grudgingly accept one. One could, of course, insist on keeping their original topic, it is ultimately the student's choice, but nobody in the history of Jones' career at UoC had dared taking that option. Andrew never really considered any other scenario happening to him than the first. He had his picked out and well-researched, several pages more than necessary. Some students dreaded the occasion, but he wasn't too worried.
Andrew got dressed and packed his bag as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb Matt. His roommate hated having his sleep bothered. It was when going through his shelf searching for a reference text that his eyes found and latched onto a thick hardcover book, looking nondescript with its simple blue and white back, but he noticed it all the same. Its title read: Genetic Microbiological Hereditary Evolution, by Dr. Henry J. Powell. His father had given him that book for his 14th birthday, the Doctor's very first published work, written when he was only 25. A small breakthrough in the field of Evolutional Science, but a breakthrough nonetheless. Henry J. Powell was then hailed as one of the most promising rising stars of his time, and he went on to earn that title many times over.
Only 25. Andrew was almost 25. At his age, his father was already a few years into research, with enough material to be published. His finger traced the book's hard back, and a shadow of profound startlement entered his eyes. What had he done with his life?
For the very first time, Andrew Powell really asked himself that question. What had he accomplished? His academic results had always been solid, sure, but did that mean anything at all? His father published a major book at 25. He was a poor student, attending UoC on a full scholarship, and within the course of his five-years studies taught himself one of the most difficult fields of science to a high enough degree as to make a breakthrough. Andrew's family was wealthy, he was exposed to science at 7 years old and had been accumulating knowledge and experience from one of the greatest minds in the world for 16 years. And what had he accomplished?
His eyes travelled from his father's substantially-sized book to the pathetically few thesis research notes in his hand. He had felt a small measure of pride while working on them because he had prepared more than everyone else, and more than he had to. Just thinking about it made his face flush red. What an utter joke.
Andrew spent his entire morning preclass staring at his father's book. He had thought following his usual routine and meeting friends would break him out of that state of mind, but of course it didn't. He sat alone at his usual table, nodding and greeting everyone he knew, but they could sense that something was off with him and all politely left him in peace. The cafeteria was loud and obnoxious, as any College cafeteria at 9 in the morning would be, but in his head all he could hear was the book's short biography screaming at him. Rising star. Genius. Breakthrough. 25.
Slowly, inexorably, something poisonous and infectious formed in his mind. The first hint of a dangerous and insane idea starting to take root. The words still beat at his brain, hammering the nail in deeper. Breakthrough. 25.
Without conscious thought, his hands moved by themselves, tearing a blank page out of his notebook and began to write a single line. Andrew looked down in surprise at his own writing, the unthinkable notion given physical form. It was then that he realize the idea wasn't instantaneous, but had already been lurking in his head for a long time. He had considered it before, wondered, speculated, but never in a serious manner. Yet somehow it had managed to worm its way into his subconsciousness and merged with the insanity provoked by that morning's contemplation into a blue line of text on a sheet of paper. If he had any sense, he would have discarded the paper right then and there and forget ever considering of such crazy thoughts.
But somehow, Andrew found himself at the lecture with the clock ticking, looking down at it. This is madness, he thought. What the hell am I doing? Yet he couldn't take his eyes or his mind off it. Never in a million years would he thought he would actually consider something so profoundly ridiculous.
Andrew chewed on his lips nervously, an old habit he had never quite managed to fix, and poked Matt who was sitting next to him looking bored out of his mind in the rib.
"Hey. What's your Thesis topic?"
Conversations quieted and died down as Professor Jones entered the lecture hall. His footsteps echoed loudly in the barely populated room as he approached the front desk and set his backpack on it, taking his time. Andrew could see a couple of first-rowers exchanging nervous glances and double checking their notes. Henry Jones had that effect on most students.
The half-bald scraggly-bearded professor pulled a clipboard from his pack - Andrew could catch glimpses of a list of student names on it - cleared his throat and turned toward the rest of the room. Sunlight streamed through the high open windows and bathed the lecture hall golden, throwing shadows of dancing leaves onto freshly painted wooden desks and the attentive faces of the seventeen students present.
"Well, moment of truth." Professor Jones' voice was rough and resonating, but his British accent was precise and clipped, making for an odd and jarring combination. "I had hoped that you all would be ready, but I see that that is not the case." His eyes moved through the faces and locked on two second-rowers who were exchanging notes, both of whom froze like deers in headlights. The moment dragged on for a few seconds too long until the professor cleared his throat again making the two students jumped, before sheepishly dropping their hands and rotated to sit in rigid straight-back poses, visible sweat trickling down their forehead.
"Right." Said Professor Jones. "I will give you 10 minutes to come to an actual decision." He emphasized "actual" as if it was a concept he found incredulous.
