SAM
“This astrolabe,” Sam said, eating through his third packet of in-flight snacks out of sheer nervousness, “what does it do?”
“It’s a measurement device,” the Professor explained. “Astronomers used to use them to plot the sun, moon, the planets and the stars. Being able to work out locations by the stars was handy for being at sea, too, so navigators on ships would use them to calculate their position.”
“And this one in particular?” Sam asked. “I mean, is there anything special about it?”
“Well, I know that it was made in Venice around five hundred years ago,” the Professor replied. “And it had been in my wife’s family ever since.”
“Was it made by da Vinci?”
“Possibly, though I never heard that said, and it didn’t have his maker’s mark. But he may have had a hand in creating it,” the Professor said. “Whatever the case, the Gear may have found its way inside, either by accident, or the gear mechanism was recycled—which happened all the time back then—or perhaps it was placed inside deliberately.” The Professor sipped a coffee, the steam swirling into the air. “Who could have foreseen that this piece of our lives was destined to be a part of the prophecy? All this time, wondering who Solaris might be, when all along …”
Sam could see that the Professor was struggling with fierce emotions.
And I can’t think of a single thing to say.
I still can’t quite believe it myself. Sebastian, that proud, arrogant son of the Professor, has been our enemy right from the start.
How long had he been plotting against us?
And why? Why??
Why would he turn on the Professor, his own father?
As Sam looked at the Professor, he could see the same burning questions weighed heavily on his mind. Sam shifted around in his seat, wondering how he could steer the conversation elsewhere.
“So, was your wife a Dreamer too?” he began cautiously.
“Oh yes, and far, far better than me,” the Professor said. “She was still studying for her doctorate when we were living near a small village outside Lucerne and I was teaching at the Academy. I was sure that she was destined to become the principal there, not me.” He paused, as though it all suddenly made sense. “In a way, I took up the role so that her legacy could live on—I have tried hard, every day, to be the teacher and leader that she would have been.”
“Because of the—the fire, at your house?”
“Yes. A freak accident. I was in town when the call came. I raced out there as soon as I could—but I was too late.”
They were silent for a while. “I’m sorry,” Sam said finally.
“Thank you, Sam,” the Professor replied. “It is in the past now. I mourn her, as I mourn my son, but it has happened and we must carry on.” He looked with heavy eyes at Sam.
They sat in silence, with just the hum of the engines to drown out their thoughts.