Prophets

change over time, neither it, nor any other scientific theory, make assertions about faith, Church doctrine, or the nature of God.”

“But . . .”

“If you wish, after class I can direct you to Papal rulings on the matter, some of which are over five hundred years old.”

Bartholomew looked crestfallen, and Mallory opened his mouth to add something about how Church doctrine upheld the sacred nature of all intelligent life when his holographic classroom abruptly vanished.

He stared a moment at the blank white walls, frowning. After a moment, when his class didn’t reappear, he picked up the small comm unit mounted next to the holo controls set in the wall.

“Maintenance,” Mallory told the interface as he looked at the small readout showing the status of his classroom.

Mallory didn’t know why he looked at the display; he had no idea what the columns of numbers meant. Maintenance probably wouldn’t even ask him about the display, assuming—in his case, correctly—the technical ineptitude of the faculty.

“University maintenance, O’Brien here.”

“Hello, I have a problem with my classroom.”

“Room number, please.”

“One-oh-six-five.”

“Father Mallory?”

“Yes, my classroom disappeared in the middle of a lecture.”

“I’m calling you up on my screen right now—hmm.”

“Yes?”

“This isn’t a technical issue.”

“Mr. O’Brien, I have thirty-five students that just vanished—”

“I can see that. Your class was subjected to an administrative reschedule.”

“What? I’m in the middle of a lecture. It’s two weeks into the term. This has to be some sort of mistake.”

“I can’t help you there. You’ll have to talk to the administration about it.”

“Who authorized it?” Mallory felt a hot spark of anger.

“Only the university president has that authority.”

“Thank you.”

Father Mallory slowly placed the comm unit back in its cradle.

Why would the administration, the president, cancel his class assignment? Anger was giving way to serious apprehension. This kind of thing was almost always followed by leave or dismissal. In his own university days, he remembered having a mathematics instructor, Father Reynolds, disappear in the middle of the semester. The day after a new instructor appeared to teach the class, Father Reynolds’ name was dropped from the faculty directory. He never knew for certain what the gnomelike calculus professor had done, but he had read rumors of some financial indiscretions involving university funds and a gambling addiction.

But for the life of him, Father Mallory couldn’t think of anything done on his part that merited that kind of sanction.

“Father Mallory?”