The Zooid Mission by Gerdean
Ch 7 NEW CONNECTIONS
 
 

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7

NEW CONNECTIONS

Professor Alexius Vessey

 

            Audley woke with the sun and the sound of children's laughter pouring in the window.  She lazed, not anxious to rouse from her bed, and in that state of half-sleep, half-wakefulness, allowed her fears to get the better of her.

            The children's play reminded her of her father's fondest hope: a grandchild.  She recalled how tender and warm had been Brad's embrace that day in the study when she said she would marry him.  She was a woman.  Her womb was ripe for bearing the fruit of Brad's loins.  What in God's name was she doing in a foreign country, invading the lives of strangers, pursuing the origin of a man who was insane enough to think he was not of this world?

            She bathed, brushed her hair, dressed, made up the bed, packed her suitcase, then went in search of Dierdre.  She found her hostess on the patio behind the main house, digging in the herb garden.  Dierdre was even more beautiful in the full light of the morning sun.  Her hair shone like a yellow-white halo; her face and voice radiated a joy in living. 

            "Good morning!" she sang, rising, wiping her hands and picking leaves from her apron.  "You're up early."

            Audley smiled cautiously, fully intending to leave.  "What time is it?"

            "Almost 8:00.  Are you well rested?"  Already she was leading the way to a covered arboretum where a white wrought iron, glass-topped table awaited with coffee, sweet rolls and fruit.  Dierdre began to pour, indicating for Audley to sit.

            "Where's Flora?" she asked.

            "She's gone already," Dierdre said, sitting.

            Audley’s stomach lurched, thinking the train had gone already and she wasn’t on it.  She sat, allowed herself a cup of rich, dark coffee.  "I’ve got to get back, Dierdre."

            Dierdre smiled and sighed at the same time.  She held her coffee cup under her chin, inviting conversation.

            "I don't know why I came," Audley said, adjusting her sunglasses on her nose.  "I don't know what I'm getting myself into.  I don't know anything anymore."

            "You’re trying to put something into an intellectual mold and it won't fit?"

            "Absolutely."

            "Then you must stop being intellectual about it."

            "But I can't,” she objected.  “I have to think about it.  It's affecting me and my family ... my work."

            "Of course it is,” Dierdre agreed in that incredibly sane and soothing voice, “and nobody is going to tell you it won't, but think of it this way: maybe it will affect everyone for the better."

            "It's just so ...."

            "Unprecedented?"

            "At least."  Audley sipped her coffee and allowed herself a sweet roll.  "What do you know about all this?"

            "Let me tell you what I know."  Dierdre began to shred the bowl of herbs that she had picked.  "I love my life here.  I could spend every day, all day, in my garden, talking with my favorite branch or bloom, for I often use my plants to reflect aloud.  Or I come out here when the little ones are asleep at their naps or when they're busy with their lessons. And I especially like to come here in the early morning while the dew is still clinging to the petals, or at twilight, which is my favorite time of day, when the colors are the most surreal and the lights of the village below begin to twinkle, merging with the twinkle of the stars.

            "And the man in my life?  Alexius has always been a different type of man from the usual, and this difference suits me for I am my own self, too.  Alexius spends much of his time alone, as I do.  Lately -- how long? two weeks? -- he has spent an unusual amount of time shut away in his study.  I have almost no knowledge of what goes on in there with his private phone calls, tape recordings and note-taking, for aside from what directly affects me and the children, he keeps it to himself.  We have our own interests in common."

            "Don't you care what he's doing?"

            "I am passionately interested in his work, especially his project with Jesse Brothers.  I've watched it develop, but from a distance.  I very much want to see their project advance so that the life-long work and dreams of my husband might take place during his lifetime.  I would like to see him have that. 

            "Occasionally Alexius tells me about the progress of the Zooids, of the development or character of a new community, but it's only cursory information.  The real news comes when Jesse visits, for Jesse tells me what is going on in great detail, and in this way I keep abreast.

            Thus, I know all I need to know.  So even with Alexius' recent preoccupation, I don't worry, and I would never consider leaving him, quitting him or getting angry with him.   He sleeps well and eats well.  He loves the children and he loves me.  Love is very important in this household.  More important than words.

            "And that is what I know, Audley.  Nothing and yet everything. I have everything I need.  If I don't have it, I don't need it."  She stood up with the shears and cut a spray of bougainvillea for the table.

            "It's a simple and beautiful life you live, Dierdre.  I envy its lack of complications."

            "It is not complicated, that is true," she responded with a smile, "but it is complex!"

            At that instant the two laughing children came barreling around the corner and stopped short, breathless and flushed from their activities.

            "What is it?"  They didn't speak, but looked at Audley then back to their mother.  "Papa?"  They nodded vigorously.  "It seems that Alexius would like to meet you.  The children will take you to him, … if you are willing."

            Audley rose reluctantly then allowed the children to lead her to the room adjacent hers at the back of the house.  They took her to the door, banged once on the screen, then fled into the yard with squeals of laughter.

            "Please, come in."   She heard it as a strong voice, and with Dierdre being so beautiful and the children being so young, she was not at all prepared for the visage that met her in the cool, darkened room.  Alexius appeared very frail, very old.  He sagged all over.  His eyes were set far back into his head and horrible blue hues hung under them.  His hair was white and very sparse.  His long fingers were gaunt.  His clothes hung on his puny body.  He seemed more an apparition than a man, and her earlier fears returned at once.  She desperately needed her sunglasses but, somehow, she had left them on the patio. 

