Heather shook her head.

"I'm sorry," said Kyle.

"Me, too. But it means the race for the answer is on; we now have everything the Centaurs were trying to say to us. Now it's only a question of time before somebody figures out what it all means. I'm going to be very busy." She spread her arms slightly. "I know this couldn't have come at a worse time, what with the problem with Becky, but I'm going to have to immerse myself in this. I wanted you to understand that-I didn't want you to think I was shutting you out, or just sticking my head in the sand, hoping the problem would go away."

"I'm going to be busy, too," said Kyle.

"Oh?"

"My quantum-computing experiment failed; I've got a lot of work to do figuring out what went wrong."

Under other circ.u.mstances, she might have consoled him. But now, now with this between them, with the uncertainty . . .

"That's too bad," she said. "Really." She looked at him a little longer, then shrugged a bit. "So it looks like we're both going to be tied up." She paused. Dammit, their separation was never supposed to be permanent-and, for Christ's sake, surely Kyle couldn't have done what he'd been accused of. "Look," she said, tentatively, "it's almost five; do you want to grab an early dinner?"

Kyle looked pleased at the suggestion, but then he frowned. "I've already made other plans."

"Oh," said Heather. She wondered for a moment whether his plans were with a man or a woman. "Well, then."

They looked at each other a moment longer, then Heather left.

Kyle entered Persaud Hall and headed down the narrow corridor, but stopped short before he got to Room 222.

There was Stone Bentley, standing outside his office, talking with a female student. Stone was white, maybe fifty-five, balding, and not particularly fit; he saw Kyle approaching and signaled him to wait for a short time. Stone finished up whatever he was saying to the young lady, then she smiled and went on her way.

Kyle closed the distance. "Hi, Stone. Sorry to interrupt."

"No, not at all. I like being interrupted during meetings."

Kyle tilted his head; Stone's voice hadn't sounded sarcastic, but the words certainly seemed to be.

"I'm serious," said Stone. "I have all my meetings with female students in the corridor-and the more people that see what's going on, the better. I don't ever want a repeat of what happened five years ago."

"Ah," said Kyle. Stone ducked into his office, grabbed his briefcase, and they headed out to The Water Hole. It was a small pub, with perhaps two dozen round tables scattered across a hardwood floor. Lighting was from Tiffany lamps; the windows were covered over by thick drapes. An electronic board displayed specials in white against a black background in a font that resembled chalk writing; a neon sign advertised Moose-head beer.

A server drifted into view. "Blue Light," said Stone.

"Rye and ginger ale," said Kyle.

Once the server was gone, Stone turned his attention to Kyle; they'd made small talk on the way over, but now, it was clear. Stone felt it was time to get to the reason for the meeting. "So," he said, "what's on your mind?"

Kyle had been mentally rehearsing this all afternoon, but now that the moment was here, he found himself rejecting his planned words. "I-I've got a problem, Stone. I-I needed somebody to talk to. I know we've never been close, but I've always thought of you as a friend."

Stone looked at him, but said nothing.

"I'm sorry," said Kyle. "I know you're busy. I shouldn't be bothering you."

Stone was quiet for a moment, then: "What's wrong?"

Kyle dropped his gaze. "My daughter has . . ." He fell silent, but Stone simply waited for him to go on. At last, Kyle felt ready to do so. "My daughter has accused me of molesting her."

He waited for the question he'd expected: "Did you do it?" But the question never came.

"Oh," said Stone.

Kyle couldn't stand the question not being addressed. "I didn't do it."

Stone nodded.

The server appeared again, depositing their drinks.

Kyle looked down at his gla.s.s, the rye swirling in the ginger ale. He waited again for Stone to volunteer that he understood the connection, understood why Kyle had called him, of all people. But Stone didn't.

"You've been through something like this yourself," said Kyle. "False accusation."

Stone's turn to look away. "That was years ago.

"How do you deal with it?" asked Kyle. "How do you make it go away?"

