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***** * * ***** ***** **** ***** ***** * * *****
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* ** * * * * * * * * ** *
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* * * * * *** **** * *** ** *
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* * ** * * * * * * ** * *
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***** * * * ***** * * * ***** * * *
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--------------------------------------------------------------------
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Volume 2, Number 4 July-August 1992
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--------------------------------------------------------------------
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INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
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FirstText / JASON SNELL
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One Person's Junk / WARREN ERNST
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Was / KEN ZUROSKI
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Glow / BRIAN TANAKA
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Rufus Won't Wake Up / BRIAN TANAKA
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The Unified Murder Theorem (Conclusion) / JEFF ZIAS
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--------------------------------------------------------------------
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EDITOR ASSISTANT EDITOR PROOFREADER
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Jason Snell Geoff Duncan Melinda Hamilton
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jsnell@ucsd.edu mhamilto@ucsd.edu
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--------------------------------------------------------------------
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InterText Vol. 2, No. 4. InterText is published electronically on a
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bi-monthly basis. Reproduction of this magazine is permitted as long
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as the magazine is not sold and the content of the magazine is not
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changed in any way. Copyright 1992, Jason Snell. All stories
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Copyright 1992 by their respective authors. All further rights to
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stories belong to the authors. The ASCII InterText is exported from
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Macintosh PageMaker 4.2 files into Microsoft Word 5.0 for text
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preparation. Registered worldwide subscribers: 1108. A version of
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InterText also appears on the Electronic Frontier Foundation Forum on
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CompuServe. Our next issue is scheduled for September 1, 1992. A
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PostScript version of this magazine, including PostScript art on the
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cover, is also available.
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For subscription requests, e-mail: intertxt@network.ucsd.edu
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->Back issues available via FTP at: network.ucsd.edu<-
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--------------------------------------------------------------------
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FirstText / JASON SNELL
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This issue of InterText is a milestone of sorts -- this marks the
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final time I'll be writing to you (and assembling this magazine) from
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San Diego, where I started this thing.
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I'm done with my undergraduate education at UC San Diego, and it's
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time to move on. But before I leave here, I thought I'd use this
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|
column to mention the names of a few people who have been involved
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with this magazine, and mention what they're up to now.
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|
The first issue's cover artist, Jeff Quan, left UCSD last year for
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|
a job at the Stockton Record newspaper. He is now the resident
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|
Macintosh Graphics Expert (and a staff illustrator, too) at the much
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larger Oakland Tribune newspaper. Jeff's been quite a success since
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|
his departure from San Diego; I can only hope that he's not the only
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one.
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|
The cover artist for the balance of our issues, Mel Marcelo,
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|
doesn't have a job lined up yet, but he has completed his work at
|
|
UCSD and will no doubt have a great job by the fall. Mel has also had
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|
graphics in just about every issue of U. -- The National College
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|
Newspaper this year, and will have a big graphic in U.'s summer
|
|
orientation issue, sent out to all the incoming college freshmen in
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the United States. (As a sidelight, a column by your humble editor is
|
|
also in there, and I will likely be a contributor to U. from
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Berkeley.)
|
|
One of our main contributors for the first three issues of
|
|
InterText was Greg Knauss, a person described by his "about the
|
|
author" blurb as being "loopy as a loon." (I might mention here that
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|
most "about the author" blurbs are written by the authors themselves
|
|
-- but I chose to write goofy little blurbs about Greg myself. He
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didn't appreciate it, I think.)
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|
Anyway, Greg graduated from UCSD last year and is now
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greg@duke.quotron.com -- yes, he's put his degree in Political
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|
Science (with an emphasis on Political Theory) to work as a
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|
programmer for Quotron, Inc., where he can be a Political Science
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|
major surrounded by Computer Science majors... Greg's still loopy as
|
|
a loon, but his new job has pretty much drained all of the time he
|
|
used to spend on hanging around my office, wasting time, and writing
|
|
goofy stories like the ones we printed in InterText.
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|
Philip Michaels, author of last issue's "Your Guide to High School
|
|
Hate," was recently elected as the 1992-93 opinion editor of The UCSD
|
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Guardian. I wish him the best luck in the coming year.
|
|
You will notice that the name of Phil Nolte, my sometime Assistant
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Editor, disappeared from our staff box last issue. Phil's large
|
|
workload and tenuous network connection makes it impossible for him
|
|
to do the volume of work that Geoff Duncan does for the magazine.
|
|
When Phil's workload eases or his computer link changes, we may see
|
|
him back to that position. As it is, I'm going to refer to him as a
|
|
"contributing editor," a venerated position in magazines, reserved
|
|
for only the most revered.
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Geoff Duncan, my Assistant Editor and a person who should be
|
|
credited with doing a vast amount of work on this magazine, has
|
|
wrapped up his year-long job at Oberlin College's computer lab and is
|
|
now hoping to hook on with a computer company located on the West
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|
Coast. (Gee, aren't most of them?) As a result, his electronic mail
|
|
address will disappear for awhile, though he can still be contacted
|
|
through me. Hopefully by next issue both Geoff and I will be
|
|
ensconced in our new locales, ready to go.
|
|
This issue is dated July-August 1992, so it may be a bit of a
|
|
mystery as to why it's coming out in mid-June. The answer is simple
|
|
-- it's an attempt by me (and I think it helps Geoff, too) to get
|
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InterText done before I move about 500 miles away from the nearest
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UCSD ethernet dial-up line. While I'll still be dialing in, uploading
|
|
the massive InterText files is a chore I'd rather not to from far
|
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away.