            "I'm sorry to appear so decrepit, but please, sit down." 

            His voice didn't belong with his body.  The voice was firm and strong.  Soothing.  She sat stiffly, taking in the atmosphere of the room.  It was cluttered with plants and pencils and empty cups and glasses.  The floor, which was loosely carpeted, was littered with bits of paper, paper clips, rubber bands, leaves and orange peels.  Still, under all this hodge-podge, there was order.  The room smelled good: of wood, and leather, and fresh-growing spearmint.  It was a dark room, being on the northwest side, and cool.  She imagined it must be very pleasant in the heat of the afternoon.  Alexius placed an ashtray in front of her. 

            “How do you like my Dierdre?"

            Audley was still feeling the glow of Dierdre's response to her anxieties.  "She's remarkable."

            "Remarkable, yes.  I'm old enough to be her grandfather, you know."

            Audley shifted nervously, rummaged for her cigarettes and lit up.

            "Well, it just goes to show that all things don't have to be standardized, right?"

            "Right," she agreed.  "I guess."

            "Like our unorthodox friend from Zenton." It was hard for her to look at him.  His eyes burned holes in her.  "Well," he said, leaning back into his chair and away from her, "we have a lot to do.  You must try to be more comfortable.  You're very tense."

            Eerie people made her skin crawl, as though they were reading her mind like the words on a page.

            "You must remember this," he said firmly.  "You have nothing to be proud of and nothing to be ashamed of.  You have been approved by the powers-that-be, for whatever service you can perform -- to our Zentonite, to them, to me and to yourself.  There is nothing wrong with you and nothing special.  Obviously, you have a good enough mind and honorable enough motives.  Stop worrying about it.  I had to."

            "Alright," she said, but she was still not comfortable.

            "You're a reporter?"

            "Yes."  Her letter of resignation to Weinberger was on its way across the ocean.

            "Are you taking notes on all this?"

            "No."

            “Why not?"

            "I didn't know if it would be a good idea."  She exhaled and succumbed.  “I wanted to but I was afraid someone would find my notes and bring him harm.”

            "I think it's a good idea for you to keep notes."

            "You do?"  She wanted to!  Did she need permission?

            "Certainly."

            "What would I do with the notes?  They'll never sell!"

            "Are you guided solely by the profit motive?"

            "No, of course not,” she snapped. “I have integrity."

            "I'm sure you do.  And you wouldn't use these notes to discredit our Zentonite either, would you?"

            She shook her head. "Lanon," she said.  "He calls himself Lanon.  Lanon Zenton."

            "I see.  You wouldn't do anything to bring harm to Lanon, would you?"

            She looked squarely at him.  "No, I wouldn’t."

            He nodded, folded his hands on his chest and smiled.  "I didn't think so."

            "So what good does it do to keep notes?" she asked.

            "Posterity, my dear,” he smiled.  “Do it for posterity." 

            She grinned, realizing that Professor Vessey was quite like her father.  And now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the room, and to the physical presence of the old man, he was not so frightful as she’d thought.  She acknowledged he had poise, grace, strength, and diplomacy.  He was wise and kindly. 

            "Here,” he said, handing her a loose-leaf notebook.  “It will give you something to do.  We all feel more at ease when we're doing something familiar."  He searched around until he came up with a pencil that had a good point and still some eraser left on it, and handed it to her.

            "Alright.  Report.  Ask me questions."

            She had hundreds.  She began:  "It would seem as though Lanon has been expected...."

            Yes, 0802-LZ had been expected.  He was expected to make contact with any of the several Life Experimental Stations (which accounted for his wanting to go into PSR).  He was also expected to notate his findings and report them to his Zentonite supervisors (which accounted for his fingers pressed to his brow). 

            What was the mission?  He was to determine the evolutionary status of these Life Experimental Stations and if they met cosmic standards, an avenue of communication would be set up between Urth and Zenton, thereby rewarding human effort and accelerating human evolution.  There would be any number of additional side effects if this were to come about.

            Would he return to Zenton once the Mission was accomplished?  If it were accomplished, 0802-LZ could return to Zenton, but that was not today’s concerns.  During his sojourn here, it would be the responsibility of the Life Experimental Stations to ensure that the sojourner would be protected from the inhabitants of Urth’s propensity to assassinate, crucify, or otherwise destroy what they did not understand. No 'unauthorized' persons should interfere, inhibit or otherwise negatively affect the Mission. 

            All approved Life Experimental Stations fell under the auspices of the Jural Colony Project.  These colonies were administered by Jesse Brothers and his Board of Directors.  The JCP was the brainchild of Jesse’s mentor, Professor Emeritus Alexius Vessey, through the supervision of Zenton intelligences who, long ago, had  singled out Alexius to be their mortal contact personality in the development of the ideologies that would formulate the zooidal way of life that 0802-LZ now had come to adjudge. 

            The process of making clear and undistorted contact between Zenton and Alexius had disrupted more than half of Alexius' life.  He had been teaching Cosmology and Philosophy at Knossos University when the first attempts at contact began. 

            "I would be in my study," he said, "preparing the next day's lecture, when my pen would wrench itself away from my hand and begin to write by itself.  It made me angry, as I had no use for what I termed ‘poltergeists’ or paranormal phenomenon.  I refused to acknowledge anything aside from normal, accepted, reality.  I renounced their existence.       

            "For a time, the attempts at contact stopped.  Then I learned that 'they', whoever they might be, had been using my recording equipment and what they had recorded was preposterous.  They set out the qualifications they sought in the human being that would carry out their Mission.  They told me I met most of those qualifications and asked if I was interested in adapting my thinking so they could use me. 

