8

 NEW PERSPECTIVES

Twilah Leighton & Angus

            Gateway Headquarters of the JCP stood as a crucible in the Nevada desert, far removed from the fast-paced, slow-evolving civilization of the United States of America.  A polyglass bubble enclosed the community, creating an environment of near semi-tropical comfort and beauty on the otherwise barren horizon.  From Jesse's office on the uppermost floor of the Headquarters spire, the distant mountain peaks and endless desert vista created a vivid contrast between the world of the Zooids and the rest of the human race outside.

            Jesse often sat in this office musing about his concern for the world outside and feeling a compassionate pity for those who were caught up in a value system devoid of altruism, under a government without universe loyalties.  It was in this office that Jesse held interviews with prospective Zooids.  It was also here that he met with representatives of various outside interests.

            This morning he had had an appointment with Senator Braggins, whose son had again been convicted of distributing a controlled substance, and he had come to plead with Jesse Cain Brothers to let his son into Penn State Reserve. The young Braggins had already been tested and found unsuited for rehabilitation at the Reserve and Jesse had had to turn him down.  The Senator, accustomed to getting his own way, was outraged and had threatened to 'close him down'.

            Ignorance and prejudice, the two greatest barriers to growth, always dismayed Jesse and left him momentarily depleted.  At times like these he would take several deep breaths and renew his resolve to foster this Jural Colony Project for the Zooids, those who had tired of the hypocrisy and the betrayals, those who had the courage to break free from the bonds of fear and distrust and who dared to explore other options, higher values, altruistic goals.

            Jesse was incredibly proud of the Zooids, proud to be a part of their way of life.  He did not think of himself as their leader, but as one of them -- a single independent entity in a living, growing organism.  He did not delude himself into thinking the JCP was something it was not.  It would never enfold them all.   The outside world was filled with self-seeking, manipulative, grasping degenerates and misfits and always would be.  There were, plain and simple, a lot of animals running around out there to feed off each other by their own preference.  

            But there were the others, like the Zooids, who knew they deserved better than to be subjected to the whims of the takers and the power-hungry, and for the Zooids Jesse was grateful, to them he had dedicated his life.

            On the wall hung a plaque, which read:

JURAL COLONY PROJECT

Those words had been carefully selected when, in the beginning, as a young student, he and Professor Vessey had spent countless hours designing what humankind had only dreamed about and seldom tried to realize: a new way of life, a brave new world.

            In this new social order there would have to be rules, of course, but they would be rules for the people, rules based on positive law, natural law.  Rather than a nation, they would become colonies, where one life was inter-dependent with the others, and where each colony could become as a living, growing organism.   It would be an experiment in altruism, a project, undertaken by willing, vital participants. Alexius had been referring to the inhabitants of this would-be Jural Colony Project as “Zooids” since the idea took root, and now there were thousands of them, upholding zooidal philosophies in 72 active colonies.

            Throughout the years Alexius had been telling Jesse, 'This is only the beginning!' and until this morning Jesse had thought Alexius was talking about the scope of the colonies.  He now realized that the JCP was part of a surge forward in planetary evolution, for this morning he had received from Alexius a dossier on one Lanon Zenton, as well as an astounding summary of the Professor's 40-odd years of communication with Zenton intelligences, including the outline of every step they had taken in the creation of the JCP, leading up to and including the revelation of the Zooid Mission by this materialized man from Zenton.

            The authority with which Alexius spoke of these matters left no doubt in Jesse's mind of its authenticity.  If Lanon's research on Life Experimental Stations found the Jural Colony Project’s evolutionary status acceptable, if the Zooids were approved and if they were willing, the door to the cosmos would be opened.  The lowly Zooids had been unwittingly building a bridge between this life and the next!

            Jesse adjusted his TASC and put in a call to Dr. Blackstone.  Martha put it through at once and, to Jesse, Doc Will’s voice sounded relieved to hear from him.

            "Jesse!" he said. "How are you?"

            "I'm well, thanks.   I'd like you to come to Gateway as soon as possible.”

            Doc Will hesitated.  What was he to do with Lanon?  "Well, I'd like to Jesse, but I have a patient with me.  Audley brought him, and I don't know where she's off to or when she'll be back."

            "Bring Lanon with you," Jesse said.

            The doctor needed no further confirmation.  "We'll be right there.  Set the Transport Line."

            "It's already done."

ON MONDAY FOLLOWING THE PARTY, Sylvia reappraised her life.  For the first time, she had given a party and nobody came.  Oh, people came, all right.  Hundreds of people actually, but not Audley, not Brad, not even Doc Will.  She couldn’t remember ever feeling so lonesome.  It was obviously time for her to change her ways.

            A call to Malibu proving fruitless, she called Martha in Santa Barbara and ascertained that Doc Will had unexpectedly left with his patient.  The IOF referred her to Oscar where she learned that Brad had spent the weekend moving the IOF computer system to his Manhattan apartment.  And last but not least, she learned that her husband had departed for New York City without leaving word as to when he might return.  His law office gave her the number of the Grand Hotel where he could be reached.  She had already decided, however, not to tell him that she had a job or where she would be.

            UPI gave her the name and address of Twilah Leighton, the woman who had spotted the UFO on the night of August 14^th and wired her that she was coming.  After confirming her plane reservation she re-dialed Oscar and instructed him to secure a four-wheel drive vehicle and a metal detector and to meet her at the Williamsport, Pennsylvania, airport as soon as he could get there.  She then carefully selected a few items for her overnight bag and dressed for her undertaking.  Gathering the checks and pledges from the party in her purse, along with her wedding rings, she then left her Beverly Hills mansion with no remorse and no plans to return.

            Several hours later she and Oscar were driving into the backcountry of rural central Pennsylvania where the UFO sighting had allegedly taken place.  To Sylvia, set free and on assignment, the drive proved to be pure adventure.  She felt appropriately dressed in a designer safari suit, a soft red V-neck sweater, oxford boots and safari hat.  Looking out to the gently rolling fields, accented here and there by stately red barns and white fences, she remarked, "It's so picturesque, don't you think, Oscar?"