"You're here," said Stone. "You thought of me. Doesn't that prove it? This s.h.i.t never goes away."

Kyle took a sip of his drink. The bar was smoke-free, of course, but still the atmosphere seemed oppressive, choking. He looked at Stone. "I am am innocent," he said, feeling the need to a.s.sert it again. innocent," he said, feeling the need to a.s.sert it again.

"Do you have any other children?" asked Stone.

"We did. My older daughter Mary killed herself a little over a year ago.

Stone frowned. "Oh."

"I know what you're thinking. We don't know for sure why yet, but, well, we suspect a therapist might have given both girls false memories."

Stone took a sip of his beer. "So what are you going to do now?" he said.

"I don't know. I've lost one daughter; I don't want to lose the other."

The evening wore on. Stone and Kyle continued to drink, the conversation got less serious, and Kyle, at last, found himself relaxing.

"I hate what's happened to television," said Stone.

Kyle lifted his eyebrows.

"I'm teaching one summer course," said Stone. "I mentioned Archie Bunker in cla.s.s yesterday. All I got were blank stares."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Kids today, they don't know the cla.s.sics. I Love Lucy, All in the Family, Barney Miller, Seinfeld, The Pellatt Show. I Love Lucy, All in the Family, Barney Miller, Seinfeld, The Pellatt Show. They don't know any of them." They don't know any of them."

"Even Pellatt Pellatt is going back ten years," said Kyle gently. "We're just getting old." is going back ten years," said Kyle gently. "We're just getting old."

"No," said Stone. "No, that's not it at all." said Stone. "No, that's not it at all."

Kyle's gaze lifted slightly to Stone's bald pate, then shifted left and right, observing the snowy fringe around it.

Stone didn't seem to notice. He raised a hand, palm out. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking it's just that kids today, they watch different shows, and I'm just some old fart who's out of it." He shook his head. "But that's not it. Well, no, actually I guess that is is it, in a way-the first part, I mean. They do watch different shows. They it, in a way-the first part, I mean. They do watch different shows. They all all watch different shows. A thousand channels to choose from, from all over the d.a.m.ned world, plus all the desktop-TV s.h.i.t being produced out of people's homes coming in over the net." watch different shows. A thousand channels to choose from, from all over the d.a.m.ned world, plus all the desktop-TV s.h.i.t being produced out of people's homes coming in over the net."

He took a swig of beer. "You know how much Jerry Seinfeld got for the last season of Seinfeld, Seinfeld, back in 1997-98? A million bucks an episode-U.S. bucks, too! That's 'cause half the b.l.o.o.d.y world was watching him. But these days, everybody's watching something different." He looked down into his mug. "They don't make shows like back in 1997-98? A million bucks an episode-U.S. bucks, too! That's 'cause half the b.l.o.o.d.y world was watching him. But these days, everybody's watching something different." He looked down into his mug. "They don't make shows like Seinfeld Seinfeld anymore." anymore."

Kyle nodded. "It was was a good program." a good program."

"They were all all good programs. And not just the sitcoms. Dramas, too. good programs. And not just the sitcoms. Dramas, too. Hill Street Blues. Perry Mason. Colorado Springs. Hill Street Blues. Perry Mason. Colorado Springs. But n.o.body knows them anymore." But n.o.body knows them anymore."

"You do. I do."

"Oh, sure. Guys from our generation, guys who grew up in the twentieth century. But kids today-they've got no culture. No shared background." He took another sip of beer. "Marshall was wrong, you know." Marshall McLuhan had been dead for thirty-seven years, but many members of the U of T community still referred to him as "Marshall," the prof who put U of T on the worldwide map. "He said the new media were remaking the world into a global village. Well, the global village has been balkanized." Stone looked at Kyle. "Your wife, she teaches Jung, right? So she's into archetypes and all that s.h.i.t? Well, n.o.body shares anything anymore. And without shared culture, civilization is doomed."

"Maybe," said Kyle.

"It's true," said Stone. He took another sip of beer. "You know what really bugs me, though?"