            “On one hand, no, I was not at all interested, but on the other hand I was a man hungry for truth.  This was not orthodox truth, however, and so I became irritable, then depressed.  I put off making a decision.  I took a sabbatical from the University and spent a year reveling in anything even remotely hedonistic, nearly ruining my health and my sanity that year in philandering, but within two weeks of my return to Knossos, the communications began again, this time without the aid of the recorder or the pen.  A voice simply emerged into the privacy of my mind and spoke directly to me."

            Alexius was an avid scholar of Cosmology.  He believed in the concept of life, even other intelligent life in the universe.  He believed, too, in a Creative Force, for the universe was too well defined to have been an accident of time, but he resisted the temptation to call this force "God" for fear that his beliefs, which were potent, would be diminished in the common jargon.  His major problem was in universe hierarchy.

            "I resented the Zentonian position that the human being was the lowest creature on the totem pole of existence, that man was far removed from the stature of most other forms of life in the cosmos.  Under no circumstance would I accept a 'fallen man' theory.  To me it was unthinkable that man, who could reason, who could idealize, who craved learning, who was basically good, could be held in such low esteem by our stellar neighbors.  To me, Urth was not a cosmic orphan.  It was one among many.  I had always taught my students to have high opinions of themselves.  'Man is a noble creature!' I said to them time after time.

            "Yet the voices kept speaking to me, indicating that they were superior.  Not necessarily better, but superior.  My conflict was in that it was inconceivable for me to alter my thinking and my teaching to say that man was in any way less than any other entity in the universe, save possibly that unnamed Force, and the Force was probably too great for any creature in the far-flung universe to understand."

            At length, in a pique of anxiety, Alexius related his peculiar experience to a co-worker at the University and was soon invited to resign his post.  It was feared by Academia that his 'heretic ramblings' might have a negative effect on the students or on the University’s reputation.  So, he was relieved of his teaching post but the conflict persisted.  He found himself one day without peers, without work, and worst of all, without a sure conviction of what he believed anymore.

            The singular meaningful reality remaining for Alexius during that time was Jesse Cain Brothers, a young and loyal student from the United States of America.  While Jesse pursued his higher education in traditional fashion at the University of Knossos, his true learning developed in the friendship he had with his professor.  The two men talked together for hours on end, into the nights, about man's relationship to man, to the universe, and to that recognized but undefined entity they called the Force.

            In the course of these verbal trysts, Alexius was led to privately acknowledge the possibility of the reality of the mysterious voices, then to the probability of their reality, and then finally to acceptance, and with acceptance came sheer awe.  He became exhilarated that voices were pursuing him, an unemployed bachelor, asking for help in their as yet unrevealed plans.  But Alexius never told Jesse about the voices.  He alone learned who they were and where they came from; he alone learned about the constellation of Zenton, and much about other worlds in other constellations, but he didn't talk to Jesse about them.  Instead, with the guidance of the voices, he introduced his protege to an ideal that took hold and grew.

            According to science, a zooid is an entity that resembles, but is not wholly the same as, a separate individual organism.  It is an organized body of life whose elements give it locomotion.  They are more or less independent animals produced by other than direct sexual methods and so having an equivocal individuality.  The scheme delivered to him from Zenton was to elevate the modus operandi of the common zooid to a superhuman ideal.  Thus, as conceived in Zenton, Zooids would become a unique group of highly evolved human beings working together for the common good; independent yet co-ordinate.  This new world order would be founded on the highest ideals of intelligent life in the universe, altruistic service.

            As the zooidal ideal came into focus, Jesse began to get excited about the idea of being a part of this “brave new world.”  Between Zenton and Alexius there followed many months of drawing up and laying out detailed covenants and intricate procedures for such a corporeal venture to come about, and with the aid of the Zentonites, Alexius conveyed these concepts to Jesse, for Jesse was in a position to carry out the plan.

            Audley's fingers cramped as she sought to capture each pause, each inflection of the old man's narrative.  He paused, smiled, gave her time to limber her fingers and light a cigarette before he proceeded.

            As the eldest son, it had been established long ago that Jesse would take over the family business, his father's development corporation worth millions.  The family had old wealth, social position, a politically viable name and strength of character. His well-respected Uncle Bartholomew was a United States Senator; his godfather was a land baron; Jesse's loyal childhood friends, who could be persuaded to follow Jesse into any venture he might outline for them, were all pursuing an education in fields that could aid the plan.

            Alexius knew that Jesse’s management of this business enterprise would eventually expand into a series of Life Experimental Stations of advanced lifestyle whose social ideologies would eventually be taught worldwide.   Far after the founders had gone on, Alexius knew the Jural Colony Project would be instrumental in transcending nationalism and bringing about a United World.   The voices had been speaking with Alexius now for nearly 40 years. 

            Sometime during the day, without disturbing them, Maria had brought in a tray of food, but even with nourishment, the old man could see that Audley was becoming saturated, so he ceased his narrative and asked her "What does he look like?"

            "Who?  Lanon?”  Her eyes flashed with renewed energy as she described him.  "He's 6'2", weighs 190 pounds, has medium brown hair, not coarse or curly, and blue eyes."  The depth of his blue eyes smiled at her in her memory.  "He’s kind of tawny-colored.  He has prominent cheekbones and a square chin."

            As Alexius watched her describe him, he understood why Audley had been approved. 