            Oscar's post-adolescent fervor hardly extended beyond the scent of Sylvia's perfume.  "Yes, Ma'am.  It's real pretty."

            She turned her full attention to the view.  The expanse spread out before them as they sought out Rural Free Delivery #3.  Rows of mailboxes at the end of unpaved roads indicated life was back there somewhere, but it wasn’t evident where.  Referring to the hand-scrawled map that she had taken from the County Sheriff's instructions, she told Oscar to “Slow down!” while she watched for a dirt road that turned right at the top of the hill.  "Here, Oscar.  Stop!  Turn here!"

            Oscar hit the brakes, turning up the dust. "Sorry about that, Ma'am.  I wasn't sure you meant to turn here.  It hardly looks like a hill to me."

            She shook the dust from her clothes impatiently.  "Of course it's a hill, you fool.   It comes up and then goes down.  Doesn't that constitute a hill?"

            He turned right and followed two ruts leading through a field of high grass.  "Are you sure we're going the right way?"  He was grinning, enjoying the rough terrain and Sylvia's dismay.

            "Slow down!" she cried out.

            He slowed to a reasonable pace: 10 mph.  "How far do we crawl from here?" he asked.

            "Half a mile," she managed to say, hanging on to the frame of the Jeep as though she were riding a run-away horse.  "At the fork in the road you veer left."

            "What road?" he joked.

            "Just veer left!"  It was more of an adventure than she had bargained for.  She only hoped that it proved her hunch correct.

            Beyond the next bend, down a steep slope on the north side of the hill, stood a small ramshackle homestead, the home of Miss Twilah Leighton.  In the side yard stood an old windmill, slowly going round, and in the opposite yard was an old oil well, slowly pumping up and down.  There were half a dozen outbuildings looking fairly seedy, and the main house was small and very dilapidated.  The front porch sloped to the side, the shingles were all mis-matched in patches on the roof, and the wood frame structure was badly in want of a new coat of paint.

            Miss Leighton was on the front porch waiting for them.  She waved her blue cotton handkerchief in greeting as the Jeep came around the bend.  "Yoo hoo!" she called.  The Jeep pulled to an abrupt stop in the high grass and wildflowers of the front yard.

            Miss Leighton was a very old woman, but she had all her teeth and her smile was enough to brighten anyone's day.  Sylvia liked her at once.  They shook hands.  Miss Leighton insisted they both call her Twilah, then she led the way into the house, which was cool and cheerful.  The floor was bare wood with throw rugs everywhere.  The sofa was threadbare but comfortable.  There didn't appear to be a television set.  The 1940's style radio was surrounded by a plethora of family photos on the buffet.  Old floral print curtains hung drearily, in need of a good starching.

            From the sofa where Sylvia found herself, she could see into the kitchen.  On the sink was a pump, from which Twilah maneuvered water for the teakettle.  The cookies she had made especially for the occasion and still warm from the oven were placed on a Depression Era plate on the coffee table.

            "I seldom get any company," Miss Leighton said.  "It makes me nervous!"  She giggled, stuffing strands of wiry white hair into pins behind her ears.

            "We're not exactly company, Miss Leighton," Sylvia objected, but Miss Leighton wouldn't hear of it.

            "You are too company!  And call me Twilah, I told you.   If you lived out here in the sticks you'd know what I mean.  All's I ever see is the mailman if’n I get out there early enough to meet him when he comes, and two or three times a year Old Man Oldecker will come check up on me and bring me some eggs or a plucked chicken."

            "Don't you ever get out?  Go anywhere?” Sylvia asked conversationally.  "Do you ever go into town?"

            "Onct a month," the old lady nodded.  "I get young Buck Thornton to drive me in for supplies or whatever I might need but I don't need much.  I got my Sears catalog, of course."

            "Of course," Sylvia agreed, as though the Sears catalog was the accepted tie with civilization.

            "But you didn't come all the way out here to hear about my raggedy life, did you?"

            "No," Oscar offered, receiving in exchange a piercing scowl from Sylvia.  

            "Why don't you go outside and play, Oscar?" she said rather tersely, and was pleased to see him so compliant.

            "I'll just wait outside, then," he said.

            "I'll be sure and call you when tea is ready," Twilah offered, then turned back to Sylvia to say, "Now, where were we?  Oh, yes, the night of August 14^th.”

            Sylvia took out a pad and pencil and in the process flipped a switch on a tape recorder she had stashed in her bag.

            "Yes," Sylvia urged. "Tell me everything, from the beginning."

            "Well," Twilah began, her eyes large and her hands worrying her blue handkerchief, "it was just getting dark.  I had been in town that day.  I had to go in to arrange for my winter corn supply.  And I was tuckered.  So I was just settin'.  Settin' right out there on the front porch.  It was a hot night.  August gets downright sticky here, and I was just settin' on the front porch there in my rocker, like I do all summer long, just lookin' at the sky and the stars.  It was a purdy big moon that night.  I don't know if'n it was full, but it was purdy close, so I could see real good.  If somebody was to walk through the field out yonder, I could'a seed him, you know?  It was that bright out."

            "Were you drinking anything, Twilah?"  She had to make sure the old lady wasn't in her cups and seeing things.

            "Why sure!  I had a quart of pump water.  Like I said, it was a very hot night."

            Sylvia nodded.

            "Then all of a sudden I saw this bright light in the sky.  I didn't know what it was.  I thought it might be Haley's Comet or a satellite or something, because I couldn't hear no noise and I can always hear it if it's an airplane, but it weren't no airplane.  I don't for sure know what it was."

            "Can you describe it?"

            "Not really.  It was just this big fat bright light."

            "How long did you see it?  Did it move?"

            "Oh, yes, it moved!  That was what made me so scared!  It was comin' right at me!  I saw it first way out in the distance.  I thought it was just another star -- it fit right in with all the others -- then this particular one -- I thought it was a star, you know -- it starts coming down like a falling star, only slower.  But it definitely was moving and it was coming in my direction.  It got bigger and brighter 'til I thought it would explode!"

            In her telling the story and reliving the excitement, Twilah got up and paced the wood floor, pulling at her handkerchief, remembering her fright.