Andrew could feel beads of sweat on his own face, albeit not from the idea of being under Jones' attention. His eyes dropped to the two stacks of paper in front of him, one several pages long and filled with notes and the other a single line of text on an empty sheet. Two choices. Any sane, logical person would know exactly which to choose. Still, his eyes kept dragging itself back to the single line on the blank sheet even as his mind begged him to just, drop it. The clock on the wall ticked awfully loud in his head like drumbeats. And he had thought today would be simple.
Andrew woke up that morning full of energy. The semester was drawing to a close, and the summer air was fresh and bright and saturated with life. He was early, the dorm still completely quiet and Matt still snoring lightly when he rolled out of bed. The sun had partially risen above the horizon, glimpses of it peaking over the treetops across campus.
May had always been his favourite time of the year, not only due to the weather but because in one week, he would be able to go home. Plus, that morning his schedule was clear except for Professor Jones' Comprehensive Science Seminar. The professor was notorious among students for being strict and unforgiving when it comes to work standard, but Andrew was one of the few who wasn't terribly afraid of Jones. Not that he was one of Jones' star pupils or anything, there had been less of those than he could count on the fingers of one hand since the man started working at UoC. He was just always prepared.
That morning however was not just any lecture. They would be presenting their topics for the Graduating Thesis next semester, and depending on whether or not the professor was happy with it, would either skip and whistle happily all the way home, or throw away all of their preparation and spend the next month coming up with new pitches until Jones grudgingly accept one. One could, of course, insist on keeping their original topic, it is ultimately the student's choice, but nobody in the history of Jones' career at UoC had dared taking that option. Andrew never really considered any other scenario happening to him than the first. He had his picked out and well-researched, several pages more than necessary. Some students dreaded the occasion, but he wasn't too worried.
Andrew got dressed and packed his bag as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb Matt. His roommate hated having his sleep bothered. It was when going through his shelf searching for a reference text that his eyes found and latched onto a thick hardcover book, looking nondescript with its simple blue and white back, but he noticed it all the same. Its title read: Genetic Microbiological Hereditary Evolution, by Dr. Henry J. Powell. His father had given him that book for his 14th birthday, the Doctor's very first published work, written when he was only 25. A small breakthrough in the field of Evolutional Science, but a breakthrough nonetheless. Henry J. Powell was then hailed as one of the most promising rising stars of his time, and he went on to earn that title many times over.
Only 25. Andrew was almost 25. At his age, his father was already a few years into research, with enough material to be published. His finger traced the book's hard back, and a shadow of profound startlement entered his eyes. What had he done with his life?
For the very first time, Andrew Powell really asked himself that question. What had he accomplished? His academic results had always been solid, sure, but did that mean anything at all? His father published a major book at 25. He was a poor student, attending UoC on a full scholarship, and within the course of his five-years studies taught himself one of the most difficult fields of science to a high enough degree as to make a breakthrough. Andrew's family was wealthy, he was exposed to science at 7 years old and had been accumulating knowledge and experience from one of the greatest minds in the world for 16 years. And what had he accomplished?
His eyes travelled from his father's substantially-sized book to the pathetically few thesis research notes in his hand. He had felt a small measure of pride while working on them because he had prepared more than everyone else, and more than he had to. Just thinking about it made his face flush red. What an utter joke.
Andrew spent his entire morning preclass staring at his father's book. He had thought following his usual routine and meeting friends would break him out of that state of mind, but of course it didn't. He sat alone at his usual table, nodding and greeting everyone he knew, but they could sense that something was off with him and all politely left him in peace. The cafeteria was loud and obnoxious, as any College cafeteria at 9 in the morning would be, but in his head all he could hear was the book's short biography screaming at him. Rising star. Genius. Breakthrough. 25.
Slowly, inexorably, something poisonous and infectious formed in his mind. The first hint of a dangerous and insane idea starting to take root. The words still beat at his brain, hammering the nail in deeper. Breakthrough. 25.
Without conscious thought, his hands moved by themselves, tearing a blank page out of his notebook and began to write a single line. Andrew looked down in surprise at his own writing, the unthinkable notion given physical form. It was then that he realize the idea wasn't instantaneous, but had already been lurking in his head for a long time. He had considered it before, wondered, speculated, but never in a serious manner. Yet somehow it had managed to worm its way into his subconsciousness and merged with the insanity provoked by that morning's contemplation into a blue line of text on a sheet of paper. If he had any sense, he would have discarded the paper right then and there and forget ever considering of such crazy thoughts.
But somehow, Andrew found himself at the lecture with the clock ticking, looking down at it. This is madness, he thought. What the hell am I doing? Yet he couldn't take his eyes or his mind off it. Never in a million years would he thought he would actually consider something so profoundly ridiculous.
Andrew chewed on his lips nervously, an old habit he had never quite managed to fix, and poked Matt who was sitting next to him looking bored out of his mind in the rib.
"Hey. What's your Thesis topic?"
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