            She went on.  "He wears a size 15/35 shirt, 34/34 slacks, 11 shoe.  He has no scars or birthmarks.  He has 20/20 vision."

            Alexius made notes for Lanon's dossier.  "That's fine," he noted, putting down his pencil.  "How did you meet?"

            She described to Alexius the events of the night of August 14th - the blackout, the roadblocks, and the long drive through the night.  She told him about having a flat tire, and sleeping in the grove of trees, and how Lanon helped her when she opened her eyes.  She mentioned their having stopped at Penn State Reserve for fuel.  She described in detail what he had told her about his origin and how he had asked for her help.  She told Alexius about their trip west, about the radio, the encyclopedia, the road maps, the tourist spots and Lanon's reactions to them all. 

            She confided to Alexius how Lanon had inadvertently questioned Sylvia about her child. She told him of her compulsion to have Lanon tested and how she went about convincing Doc Will to do it.  She added the information about Brad, about how he was commissioned to locate the cause of the August 14th blackout and her concerns that it might have been Lanon who caused it.

            "He didn't," was all Alexius would give her on that.

            Between Alexius' narrative and Audley's recital, the day was gone.  It was well past dusk when the intercom rang and Alexius promised Dierdre they would wind it up.  True to his word, they set their notes aside and went out into the summer night air.  It was an incredibly beautiful night, and after being confined to the small room all day, the air felt soft and smelled wonderful.  The moon was a sliver of light in the cloudless sky.

            "This is my favorite phase of the moon," Alexius imparted, as they made their way slowly across the lawn.  "I call it a promise moon, as it gives me something to look forward to.  Dierdre prefers the full moon.  She likes the fulfillment of the promise, while I prefer the anticipation."

 

MARIA’S DINNER was a culinary delight.  Herbs and spices from Dierdre’s garden enlivened a simple stew.  The salad and vegetables, the fruit compote, as well as the wine were all their own produce.  But more savory than the meal was the companionship of the unlikely husband and wife who drew Audley in and made her feel as though she belonged there, at home with them. 

            She had spent time with each of them individually and found them both fascinating in their own right, but in tandem, Dierdre and Alexius' sensitivity toward each other was so acute, Audley felt herself being drawn into another dimension. Nothing out of the ordinary was discussed during dinner.  To the uninitiated, there were only references to Maria's culinary skills, the children's antics, the weather, and the phase of the moon, but Audley could not shake the sense that she was being included in something.  The sense of destiny she had been impressed with on the night of the blackout came back to her.  All through dinner, she was on the alert.

            "I was telling Audley on the way in, Dierdre, that this is my favorite phase of the moon."

            "Ah, yes.  The promise of things to come.  And I suppose he told you that I prefer the fullness?”

            "He did," Audley averred, "but I am wondering how it is that I can feel such fullness and anticipation at the same time."

            At that very instant there was a muffled knock on the front door. Although it was hardly perceptible to the human ear, it stopped their conversations.  As Maria opened the door, Alexius excused himself from the table and went to greet the uninvited guest who presented himself in a dark cloak and a regal demeanor.  Audley couldn't see his face for the hood he wore, but she saw Alexius dismiss Maria then turn to the man who knelt while the two discoursed intently in hushed tones for perhaps three or four minutes.

            During those few minutes the atmosphere in the room altered perceptibly, as it did when she met Flora last evening.  Audley tried to identify what it was she sensed, but she could not define it.  It was neither evil nor sacred, but it was definitely something, yet when she inquired of Dierdre with her eyes, Dierdre merely smiled. Then, as unobtrusively as he had arrived, the visitor left, and at once, the atmosphere returned to its original state and the host returned to the table.

            "Let's see," Alexius resumed.  "We were talking about feeling fullness and anticipation at the same time.  That's very gratifying," he said, "considering the mood you were in when I first met you this morning.” 

            Audley blushed, remembering her urge to bolt. 

            "I myself," he continued, "was enjoying the full satisfaction of this repast while at the same time anticipating the arrival of our visitor.  It is unfortunate Angus couldn't join us this evening.  You would have enjoyed his company."

            Alexius became thoughtful, as though he might elaborate, but Dierdre spoke, saying, "That feeling of completion and anticipation can be likened to the feeling of perfection, Audley.” 

            "Dierdre's right," Alexius agreed, taking up his fork.  “There's no point in limiting our good feelings to the moment or the day.  In fact, the farther we can extend our anticipation, the better perspective we have on our life here."

            "Here?  Do you mean Guadix?  Or Urth?"

            "Wherever!"  Dierdre expanded, "The point is to not limit our feelings of fullness and to not stop anticipating.  As soon as we perceive our Self to feel empty, we are void.  We have closed the door on all possibility.  As long as there is possibility," she concluded, "there is hunger for perfection."

            Perfection was something Audley had never truly  considered.  A perfect dress for an occasion, a perfect score, or a perfectly lovely day, fine, but perfection, in and of itself?  Fullness and anticipation at the same time?  She wondered if somehow perfection could be tied in with a sense of destiny.  

            "Well," she acceded, "I have to admit to being perfectly stuffed!”  She pushed herself away from the table, complaining, “I have no hunger left!”  Whereupon Maria placed before them a confection of pastry, pudding, ice cream and whipped cream and they all laughed, for in spite of feeling so full, they all salivated in anticipation. 

            That night in her bed, the air cool and the sheets crisp, her mind was agog with the events of the day.  She had not truly assimilated all that Alexius had told her.  It was not a question of whether she believed his story as much as it was something that was new to her.  Everything was new to her! 