            "As I said, it came right toward me.  And it was so big and so bright, it got way brighter than the moonlight.  It was like broad daylight!  I could see all the way to the Oldecker's farm three miles away and I could see their silo as plain as you can see it now in the light of day."

            "What happened to the light, Twilah?  Did it extinguish?"

            Twilah ignored the long word.  "It just went out.”         "Did it make a noise?”

            "Well, not really," Twilah said, resuming her seat on the hassock.  "Except I could hear a big crack when it went out."

            "A crack?  Like what kind of a crack?"

            "Like it hit a tree of something.  It sounded like the crack of a branch breaking off a tree."

            "But whatever it was, whatever caused the light, that didn't make any noise at all?"

            "Nope."

            "What about a smell?  Could you smell anything?"

            Twilah scowled then shook her head.  "Nope.  No smell."

            "Did any of your neighbors see it, too?" Sylvia asked, ever so much like a reporter.

            "Not that I know of.   Like I told you, I don't see many people out here.  Old Man Oldecker came over a couple of days after that and I asked him about it but he didn't see nothin’ ‘cause him and his wife were in town visiting their eldest boy and they didn't even come home that night.  They spent the night there.  His eyes aren't as good as they used to be."

            "Did you see where the light went out? Approximately?”

            "Sure did."  She got up quickly for a lady her age, and led Sylvia to the window.  She pointed.  "See yonder where that bird flies?"

            "Um-hum."

            "Long about there the light started to fade.  As I said, I was settin' on the front porch and it was comin' right at me, so I was glad to see it go out.  But I'd been lookin' at it, so when the light did go out, all I could see was this big spot in front of my eyes and I couldn't blink it away."

            "Like when a flashbulb...?"  Sylvia sympathized.

            "Yeah, like that.  Anyway, I couldn't see too good after the light went out, but I was sure glad it didn't hit me.  I was full well prepared to meet my Maker.  Fact is, I closed my eyes and was prayin' for mercy when I heard the crack."

            "The light was out, though, before you heard the crack?"

            "Oh, yeah.  Several seconds."

            "Where did the sound of the crack come from, do you remember that?"

            "Sure do."  Now Twilah led Sylvia out onto the porch and pointed to a grove of trees toward the southwest.  "That gully there.  Somewhere down in that gully."

            "Did you go down to look?"

            "Land sakes, child!  Do I look like a youngun to you?  I cain't be traipsin’ up and down the hills like a youngun!"

            "What about Mr. Oldecker?  Did he go down?"

            "Shoot," she lamented.  "Old Man Oldecker is 94.  He can still traipse around, but not that good."

            "When did you call the newspaper?"

            "I never did call no newspaper."  She went back into the cool of the house to turn off the whistling teakettle.   "I almost didn't call nobody.  People around these parts already think I'm off my rocker just because I won't move into town and have the County take care of me.  This is my home, you know."  She went off on a tangent, emotionally riled.  "I was borned in this house 87 years ago.  ‘Twas built by my pappy when he brought home his bride, and I was their firstborn.  The only one borned, actually.  Ma died having me then Pa took care of me 'til I was old enough to take care of him and me both.  I don't need no County home!"  She poured water in large mugs and dunked a Lipton tea bag vigorously up and down in each.  "I figured I'd better tell somebody, seein's how I'd never heard tell of such a sight.  What if’n it was the Russians or the Chinese?  I’d’a never’ve heard the end of it.  So I called.  Cost me 27 cents, too, it did."

            "Who did you call?"

            "Called the Sheriff.  Sheriff Baker is a nice man.  He comes out to see me every time there's an election.  He brings me my ballot and has a cup of tea while I decide who to vote for. He usually has to tell me who to vote for since I don't get the paper and I only listen to the music on the radio."

            "Didn't Sheriff Baker come out and have a look around?"

            "Nope.  He didn't.  He said, 'Well, if you see it again, let me know.'  He pretty much puts up with me.  What's the word?  What do you call it?  Oh, I don't know.  He...."

            "Humors you?  Tolerates you?"

            "That's it.  He tolerates me.  Treats me like I was three years old."  Twilah tossed the old tea bags into the sink and carried two cups into the living room, leaving Oscar's on the sideboard.

            "I reckon the young man will come back," she said.

            "I reckon he better!" Sylvia added.  "So how did the newspapers get hold of it?"

            "Get aholt of what?"

            "The news.  Saying you had seen a UFO?"

"The party line," she said, matter-of-factly.   "Can't say nothin' on that phone without somebody listenin' in.  I 'spect it was Madeline Templeton, that new woman in town.  She don't have enough to do out here in the sticks, so she listens to everybody else's business."

            "And you think she called UPI?"

            "Who's You-Pea-Eye?"

            "United Press International."

            "Oh, I wouldn't know about that."

            "Would you mind if Oscar and I traipsed around down in the gully to see if we can find anything?"

            "Heck, no.   I'd go with you if I could be sure these old legs would get me back up the hill, which I can't be sure of anymore.  But you go ahead if you're sure that's what you want to do.  I wouldn't think you'd want to get your purty clothes all messed up."

            "Oh, that's okay," Sylvia said, looking at her boots.

            "That gully gets mighty soggy when it rains.  You might want to borry my galoshes to keep your nice boots clean."

            Sylvia had to recognize that even in her safari outfit, she was overdressed.  "Thanks.  Maybe I will."

            They went onto the porch, leaving the hot tea in the living room for later.  Sylvia tugged on a pair of wool socks and the rubber boots before climbing into the Jeep and laying on the horn to rouse Oscar.  In a few seconds he came tearing out of one of the half dozen out buildings, tugging at his pants.       

            "Where to now, Boss?" he asked, scrambling into the driver's seat.

            "Straight down the hill there into the gully."

            Oscar grinned.  Must be something in the air out here in the country that would have Sylvia plowing into the underbrush and him using a privy.

            The field was easier to drive through than the road had been.  Twilah was right.  The summer rains had made the gully soggy.  Mosquitoes bit their hands and faces as they drove through the underbrush to the grove of trees where, allegedly, the UFO had landed.

            "What are we looking for, Boss?" he asked, foraging a new road into the bushes.

            "A broken branch, first of all.  A good sized branch."