Kyle lifted his eyebrows again.

"Quincy's first name. That's what bugs me."

"Quincy?"

"You know-from the TV series: Quincy, M.E. Quincy, M.E. Remember it? Jack Klugman was in it, after Remember it? Jack Klugman was in it, after The Odd Couple. The Odd Couple. Played a coroner in L.A." Played a coroner in L.A."

"Sure. A&E had it on every b.l.o.o.d.y day when I was in university."

"What was Quincy's first name?"

"He didn't have one."

" 'Course he did. Everybody has one. I'm Stone, you're Kyle."

"Actually, Kyle's my middle name. My first name is Brian-Brian Kyle Graves."

"No s.h.i.t? Well, it doesn't matter. Point is, you do do have a first name-and so must Quincy." have a first name-and so must Quincy."

"I don't recall them ever mentioning it in the TV series."

"Oh, yes they did. Every time someone called him 'Quince'-that's not a shortening of his last name. That's a shortening of his first name."

"You're saying his name was Quincy Quincy? What kind of a name is that?"

"A perfectly good one."

"You're just guessing."

"No. No, I can prove it. In the final episode, Quincy gets married. You know what the minister says who's performing the service? 'Do you, Quincy, take . . .' Ain't no way he'd say that if it wasn't the guy's first first name." name."

"Yeah, but who has the same first and last name?"

"You're not thinking, Kyle. Biggest hit TV series of all time, one of the main characters had the same first and last name."

"Spock Spock?" said Kyle, deadpan.

"No, no, no. I Love Lucy." I Love Lucy."

"Lucy's last name was Ricardo." And then Kyle brightened. "And her maiden name was McGillicuddy." He folded his arms, quite pleased with himself.

"But what about her husband?"

"Who? Ricky?"

"Ricky Ricardo."

"That's not-"

"Oh, yes it is. No way his real first name was Ricky. He was Cuban; his first name had to be Ricardo: Ricardo Ricardo."

"Oh, come on. Surely, then, 'Ricky' was a nickname based on his last name-like calling a guy named John MacTavish 'Mac.' "

"No, it was his first name. Remember, even though they had separate beds, Lucy and Ricky still managed to have a baby They named him after his father-'Little Ricky,' they called him. Well, n.o.body calls a baby 'Little Mac.' The father was Ricardo Ricardo, and the kid had to be Ricardo Ricardo, Jr."

Kyle shook his head. "You think about the d.a.m.nedest stuff, Stone."

Stone frowned. "You gotta think about stuff, Kyle. If you don't keep your mind busy, the s.h.i.t takes over."

Kyle was quiet for several seconds. "Yeah," he said, then signaled the server to bring him another drink.

More time pa.s.sed; more alcohol was consumed.

"You think that's that's weird," Kyle said. "You want to hear weird? I lived in a house with three women-my wife, my two daughters. And you know, they ended up weird," Kyle said. "You want to hear weird? I lived in a house with three women-my wife, my two daughters. And you know, they ended up synchronized. synchronized. I tell ya, Stone, that can be brutal. It was like walking on eggsh.e.l.ls for a week out of every month." I tell ya, Stone, that can be brutal. It was like walking on eggsh.e.l.ls for a week out of every month."

Stone laughed. "Must have been rough."

"It's strange, though. I mean, how does that happen? It's like-I dunno-it's like they communicate somehow, on a higher level, in a way we can't see."

"It's probably pheromones," said Stone, frowning sagely.

"It's spooky, whatever it is. Like something right out of Star Trek." Star Trek."

"Star Trek," said Stone dismissively. He polished off his fourth beer. "Don't talk to me about said Stone dismissively. He polished off his fourth beer. "Don't talk to me about Star Trek!" Star Trek!"

"It was better than f.u.c.king Quincy," Quincy," said Kyle. said Kyle.

" 'Course it was, but it was never consistent. Now, if all the writers had been women and they'd all lived together, maybe everything would have been in sync."