            No wonder she had discarded Brad!  He had no sense of destiny, no perfection hunger!  She realized suddenly that Brad's destiny might simply be different from hers.  That did not mean he had no possibility at all!  To her mortal mind, the only possibility she had room for was the one with her and Lanon, as preposterous as it seemed.  And, as preposterous as it seemed, she also had to admit to herself that there was a possibility of something between Brad and Sylvia.

            Impressed by both the fullness and the anticipation, she drifted off.

 

0802-LZ A/K/A LANON ZENTON had no criminal tendencies, no psychotic behaviors, was not egocentric, but at the same time, was socially and emotionally retarded.  He could indeed read and write in at least a dozen languages but he was limited in his ability to make conversation.  Scholastic exams seemed to augment Doc Will’s psychiatric findings but they also served to confound him further.  Lanon's written responses could have been lifted verbatim from a textbook.  He seemed to have no knowledge of his own.  He was a cultural void.

            He mimed what he had observed on the television.  He could elaborate to some extent on current events, including music and theater, but they had no emotional content.  His recall only went back two or three years at most.   He knew nothing personal about the previous decade, except in terms of history, which, again, seemed directly "quoted" from some academic source.

            The patient’s stubborn quality of refusing to let anybody but Doc Will examine him precluded bringing in a hypnotist, but it did leave open the possibility of putting the subject under Sodium Pentothal.   Doc Will considered this option but was not morally convinced he should do it, for obviously there was something in the patient's subconscious that would not allow for exposure.  "Truth serum" might seriously endanger his patient's well being and the doctor  did not feel confident that he understood the patient well enough to help pull him through any possible crisis.

            He could not consider discussing this with Audley.  The doctor/patient relationship superseded his daughter's interests at this point.  Even though she had brought him, Doc Will was sufficiently engrossed in Lanon Zenton's personality that it over-ruled his daughter's altruistic motivations, if indeed there were any.  At last, he decided to discuss it with the patient himself.

            "I have reservations, Lanon," he admitted.  "The tests I've given you have to do with the realms of the conscious, the sub-conscious and the super-conscious.  I won't confuse you with literal scientific interpretations, but the results of these tests indicate that there is a deep, deep block against your revealing anything real about yourself.  I have no doubt that you would understand the scientific interpretations, mind you.  You have a high intelligence and interesting theories and philosophies, but you are limited on the experiential levels of consciousness and your sub-conscious levels are virtually non-existent.  At least they are non-evident."

            Lanon listened to the doctor's recitation with great interest.  "What do the super-conscious levels reveal?” 

            "Well, the super-conscious levels are rather well developed.  That is where you get your ethics and morals.  But none of this has told us who you are."

            "And you think this Sodium Pentothal would?"

            Doc Will evaded the direct question.  "Normally I might go along with the Sodium Pentothal.  In some cases, I might encourage the breaking down of those barriers.  As a doctor, I would very much like to see what your sub-conscious is hiding.  However, I must say, on the whole, you are healthy.  Physically speaking, with one exception, you are probably perfect.  I've never seen anything like it.  But psychiatrically, I can't deduce you."

            Lanon grinned.  It was gratifying to him that the best of Mindal Scientists could not decipher that he had come from another world.  "What’s the physical exception you mentioned?”

            "That's the one thing which medically inhibits my recommending the Pentothal.  Your potassium levels are abnormally, perhaps dangerously high."

            "What does that mean to you?"

            "Potassium is a highly reactive element, an electrolyte, which is to say, ‘a substance that dissociates into ions in solution or when fused, thereby becoming electrically conducting’.  And these ions have an atomic, or electric, charge."

            "What should that mean to me?"

            "It could mean that if I administered the barbiturate, which is what Sodium Pentothal is, that slowing process, coupled with your highly activated potassium levels, well ... you might blow your circuits."

            "What does Audley think?"

            "I haven't asked her, but I don't think she'd be in favor of anything that might potentially harm you."

            "You haven't asked me, either."

            "No, not specifically."

            "I think I'd like to try it."

            Doc Will was surprised at his reaction to his patient’s response.  It angered him to think that Lanon would risk his own well being, not to mention the reputation of the good doctor, for no good reason.

            "Why?" he demanded.  "I've told you the risks!  I've also told you that you're sufficiently healthy to continue as you are.  Your potassium levels, I'm happy to say, are steadily diminishing.  Maybe when they have gone back to normal, which I'm sure they will, then I could administer Sodium Pentothal in good conscience, but not now."  He had to admit defeat.

            "I would not 'blow my circuits'."

            "How the hell can you be so sure?  Are you a doctor?"

            "No."

            "And how is it you know who you are not, if you don't know who you are?"

            "I know who I am."

            Doc Will was turning purple again.  "Then why risk your life?"

            "So that you will know who I am."

            "Why don't you just tell me?"

            "You wouldn't believe me.  But if you asked me under Sodium Pentothal, this 'truth serum', you would be forced to believe me.  It would be scientifically irrefutable."

            Never had Doc Will heard anything like it.  It irritated him, yes, and it was frustrating that he, the finest in his field, was being out-witted, but he was so incredibly fascinated with the man, with his powers of discipline, he could not stay angry for long.  He heaved a deep, somewhat defeated sigh. 

            "Lanon, I assure you.  It is not necessary for you to risk your life. If it is important to you that I believe you, why not just tell me?  For that matter, what the hell do I care?  You haven't asked me for my help.  This is all Audley's idea!  For some reason, she felt it was important." 