            He turned off the engine.  "We're going to have to walk from here," he advised.  "It's getting too thick to drive."

            As they got out of the Jeep they both noticed the wheels were sunk at least four inches into the mire.

            "You sure we won't get stuck?"

            "Sure I'm sure.  That's what these babies are for."

            The creatures of the thicket, -- bullfrogs, crickets, birds, all sorts of wild creatures -- silenced their voices in protest to the intrusion.  Sylvia's voice automatically sank to a whisper. 

            "A big tree, remember, with a broken branch."

            "Right."

            "And don't lose me."

            "You can't get lost in here," he said.  "It isn't big enough to get lost in."

            Oscar was wrong.  Sylvia did get lost, lost to the other-worldliness of the gully, which was thick and dense and verdant and fragrant and entirely consuming.  Overhead she could hear the distant chirping of the birds and see the pale blue sky made as lace by the distant leaves of the treetops.  It took her breath away.  Looking down, in response to a small splash, she saw a fat toad-like creature sitting on a smooth, round rock covered with slick dark green moss in a freshwater spring that trickled and gurgled, the sunlight dancing on its surface.

            Small forests of fern accented a patchwork quilt of purple ground cover with tiny white flowers, mixed with mounds of cocoa and gold–colored mulch.   Sylvia was quite lost in this world far removed from Beverly Hills.  She paused to wonder how she had managed to survive twenty-seven years in such an ivory tower.  Taking the job with Brad, she reflected, was the smartest thing she had ever done.

            "Over here!" Oscar yelled.

            "Where?"

            "Over here!"

            Several minutes later she had made her way through the thicket, mud up to her ankles, her designer pants snagged beyond repair by thorns from red raspberry bushes.  Mosquito bites welted her hands and fingers.  "My God!" she said when she caught up with him.  "It's a jungle!”

            "Here's your branch," Oscar said, pointing.  After a quick glance at the broken limb, which was a good twelve inches thick, she looked at the ground where the UFO must have landed.  The Urth was totally unblemished, with the exception of the broken limb.  There was not a mark on the ground.

            "I don't know how you could tell if there was a mark," Oscar pitched in.  "As thick as this growth is, if something was here, it would have been covered up by now."

            "You're probably right, but let's look anyway.  Where's the metal detector?"  An hour later, filthy from one end to the other and smelling of skunk cabbage, they finished.  Placing the soil samples in a box in the back of the Jeep, she lamented,  "There's nothing here.  Nothing at all." 

            "Well, what did you expect?  A nose cone?"

            Sylvia scowled at him.  "A Martian flag."

            He helped her into the vehicle then skillfully maneuvered it out of the mud and up to higher and dryer ground.  When they arrived back at the house, Twilah was nodding her head, fast asleep in her rocking chair on the front porch.

            "Maybe we should just go," Oscar suggested.  "It's a long drive back to the airport."

            "You just hold your horses, young man," Sylvia said, falling in with the local vernacular.  "We haven't had our tea yet and Miss Leighton went to a lot of trouble to brew us a cup and put out homemade cookies."  She touched the old lady on the knee but Twilah was sound asleep, snoring slightly.  They went inside and quickly drank the now cold tea and took a handful of cookies.  Oscar looked at the dozen and more family photographs on the buffet while Sylvia wrote Miss Leighton a note, not knowing for sure if Twilah could read.  She then put the empty cups on the sideboard and went outside to knock the mud off the galoshes.  By now Twilah was awake.

            "You back already?"

            "Back, yes," Sylvia said, "and ready to go.  I want to thank you for your hospitality."

            "Well, shucks," Miss Leighton said, getting up.  "It was my pleasure.  Come back and visit again sometime."  Oscar came out just then and she demanded to know if he had gotten enough cookies.  "Do you want a glass of milk, young man?"

            Oscar blushed.  "No, Ma'am.  The tea was fine.  Thank you."

            She took the muddy boots away from Sylvia and shooed them towards the Jeep. "You leave them for me.  I just hope you got what you was after."

            She saw them out and into the vehicle.  When they were seated and buckled up, Twilah asked, "Tell me, are the woods still cool and damp?"

            "They certainly are," Oscar volunteered.

            "There’s frogs and ferns and lots of little flowers?"

            Sylvia nodded, smiling.  "And red raspberries."

            "And skunk cabbage, too.  I can smell it on you."  Her old nose wrinkled.  "Well, I guess I'm not missin' much of anything then."  She seemed resigned to her limitations.

            "Not a thing," Sylvia assured her.  "You've got everything you need right here."

            Twilah Leighton patted her hand, stood back and waved the old blue hanky.  "Come again, you hear?"

            Oscar insisted it was a wild goose chase, but Sylvia argued she would not have missed it for anything.

AUDLEY WOKE IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON and chided herself for being lazy, but Dierdre disagreed, insisting Audley was entitled to rest.  Even so, Audley felt the need to do something.  There was nothing she could help with in the kitchen or the garden, so she decided to walk down to the Village.  Was there anything she could do while there?"

            "Yes, as a matter of fact there is.  Alexius has an overnight letter he wants posted."

            "I’d be happy to do that," she volunteered.

            "Good, but take your time.  Everyone is having siesta now.  The Post Office won't even be open for another hour."

            As Audley set out on her errand, she was stopped by the two little ones and handed a straw bonnet.  As usual, they said nothing, but as she took the hat and thanked them in their own language, the light glinted from their deep brown eyes and they smiled up at her before tearing away across the yard with peals of laughter.

            Feeling rested and somewhat adventurous, her step was buoyant as she descended the hill.  She had arrived in Guadix at dusk, when the colors were deep and somber.  Now, in the clarity of daylight, the colors of Guadix were dazzling.  Even with her sunglasses securely in place, she had to squint against the brilliance.  The bonnet was a Godsend, and she vowed to buy a treat for the children before her return.

            Guadix was bigger than it first appeared.  Even though the one main street was only three or four blocks long, there were several arteries leading radially out of town.  The residential areas were located at the base of the mountain and in the foothills.  Along the side streets were quiet little shops and cafes leading out from the town's central plaza to the surrounding expanse of pastureland and farmland.

