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THE MEME THEORIST by Robert R. Chase Can a theory fit reality too well? Stumbling from his bedroom into the kitchen in the predawn dimness, Pelerin was surprised to find Werner Heisenberg at the breakfast table, reading the Santa Fe Times and sipping coffee. It was not the elder statesman of physics in suit and narrow tie who confronted him. Rather, it was a younger Heisenberg, circa World War II, his unruly hair already receding, dressed in an open-collared sports shirt and shorts. He looked up from the newspaper as Pelerin entered. “But you’re...” Pelerin licked his lips, trying to force out the next word. “...dead.” Heisenberg smiled. “You are a scientist,” he said, in barely accented English. “You should not believe everything you hear.” * * * * Norwich greeted him with her usual quiet courtesy despite the way he had brushed her secretary aside and barged into her office. “Delighted to see you, Theo. Please have a seat.” Pelerin shook his head and remained standing. “This isn’t a social visit. I have come to submit my resignation. I’m leaving the institute.” Norwich cocked her head to one side, an action that, together with her somewhat oversized nose, gave her the appearance of a puzzled bird. “I am very sorry to hear that. Has there been anything unsatisfactory in your contract, or the support given your work?” “Nothing like that. The institute has been very generous. I am leaving for personal reasons.” Her look of silent concern and perplexity created a mounting pressure for more. “I have had a ... a breakdown,” he said reluctantly. “I’m afraid I am not quite sane. You don’t want the institute’s work associated with a nut case.” It hurt to admit this most personal and embarrassing of weaknesses, especially to Norwich. He had objected vociferously to her appointment as director
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