            The doctor shrugged, ambled out of the lab.  God, he was tired!  He had spent days – long, involved, and exhausting days -- and nights! -- on this patient.  And after it all, he had nothing to report.  He couldn't tell Audley a goddammed thing about Lanon Zenton except that he had high potassium levels.

            He removed his lab jacket and poured himself a drink then slid slowly onto the sofa, allowing himself to succumb to the dark behind his eyelids.  After a moment, he heard the click of the lab door as Lanon entered the study.

            "Dr. Blackstone?"

            With his eyes closed he said, "What is it?"

            "I've been instructed to tell you who I am."

            Doc perked up.  "Instructed?  By whom?"  He opened his eyes to see Lanon sitting with authority behind Doc’s own desk.

            "It has now been ascertained that I can't be exposed medically or psychiatrically.  I'm to tell you who I am and what I’m doing here so that you can help us."

            Who had been testing whom? Doc wondered.  “Help who?”

            "My identity is critical.  It must remain a secret."

            Doc Will sat up and scowled.  "Are you sure I ought to know?"

            "Yes," Lanon insisted.  "You need to know what you are dealing with."

            "Alright.  Who are you then?"

            "I am designated 0802-LZ, a materialized being from the Constellation of Zenton.  I have been given permission to visit Urth in order that I might report, first hand, to my Home Station, on the status of Urth’s advanced civilizations.  You know these to be the Life Experimental Stations of the Zooids of the Jural Colony Project which are administered by Jesse Brothers and the Board of Directors and by yourself, since you have been instrumental in setting up their programs."

            Doc Will was speechless.

            "It is our hope that your zooidal ideals will conform to the standards of the Constellation Zenton.  Although we are a superior form of existence, we readily acknowledge the efforts of the mortal races. Zenton has been instructed by its superiors to look into inculcating the Zooids into the Stream of Time."

            Doc Will's eyebrows raised perceptibly.

            "The Stream of Time is constant.  Your planet has been suffering under the misconception that life ends.  Life does not end.  Death is not an end to life, but is a part of life.  It's an experience of life, as we have discussed."

            Doc Will was too dumbfounded to react.  He nodded, not yet trusting his own voice.

            "This is the reason I am here at this point in time -- at this point in the Stream of Time.  We hope to introduce the means by which the portal to life after life can be successfully opened, and by ‘successfully’ I mean willingly, intelligently, enthusiastically, if you will.  You have done valuable and impressive work in your field, Dr. Blackstone, and your efforts have contributed much to the success of the JCP.  We hope to include you in the next step, as well."

            Doc Will's voice was a croak.  "Am I expected to die?"

            "Of course not," Lanon said.  "We want you to help the Zooids develop the new paradigm."  Lanon almost pitied the perplexity of the old man.  "Why don't you review the information I've just given you and look at the file again in light of what I've just revealed to you," he suggested.  "Maybe you can verify it to the satisfaction of your own mind.  Then, once you have an understanding of this within the framework of your field, we can discuss it more fully."

            Doc Will stood, went to the bar and poured himself a drink, then thought to offer one to Lanon.  "Before I do what you ask," Doc admitted, "there's something I need to know."

            "Ask," Lanon said, accepting the offer.

            "It's about Audley.  What’s she got to do with this?"

            "She has been a counterpart and a loyal guide."

            "The 'guide' I understand; she brought you to me.  But what about the 'counterpart' part?"

            Lanon shrugged.  "Throughout the universe men and women are designed to help to each other."

            "This is what bothers me, Lanon.  You see, my daughter is already spoken for.  She's engaged to marry Dr. Spencer.  I don't know if Audley mentioned that to you."  Doc Will distinctly remembered her announcement at the dinner table last week -- the wedding date had been set for six months away.

            "She may be engaged to marry Dr. Spencer, but she is committed to me."

            "How long will you be here?" Doc Will demanded.

            "I can't say," Lanon responded.

            "Why can't you say?"

            "Because I don't know.  It depends on how quickly I can accomplish my purpose if I can accomplish my purpose."

            "And what happens to Audley when you leave?  If she gets emotionally involved with you, I don't want to see her get hurt.  You can understand my position."

            "Yes, it's obvious you love your daughter."

            "And do you?"  Doc Will couldn't suppress a glare at the other-terrestrial.

            "I'm still new to this world, Doctor, and new to human emotions.  I can learn and retain facts quickly, but emotions have to grow and develop.  You know that.  I've only been here a few days, not long enough to be 'in love', as they say in the vernacular, but I do love the woman in a way neither she nor you can understand."

            "Why does it have to be Audley?" Doc whined.

            Lanon sat shoulder to shoulder with Doc at the bar.

            "For one thing she is attractive; for another, she is concerned; but mostly because she has been approved."

            Doc was annoyed.  How dare the universe presume to toy with his daughter's affections?

            Lanon continued.  "I might live to become an old man like you, Dr. Blackstone.  I might reach the age of 76 and experience the very thing I've come to introduce.  If that’s the case, then it would behoove me to have a love companion, wouldn't you agree?"     

            Doc moaned, more concerned about his progeny than himself or what Lanon was here for.

            "It's to your own credit!" Lanon insisted. "You're the one who raised your daughter to experience life!  To be open to new experiences, new concepts, new adventures."

            This did not please Doc Will as Lanon hoped it would.  The good doctor was sorely distressed.

            "Or," Lanon suggested, "permission might be granted for Audley to go with me."

            Dr. Blackstone reacted with alarm.  "Impossible!  She couldn't survive on your world!"