            Once or twice she stopped to survey the view and catch her breath, the high elevation accounting in part for the slow life-style.  As she tarried at the fountain in the main square, the villagers began to slowly rouse from their daily siestas and resume their activities.  She waited there until the postmaster opened his door and changed the sign from 'cerrado' to 'abierto'.  Although the villagers may not welcome strangers, she was recognized and received as the American woman from the Vessey household.

            "Señorita Blackstone!" the postmaster hailed, drawing her into the cool interior.  "Buenos Dias!"  He took the letter from her outstretched hand and regaled her with a litany of Spanish but she didn't know a word of it. 

            "Señor!" she interrupted, laughing.  "No habla Españole!"

            He was disappointed.  "No comprende?"

            "No," she said with remorse as he set about stamping the letter in silence.  The Spanish were so gracious, so willing to communicate, she determined to essay a conversation.

            "Excusa mi, Señor?"

            He looked up at once, eager, "Si, Señorita?"

            "Uh,… café aqui?"

            His face lit up.  "Oh, si!”  Perceiving that she might understand if they spoke slowly and simply, he continued.  "Café Diablo, Café del Sol, Café de Valle de Dios."  He pointed in three directions.

            "Abierto?" she asked, knowing that some siestas might last throughout the afternoon.

            "Si!"  He pointed toward one of the side streets.  "Aqui.  Sierra Nevada Restaurante.  Abierto.  Bueno.  Mui bueno."  A restaurant, open, very good. 

            "Gracias, Señor.  Muchas gracias."  They shook hands and she departed feeling very good about herself, very good about the day.  She felt like a tourist on holiday.  The streets beckoned to her. 

            Returning to the plaza, she splashed her face with water from the fountain then took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the town.  In that instant she had the sense that she was being watched.  She looked around but could see no one especially interested in her, beyond the normal glances given to one who is a foreigner, so she set aside the feeling in order to play tourist and find a shop where she might buy a gift for the children and perhaps a souvenir.  

            The side street she chose was conspicuous by the bougainvillea that marked its entry.  This bougainvillea grew to a height of over 20 feet, covering the front and side of an ancient but well-tended, two-story building which may have once been a hotel.  The sign said 'cerrado', and by the bar across the front door, Audley believed it must have been closed for a very long time.  Its wooden portico provided cool shade and firm footing.

            Along this Avenida she passed a barbershop and flower stall before pausing to look into the window of a shop whose quality and variety of merchandise impressed her.  As she admired the finely made rugs, pottery and textiles, her eye suddenly fell on a necklace, the blue of which, with the light reflected therein, was the exact color of Lanon's eyes.            

            Entering the shop, the clerk quickly withdrew the lapis lazuli necklace from its case and handed it to Audley without any attempt at salesmanship.  The necklace slipped easily onto her neck.  A mirror was thrust into her hand.  She admired how each bead was sedately separated from the next by silver filigree, but they were meant to be together.   Wearing it gave her a sense of armor, yet the large bead in the center, falling naturally into the dip of her throat, gave her a private thrill of vulnerability.  It was lovely to look at.  She nodded and paid for the necklace.

            She continued down the street to the Sierra Nevada Restaurante.  Inside, the dark and cool room featured a wooden floor, massive wooden beams on the frescoed ceiling, and on the patched adobe walls were classic oil paintings of Spanish gentry.  She selected a wooden table near the window where she could watch people as they passed by.  As soon as she was seated, she again felt that peculiar sense of being watched.  Her fingers went instinctively to the necklace where they lingered on the large blue bead.  She told herself she was here for a purpose, for Lanon, and she would come to no harm. 

            As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she looked around the room to see who else might be in the restaurant.  At once she saw the mysterious visitor from last evening, the one called Angus.  He was sitting on a bench, not at a table, on the other side of the room, far back, under a magnificent hanging plant, wearing his hooded cloak, scrunched over, barring contact.  If it was him who was watching her, he could project from across the room, certainly, but surely not from the Village Square.

            She conveyed to the waitress that she was very hungry.  Was there something she could have with huevos? eggs?  And coffee, por favor?  Mucho, caliente café.

            The waitress brought the coffee at once, leaving Audley to ponder the strange emanations generating from the area where Angus sat brooding.  She now believed it was him who had been watching her and so she determined she would meet his gaze.  In a moment he looked up and she swore she could see light coming from underneath the hood that he kept close to his face.  She was startled; she looked away quickly and shivered.  He was surely a cave dweller, she thought.  A mystical creature from another time.

            Still she felt herself compelled to make contact with him.  Her investigative reporting approach failed her.  She perceived that this creature was approachable, but not with notebook in hand; that tactic would be inappropriate with Angus.   He wasn't the kind of man who would be luring her for sexual purposes, not if he was an intimate of Alexius, but she distinctly felt him pulling her.

            The waitress brought the food.  It smelled delicious and, though her mouth watered, she could not bring herself to pick up her fork and eat.  Some psychic connection had been established with this Angus, and to eat would somehow alter the energy flow.  All this was quite clear to Audley although she didn't know why.  She sat there in a quandary until suddenly the connection was broken.  She picked up her fork and ate ravenously.

            At length he left the restaurant and she allowed herself time to savor the food and to indulge in the luxury of another cup of the rich café con leche, wherein the milk had been warmed to keep the coffee hot.  As she sat savoring her coffee and her adventure, she willed herself to remember yesterday's interview with Alexius.  Her thoughts flitted back to the States where Lanon would still be in her father's lab.  She remembered briefly that Sylvia was working for Brad and that Brad was working for the President, but none of these thoughts would stay in her mind.  Her mind kept being drawn back to Angus.

            She paid her bill, put on her sunglasses and reentered the brilliant daylight.  On the portico she looked to the left and the right but could not see him.  She tuned in her senses and determined she would locate him.  She stood still until she felt something, a leaning, then she turned in that direction and moved down the portico.

            A few doors down she spotted a store whose windows were filled with wooden puppets.  She went inside and purchased for Dierdre's children two giddily happy puppets on a string.  She had them gift-wrapped then returned to the outdoors where Angus' vibration was waiting for her.  She turned left again moving farther and farther away from the center of town.

