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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