            "Not in her present state, of course, but Doctor, it is entirely possible for her to adapt to a new environment once terrestrial escape has been accomplished.  It will happen to you, too, once you leave this world."

            Doc Will was reminded again of his late wife's deep conviction of an afterlife.  Somehow, it had just been a remote concept to him, a solution to ease the pain of separation, but Lanon was saying that an afterlife existed --  if not in Heaven, at least someplace -- and Lanon was, in a sense, living proof.

            "And, too," Lanon continued, cutting into Doc's musings, "there is the possibility that when it is time for me to go, Audley will relinquish me willingly.  Human emotion can be fickle, you know, and fate is unpredictable.  She may have lost interest in me by then."

            Doc Will arched an eyebrow.

            "It is possible!  And if I were you,” he cautioned, “I would not make any attempt to coerce her. People are entitled to make those choices which affect their own life.” Doc Will sighed.  "I'm not naive, Lanon.  I know my girl.  I have some insight into her needs.  You are a … superb physical specimen and Audley is physically attracted to you."

            "That may be true, but you discredit her," Lanon objected.  "Your daughter has a fine mind and a clean spirit.  She is capable of having altruistic motives as well as pleasure motives."

            Doc Will was ashamed of himself.  In his attempt to  'save' her, he had 'sacrificed' the best in her.  "Alright," he acquiesced at last, "but does she have to know?  I mean, is it necessary that she know about your origin? Your mission?"

            "She already knows.  She brought me to you for verification."

            "Well, now that you've been tested and verified, can't we just tell her that you were having delusions of grandeur and that you're simply a man from Roanoke, New Jersey, with a wife and five kids?"

            "Obviously you don't like the idea of her interest in me, but you've failed to consider the benefits she could derive from our association, not to mention how she could benefit the JCP if she is helping me."

            Doc scowled so hard he gave himself a headache.  He didn't like it, he just didn't like it.

            "And I know that as a scientist you would concur."

            Knowing in his gut that he was thinking of himself, of his dream for a grandchild, Dr. Blackstone begrudgingly agreed that he was being selfish.  "It's only human," he said, heaving a great sigh of resignation. 

            He polished off his drink and stood to face his foe and former patient, but Lanon was so contagiously optimistic, Doc Will had to accede that although he didn't feel good about it all, he did feel better.  After all, the mysterious Zentonite had no sperm count, and under the circumstances, these next six months could prove to be very interesting.

 

THE WATERGATE ESTATE in Beverly Hills was a vulgar display of wealth.  Roger had thought it would suit his wife, which it did not.  The fact of the matter was that Roger knew very little about Sylvia, her tastes, her needs or her ambitions, if indeed she had any.  To him, she was amenable, pliable, anxious to fulfill her prescribed role as wife, and was, in fact,  a most dutiful wife except in that most critical of areas:  the bedroom.

            The one and only time Roger had deferred his own interests and his career was when Sylvia became worrisomely debilitated after the unfortunate birth of their first, and only, child.  At first the infant's condition was unnoticeable and never had there been a more radiant and devoted wife and mother than Sylvia, but as the evidence crept in and the final verdict was handed down, Sylvia literally fell apart. 

            For a while Roger suffered with her, but he soon had to get on with his career and other aspects of a normal life.  He believed his wife should be able to rise above her plight.  She had money, connections, therapists and hairdressers.  She should be able to manage.  The truth was, however, that Sylvia could not and would not manage this on her own.  She had been so sheltered all of her life that this stroke of ill luck nearly destroyed her.   To survive, she built a firm wall between herself and her spouse, the partner in this travesty, which wall she would not let down.  A calculating, coldly-under-control automaton replaced the innocent, fair-haired young woman Roger married.

            Roger had been remotely concerned for a period of about a year and then he shrugged it off.  People had quirks, he concluded.  Society provided outs.  If you were insolvent, you filed bankruptcy; if you were incompetent, society provided sustenance; if your wife didn't respond to your needs, you found someone who did.  It was academic to Roger.  His infidelity didn't bother him in the least.  He did, however, carry on these extramarital affairs with discretion.  He saw no need to make Sylvia suffer any more than was necessary.

            This fund-raiser, this party, was an annual event that Sylvia had established after that first year.  The fact that it was a charitable event encouraged attendance, lending it a lucrative, political flavor that Roger enjoyed.  There were certain personages who were sure to attend, such as Claude Hoagland, the chief administrator of the hospital where Jennifer was housed.  His institution was the major recipient of the funds forthcoming from this yearly endeavor.

            Sylvia always had mixed emotions about hostessing this party.  Of course, she loved parties and she enjoyed the preparations and the results.  She enjoyed the opportunity to do her own politicking and hostessing.  But it always reminded her that Jennifer and the carefully guarded secret of her condition were still in existence.  If Jennifer died, would she still feel compelled to put on this extravaganza?  Or would she turn her back on the subject of mental retardation, mental deficiency, mental illness, and turn a deaf ear to Hoagland's financial appeals in the name of 'those less fortunate'?  Every time she heard that phrase, Sylvia wondered how anyone could be less fortunate than she could, then berated herself for her 'poor little rich girl' self-pity.

            The Watergate Estate covered three acres of prime Beverly Hills real estate.  The main house and grounds took up one full acre.  Guest bungalows peppered throughout the other acres, each privately situated by way of lush landscaping, soon would be teeming with guests from all across the country.  There were 500 names on the guest list.  Over half of them came from the Los Angeles area.  Out-of-towners were being put up in hotels in the City, as the bungalows had been 'booked' long ago.  It was a bit of a problem, now, for Sylvia, as to where to put Audley.  If she had come with Brad, it would not be a problem, but, no, she would be arriving with Lanon Zenton in tow, and Brad was invited also.  It would serve her right, Sylvia thought indignantly, if she put Lanon and Brad in one guesthouse and put Audley in the garage.