            The shops thinned as the villas appeared.  The walls of the villas, where the people lived apart from their street, were long, indicating wealth and space for the inhabitants.  Here and there she could glimpse inside the walls through wrought iron gates to see giant bowls of geraniums gracing both sides of the walkway up to the inner door.  It was very quiet, and still she was lured on by the impelling psychic energy that she now knew to be from Angus.

            At the end of the street, she faced the fields of Guadix, spread out below the expansive mountain range.  In the near distance cattle grazed lazily.  Her eye roved from left to right across the field until she saw his hooded figure sitting at a rustic table under a tree in the pasture.  She could feel him looking at her.  She stepped onto the grass and proceeded into the field.

            She was, of course, aware that she had followed a strange man to an isolated spot, and she was as fully aware that she had not one shred of anxiety.  As she ventured, she felt him looking now to where the Sierra Nevadas met the sky.  She, too, turned and stretched her vision to where, though miles away, the mountaintop seemed close enough to touch.  When she turned her eyes on him, her vision was glazed from the brilliance of sky.  He scarcely moved his hand but she felt it to be an invitation, and so she sat with him.

            They exchanged no words.  Her mind had been occupied with the energy he had directed toward her.  The communion between them was palpable; she felt completely at ease.  They sat for some moments rather examining the psychic connection that seemed to have them both in its grip.  At length he spoke.

            "Your sense development is very keen."  His voice seemed cloaked in shadow as well, as though he were whispering.  She turned her eyes to him and as their eyes met, she could see that he was indeed shrouded in a cloak of darkness, but that if he were not, he would have blinded her.  His aura was deliberately attuned to conceal his true light.  It was clearly evident to Audley that she was sitting with some kind of phenomenon.

            Perhaps if this were another day, last month certainly, she would have fled or had any number of fearful reactions, but not today.  Not any more.  As Flora and Dierdre had impressed upon her, there were too many strange and wondrous things happening to her lately for her to be alarmed.  The only thing to do was to take it in stride. 

            "Am I supposed to say 'thank you' or something?"

            "You would do well to be grateful for your higher senses, but it is not necessary to thank me for them.  I didn't create them.  I am merely aware of them."

            Her hand slid up to touch the blue bead in the dip of her throat.  "Who are you?"

            "I am a visitor," he said.

            "That's what Alexius said.  I thought you were one of the cave dwellers."

            She felt his smile.  "I shouldn't wonder.  It's my costume."

            "Why do you dress like that?" she asked naively.

            "It's my way of adapting to my surroundings.  Your planet and its people are very dense.  Hardy anyone notices me in this garb."

            "They might not notice you in Guadix, but you'd stand out like a sore thumb where I come from."

            "Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  It depends upon whether or not people choose to see.  Where do you come from?"

            "California," she said, vaguely realizing that Angus would probably fit right in."

            How does one talk to a visitor from another part of the universe? she wondered.

            "Ask questions," he responded to her non-verbal musings.

            "Where are you from?" she asked.

            "More to the point is why I'm here, wouldn't you agree?"

            "I suppose so.  Why are you here?"

            "I am here to study the early stages of psychism as it evolves on a young planet." 

            "What's psychism?"

            "Higher sense development."

            "Oh.  Like what you said I have."  She actually felt rather 'dense'.  "What are you made of, if you don't mind my asking?"

            "It’s called Ultimaton Aggregation."

            "What does that mean?"

            "It's very simple.  It's a phrase that comes from the fact of my ultimacy.  I can't get any more ultimate.  I have evolved beyond the need for a physical body.  Aggregation is a way for me to adapt to your environment."

            "How's that?"

            "Since in my natural state there is nothing there at all, no matter, no form that you can identify, I pull things out of the atmosphere to make up a form.  I aggregate matter around me."

            "Do you ever become whole?  I mean, are you always going to be this vaporous or are you going to solidify?"

            "As I said, I am already whole.  Eventually you will be able to see me," he said, "but that will have more to do with your perception than with my solidarity."

            He seemed to think they would become great friends!     "I'm not going to be here very long," she offered, realizing her remark might be taken as rude.  "When did you get here?" she asked in an attempt now to be sociable.

            "I arrived last night, as you were having dinner.  I stopped by to notify Alexius of my arrival."

            "Are you from Zenton?" she ventured.

            "No, but I have been there." 

            This was, to her, further confirmation that Lanon was who he said he was.

            "Did you come by yourself?"

            "I did, but I am not alone; there are others."

            "Other what?"

            "Other beings, other planes."

            "Like you?"

            "We are individuals, all of us.  Some are more evolved.  In time you yourself will evolve enough to realize that there are hundreds and hundreds of types of life."

            "Are you all friends?"

            "It is a friendly universe, and so we are, yes, friends."

            "You all have different jobs to do or what?"

            She thought he laughed.  "Like you, yes, we have a job to do.  What is your job?"

            "I'm a writer.  I take information and put it in a form that literate people can understand."

            "So you are a teacher!" he exclaimed.

            "Oh, I don't know about that," she laughed.  "I learn so much from what I write about, I think I could be more rightfully called a student."

            "That is good," he observed.  "Have you come to learn about Alexius?"

            "Well, his work.”  She couldn't talk about it, though. "Have you known him for a long time?"

            "Seems like forever!" he said lightly.

            "Do you know my dad?  Dr. Wilhelm Blackstone?"

            "I have been told of his work but I haven't met him.  Like me, he also works in the realms of the mind."

            "Yes.”  She thought better of telling Angus that her father was even now working in the realms of Lanon's mind.  "Why did you bring me out here?"

            "You came willingly," he reminded her.

            "So I did, but you invited me."

            "Yes, and you came because you did not fear me."

            "I did fear you, but I came anyway."

            "You are courageous."

            Audley laughed aloud.  “Not courageous.  Curious.”  

            “So am I.  You are withholding something from me.” 

            She blushed.  "I'm entrusted with a secret," she said.

            "Loyalty is honorable," he said.  "I will not ask you to betray your secret.  Is there anything I can do to assist in this . . . mission?"