            All arrangements for the party had been made well in advance, leaving Sylvia a full day to rest and to fret over the Jennifer situation.  With each passing year, she became more psychotic about Jennifer for as long as Jennifer lived, Sylvia's block about sex remained strong, her fears of being pregnant with another defective were so great.  And as each year passed, realizing how much she was missing, she invariably made herself ill then had to spend the week following the party sedated and in constant contact with her therapist.  Now this year, along comes Lanon Zenton who has the temerity to suggest that Jennifer be eliminated!  She felt guilty in agreeing with him.

            And then there was Brad.  Lovely, warm Brad.  She should be having sexual fantasies about her husband, but she didn't even know Roger, much less love him or desire him.  Roger was the only man she had ever known sexually.  Audley would say it was normal for women who were virgins when they married to wonder about other men, to get a whim to try out something new and different after a while.  Sylvia was getting a whim to try something, period!

            She thought for a moment of Lanon Zenton.  He was certainly a hunk by any woman's standards, but of course Audley got to him first.  She always did.  And Sylvia didn't want Audley's leftovers.  God, she thought, what a vile phrase!  Brad used to be a good catch; now he was a leftover.  She realized she was still thinking of Brad in terms of Audley.  If she thought of Brad on her own terms, she thought of him as tall, handsome, brilliant, coming from a good family, having a good future, accustomed to wealth and culture, and sexy.  Very sexy.  But, she reminded herself, Brad was still in love with Audley and, to be honest, she was a married woman and she believed it was immoral to cheat.  Not that Audley or Roger were so moral, but she and Brad were old-fashioned, self-effacing and disgustingly self- righteous.  She doubted if two such people could even enjoy an illicit affair.

            She reviewed herself in the mirror, appraising.  The dress Audley had picked up for her in New York fit perfectly and she looked wonderful.  It was a floor-length, mauve chiffon, perfectly cut, flowing with Sylvia's natural lines.  Each move she made revealed a rippling shadow of thigh, and the neckline was deep, clinging graciously to her ample breasts.

            She had spent most of the day getting ready.  First, she had an hour in the spa, exercising and toning up, next a massage, then a leisurely bath, generously laced with oils and perfumes.  For the event, she had a hairdresser come in and do her hair, upswept and elegant with alluring wisps teasing her flawless neck.  She spent an hour at the make-up table and in the dressing room preening, preparing, and fantasizing continuously about Brad.

            She convinced herself that they could have a meaningful affair only if they were properly motivated.  It wouldn't do for either of them to simply resort to lasciviousness.  If it came to that, she was convinced that Brad was capable of helping her be deliciously lewd, but it had to be more than lust.  It had to be thought out and developed.  They couldn't just have sex for sex's sake.  It might seem crazy, she rationalized, but that's the kind of people they were.  What else could they do?  They were bred that way.

            At the last, she realized she had not thought of Jennifer all day.  She had dressed entirely for Brad and was looking forward to seeing him more than anything.        Leisurely descending the stairs to oversee last minute details before the guests arrived, she wandered from room to room in this Beverly Hills mansion, impressed by how something so beautiful could be so empty.  The halls, the chandeliers, the carpets, the windows, the oil paintings, the books, the furnishings.  Everywhere her eye fell, she encountered a visual delight, and for her ears, music wafted through the rooms to sweeten every corner.  Outdoors, the grounds provided the perfect grace and symmetry to nourish the senses.  Every inch of this grand house was physical perfection, but it was as empty and useless as Jennifer's mind.  Beautiful and utterly useless.

            What should a house have to make it right, she wondered?  It should have a man in it, for one thing.  The right man.  And it should have half a dozen children.   It should have disorder and chaos, squeals of laughter and pangs of pathos to disrupt the perpetual order, the crystallized perfection that these rooms reflected.  There was nothing out of place, no dust on the banisters, no lint on the carpet. 

            Sylvia was made to feel that her life was designed, cut out of a rare mold, pasted and buffed, painted and sculpted, then hung on the wall with every other inanimate piece of beauty to be looked at but not touched.  "Are you warm, are you real," she hummed to herself, "or just a cold and lonely, lovely work of art?"  She did not have a satisfied feeling about herself or her life.

            She gravitated toward the walnut 17th Century secretary desk in the foyer.  Every pen and pencil stood in place, ready to receive and note the names of the guests.  A large Record volume contained the names and addresses of those people who would be attending and the pledges of those who would not.  There would be $10,000 from the Burnses, $15,000 from the Sally Hutton Estate, $25,000 from her father, scores of $1,000 pledges.  At minimum it was a $250,000 party and such a party merited imported caviar and champagne, cold duck and roast beef, two floors of the Beverly Hilton Hotel, twelve additional servants, but she was anxious for it to be over.  Every year for five years she had given this party.  It was her 'cause' and her contribution to society.  What a waste these years had been, she lamented.  This would be her last party for the cause. 

            Henceforth, her cause would be Sylvia.  Not Roger's wife, not Chandler's daughter, not Jennifer's mother, but Sylvia.  After this party she would absolve herself of one life and enter eagerly into another.  She didn't care what it would be or what Roger thought of it.  She only knew that she didn't want any more damned perfection.





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