            Abruptly she looked at him.  In that very instant the piercing clarity of his light entered her pupils and penetrated her brain.   It was as if she had plugged into the energy of the universe.  She had never known such calm.  It was as if all the mysteries of the universe were revealed.  In here, there were no secrets.  Without hesitation she said, "How would you like to come with me into the JCP?”

            He was amused.  "For what purpose?"

            "I think that's where it's happening."

            "Where what is happening?"

            She suggested, "An upsurge in psychism."

            "Well, if that's the case, perhaps I should!  Like you, I would not want to miss anything!"

            "Have you ever heard of the Zooids?"

            He nodded, leading her to conclude that Angus was involved in all this somehow!  He had stopped by to inform Alexius of his arrival, he had heard of the work of Jesse Brothers, and he had knowledge that her father’s field was mindal, just like his. At once she suspected that someone besides Lanon was interested in the JCP Life Experimental Stations.

            "I’ll bet you wouldn’t even have to buy an airplane ticket,” she offered.  "I mean, you could just have yourself transported or something."  She felt a grin emanate from this companionable new friend.

            "But I am a visitor, a tourist, and what is it they say?   When in Rome, do as the Romans do!  At any rate, I am prepared to finance my venture."

            "I wish I was," she mumbled aloud.  It would soon be time to return to the REAL world and face her creditors.

            He suggested, "Perhaps your venture is being financed for you.  After all, wealth is immaterial."

            One thing Lanon and Angus had in common was that both their voices crawled into her head.

            "Well," she said.  "It's getting late.  I'd better get back."  She found herself so at peace in his company, she was reluctant to leave him.  "You want to come for dinner?"

            "You are very gracious, but I must make my travel arrangements.  I will come after dinner and bring dessert." 

            Audley grinned. “It’s been nice meeting you, Angus,” she said.  Picking up the parcel for the children, she sauntered off, calling back, “We'll be expecting you!"        

            He watched her cross the field and stride, rather cockily now, up the street toward the Village Square.  As she began her ascent on the Via de Comprende, she felt the connection break.  It was then that she remembered she had left her sunglasses under the tree.

BRAD WAS TROUBLED.  For years his life had been on a steady upward course, but suddenly he found himself being emotionally buffeted and his career hung in the balance.   He had taken a bite out of life and it left a bad taste in his mouth. 

            Oscar accompanied him back to the Institute of Futurology where they arranged for the relocation of the computer, but Brad wasn't happy about his Aide. There was something innately impudent about Oscar -- his youth, perhaps, but irksome just the same.  The way Oscar nudged Brad, for instance, and leered when making reference to either Audley or Sylvia.  The kid wasn't a chauvinist or even macho, but something of a sleaze.  No doubt General Lassater thought he was "top notch" as an Aide.

            Audley was playing head games with him.  He thought he knew her well enough to at least give her the benefit of the doubt as to her motivations, but he wasn't pleased with her about-face regarding the wedding date.  He hadn't received the support he had hoped for from Doc Will, either, due to the fact that Doc Will was inordinately consumed with this new patient.  He tried not to think of Doc Will's patient as competition for Audley's affections, but he did.  In his saner moments he didn't really give a damn.

            In the meanwhile, Sylvia kept appearing in his mind's eye.  When he neglected to attend her party, he felt so guilty he sent her flowers and a telegram then a large check for the benefit but his underlying thoughts were not as honorable. Perhaps he was going through a mid-life crises, he told himself, or maybe even male menopause, but even if he were able to set aside his feelings for his fiancée, how could he disregard the fact that Sylvia was a married woman?      

            As usual, he gave himself up to his work.  The IOF site in Meadowland depressed him; it was almost totally deserted, and without the support of his peers, even the ideal of their work seemed shallow and senseless.  What was the point of all these modern devices if humankind didn't put them to good use?  He knew now that technology without a heart was a waste of time.

            His Manhattan apartment had not been lived in for the three years he had been at the Institute.  It was kept clean by building maintenance, but it had no food, no staples.  Upon his arrival in Manhattan he put in an SOS call to his mother.  She could not have been prouder of her son with the Presidential Assignment, but for all her highbrow ways and elitist values, she was still a mother.   She came at once, saw the condition of the apartment, and set about making it livable.

            Sam, however, had virtually taken over the penthouse.  The two days that it took to move in and set up the complex computer system taxed the patience of Brad, his mother, the neighbors, the management, and the utility company workers.  The formal living room was transformed into an office dominated by Sam, while the dining area was taken over by the printer system and attendant supplies.  Only the kitchen, bath and bedroom remained operable as living quarters.

            When Sylvia and Oscar arrived at Brad’s apartment, following their trek in the Pennsylvania backwoods, the door was open; workers were putting the finishing touches on the power lines and cords that ran everywhere.  Brad was at the helm, instructing where and how to set up filing cabinets, drafting tables, lights and research books. 

            When a disheveled Sylvia showed up, standing open-mouthed in the doorway, his eyes lit up.  "What on Urth, Brad?  Is this Sam?"

            "The one and only," he said, coming to greet her.

            "No wonder Audley hates it!"

            "Her.  Sam is a she.  Samantha, meet Sylvia.  Sylvia, meet Samantha."

            Sylvia followed Brad into the apartment, peering around Sam to see what was left of the once gracious living room.

            "Excuse the mess," Brad said without apology, "but one does what one has to do, and with the IOF temporarily shut down, Sam had to live somewhere."

            "Lord," she remarked, searching for an empty chair.  "There aren't any more where that came from, are there?"  In spite of her complaint, she was impressed that Brad knew about all this stuff.

            "Not unless you count my mother.  Mother?"

            "Yes, Brad?"  At once a gracious silver-haired lady came out of the kitchen.  A designer apron and a magnificent pearl necklace covered most of her stylish dress.   She was taken aback to see Sylvia and Sylvia, too, was caught off-guard.

            "Mother, I'd like for you to meet my Investigative Assistant, Sylvia Watergate.  Sylvia, this is my mother, Lydia Spencer."

            Sylvia imagined how unpresentable she must look, covered with mosquito bites and with dust in her hair.  Mrs. Spencer likewise busied herself with a dishtowel.  Sensing some awkwardness between the ladies, Brad continued with the introduction.  "Sylvia is a friend of Audley, Mother."  Mrs. Spencer's eyebrow shot up perceptibly.  "She's also the daughter of...."

            Sylvia interrupted.  "Just Sylvia, if you don't mind.  Just plain Sylvia.  My only claim to fame is that I've just spent the entire day in mud up to my ankles looking for a needle in a haystack.  Please excuse my appearance, Mrs. Spencer.  Had I known I was going to meet you, I would have stopped at the hotel first and made myself presentable."

            Mrs. Spencer was appeased, particularly since she could not help but notice how her son brightened up at the sight of this attractive young woman who was not wearing a wedding ring.  "Nonsense, my dear.  I'm not exactly presentable either." She indicated her apron and extended her hand to Sylvia.  They shook.  Allies.  "Brad hasn't lived here for months," she exclaimed.  "There was nothing in the cupboards!" 

            Even so, the smell of something very savory emanated from the kitchen, and Mrs. Spencer appreciated the delicate way in which Sylvia's nose lifted to catch it.

            "Where are you staying?" Brad wanted to know.

            "Well, actually, the Grand Hotel," she lied, borrowing on Roger's location, "but I'm not going to stay there.  I thought if we're going to be working on this for the next six months or so, I ought to take an apartment.  Maybe an efficiency.  I have no idea how to go about securing one.  Do you know of an agency, Brad?"

            "No, but I'm sure Oscar can find something for you."

            "That would be fine," she agreed.

            Mrs. Spencer, assured that the two were interested in something other than work, excused herself.  She removed the apron and retrieved her purse.  "You young people go about your business.  I've straightened up for you, Brad, and put in some groceries.  The roast should be done in about half an hour.  Sylvia, maybe you could look in on it so that it's not overdone."  She kissed her son on the cheek and stopped at the door.  "You know, Sylvia, if you're going to be working in New York with Brad for the next several months, perhaps we might engage you in a game of bridge sometime."

            "I'd like that, Mrs. Spencer.  I love the game."

            Lydia exited with a cheery "Ta-ta!" and when she had gone, Brad said, “She likes you!"

            "She does?  You mean she approved of me?" 

            There was an edge to her voice Brad hadn't noticed before.  He nodded.

            "Well, that's fine, Brad, but frankly I don't give a damn."

            Brad was shocked.  He had never heard Sylvia utter an off-color word.

            "I don't mean to be offensive, Brad, but I've spent my entire life worrying about what other people might think of me, and I'm through with that.  I really don't give a fig."

            She was so earnest, Brad had to laugh.  "Well, good for you," he said.  Sylvia was going to be fun to work with after all. 

            She leaned in towards him slightly, revealing the bare mounds of her ample bosom in the V of the soft red sweater.  He couldn't help but appreciate the gesture.  She begged to use his shower and, of course, he let her.  Oscar brought up her travel bag then was sent out to locate an efficiency apartment for the new Investigative Assistant. 

            At length Sylvia emerged from the bathroom looking totally fresh and new (Doc Will would have said 'virginal').  “Let's see what's going on in your kitchen.”  She announced.  “The roast is done!”  As she pulled ingredients from the refrigerator to make a salad, Brad opened a bottle of Cabernet. 

            "Tell me about your investigation.”

            She relayed the adventure of the day, as they sipped the wine and fixed the salad, chopping and talking, their energies falling into place. Sylvia noticed how easily they maneuvered around each other and wondered how she had managed to go for so long without being in the intimate company of a man.     The dining room being “out of order”, they set their places in the kitchenette, all the while talking shop and sipping wine.

            "It was probably a wild goose chase, Brad,” she concluded, “digging around in a gully for a UFO.  The metal detector," she said, "turned up nothing but a rusty old Coca-Cola bottle cap."

            "What about the soil samples?"

            "I don't know yet.  Oscar dropped them off at the lab."

            "What do you hope to find?" he asked, impressed with her efforts if not the results.

            "Something," she mused.  "Something."

            For the next hour and a half, through dinner and the Cabernet, they reviewed Brad's scrupulously legible notes.  When she saw the photos in the "For Your Eyes Only" envelope, her heart skipped a beat, for it indicated she was not the only one who had tied in the blackout with galactic disturbances.  More than ever, she was convinced that Lanon Zenton was an alien, that Audley was in trouble, and that Brad's career was on the line unless and until she could prove her hunch.

            Later that evening Oscar returned with the lab reports of the soil samples. Handing them to Brad, he asked Sylvia, "Can I give you a lift to your hotel?"

            "Never mind, Oscar," Brad said.  "We'll be working late tonight."  

            The smirk on Oscar's face did not go unnoticed. 

            When the Aide had gone, Sylvia and Brad read the lab report.  It revealed that the soil in the area had recently been exposed to high levels of potassium. 

            "Potassium," they pondered.  "What could that mean?"              The computer had little to offer on the element; thus, the circumstances being what they were and Sylvia's perfume being so enticing, Brad had little choice but to change the subject. 

            "Look,” he said.  “You know what they say about ‘all work and no play’.” 

            Sylvia put down her pencil and blushed.  His remark was reckless, but it did open the door for her fantasies to come alive.  Pushing aside the lab reports, she admitted, "I guess I was being a bit obsessive."

            "Well, I understand how it is to be obsessed with work.  I can't say I recommend it."

            "Is that an order, boss?"

            "No, Sylvia.  I don’t give orders.”  He felt compelled to add, “Although maybe if I had given more orders, Audley would be my Investigative Assistant instead of you."

            "I don't think so, Brad.  Audley isn't the type to take orders.  I don't think it would have made any difference what you said or did."

            He recognized that, and appreciated Sylvia all the more for her honesty.  “What about you? What difference is there for you, that you are not wearing your wedding rings?”  

            Flushing under his steady gaze, she said, "My marriage is a farce, Brad.  It has been for years and I'm tired of living the lie. I need to try to pull my life together.”

            His eyes were drawn to the deep breath she took.  "You look pretty ‘together’ to me," he observed. 

            When their eyes met, she couldn't stop the trembling that took hold of her body.  There was nothing for them to do now but for Sylvia to turn off the light, and for Brad to carry her into the bedroom, where they remained adhered to each other throughout the night.