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Our next issue is very tentatively planned for September, though
|
|
unforeseen circumstances could put that off. I've yet to discover
|
|
what classes I'll be taking in the fall, or where I'll be living, or
|
|
just what kind of computer access I'll get at UC Berkeley. As a
|
|
result, we'll just have to play it all by ear. But one way or
|
|
another, you'll be seeing a Vol. 2, No. 5 of InterText come fall.
|
|
In two days, I'll pack all of the possessions that I've
|
|
accumulated over the past three years into a truck. The day after
|
|
that, I'll spend two hours in the sun, sitting through my graduation
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|
ceremony. And the day after that, I'll make the arduous 500-mile
|
|
drive northward, to home.
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|
It will be a drive through the high deserts of eastern Los Angeles
|
|
county, through fertile San Joaquin Valley farmland, cities like
|
|
Bakersfield and Fresno, and, eventually, to a tiny town nestled in
|
|
the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. The place where I
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grew up, far away from the place where I've made good friends, done a
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lot of work, grown quite a bit -- and started an interesting little
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computer magazine.
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No doubt things will change with you, too, between now and the
|
|
next time we meet. We'll be back here, electronically speaking, in a
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few months. Until then, I wish you well.
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--
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JASON SNELL has graduated Cum Laude and Phi Beta Kappa from the
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University of California, San Diego, with a B.A. in Communication and
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a minor in Literature/Writing. He will work as an intern at his
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hometown newspaper, the Union Democrat, this summer, and will attend
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UC Berkeley's Graduate School of Journalism beginning in August. He
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writes this biography blurb at the end of his column both to fill
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space and to allow readers to ignore these lapses into egotism.
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--------------------------------------------------------------------
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One Person's Junk... / WARREN ERNST
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"And this is the third time I've put in a request for more DNA. My
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sample will completely degenerate in less than a week!" Faye started
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|
to raise her voice as small droplets of saliva flew from her teeth
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|
and clung to her comm panel. "Just because I'm here doesn't mean that
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I have any less priority for raw materials than anyone else!"
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|
Her next sentence might have begun, "And another thing..." if her
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Hypno-Chip hadn't cut in and swept her away.
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|
"Sleep now..." it whispered into her auditory nerve, still
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|
monitoring her. Faye's adrenaline level and pulse rate were slightly
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|
below activation levels, but this time her brainwaves set the small
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silicon wafer off. "You're now feeling very comfortable, very warm,
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|
very safe, very relaxed. With every breath you can just feel yourself
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|
getting more and more relaxed, falling deeper and deeper into a
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|
soothing, relaxed state..."
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|
While orderlies quickly ushered themselves into Faye's room, the
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Hyp-Chip continued to soothe her. "While in this comfortable state,
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you find it easy to imagine yourself doing anything, anywhere you
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wish." The orderlies picked up Faye's limp body. "I want you to
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|
imagine yourself resting in a comfortable, wide hammock, strung
|
|
between two great oaks, on top of a rolling, green hill. As you look
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|
up, you can see the warm breeze shifting the branches above you,
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|
causing yellow rays of sunlight to shine down onto your face."
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|
"I wonder what got 'er that time?" asked one orderly gently to the
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other. "My money's on alpha waves. She was startin' to get steamed
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there."
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"Doesn't surprise me," said the other. "You've gotta be real
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|
uptight to get the Nobel at this age." He chuckled quietly, reaching
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|
as if to touch Faye intimately. They both knew that while she was
|
|
under hypnosis, they could shake her silly and she wouldn't "awaken,"
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|
but it was difficult to dispel the impression that Faye was simply
|
|
asleep. After all, the orderly thought, it looks like she was just
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napping.
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Faye relaxed on her hammock, smelling the delightful spring air.
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Baby birds chirped in a nest above her, singing, she could swear,
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"Row, Row, Row Your Boat."
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From someone very close by, she heard "Just above, you see that
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there are exactly 100 leaves." She could see them all. Of course, she
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|
thought, one hundred. "Now I want you to count them down, starting
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from 100, and as you count each leaf, you will feel ten times more
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relaxed than before, all the way down to one. Let's begin... 100...
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99..."
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Faye awoke gently, finding herself on a new bed, but one made up
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with her old sheets. The wallpaper seemed different too.
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I hadn't done any of the rooms with this, she thought. She slowly
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lifted herself off her bed and stepped to the window, throwing the
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switch from opaque to clear. She wanted to simply look out, and maybe
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see, oh, rolling hills and trees, maybe some birds too.
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Instead she saw the institution, its low, beige buildings
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sprawling every which way, with only a patch of grass here and there.
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More disquieting to Faye, however, were the bars.
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"What are bars doing here? Where am I? Phil!"
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She glanced about the room, and heard a scream come from
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somewhere. And another scream. Then in rushed an alarmed man wearing
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a white lab coat. Not her Philip, she thought, but he seemed very
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familiar. Doctor someone or other.
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|
He grasped her shoulders tightly.
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|
"Who am I?" he politely demanded.
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|
"Why, you're Doctor--" She searched for a name tag. Her eyes kept
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scanning him, settling on his lapel, "Ross?"
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"Damn," he muttered, running his fingers through his dark hair,
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|
"it did it again. Faye. I want you to listen very closely and very
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carefully. OK? Are you ready? 'Command: Umdez.' "
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"Your name is Faye Harrower, geneticist," he firmly said, removing
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the name tag. "You are being treated at The Methany Institute and
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recovering from a nervous breakdown you suffered seven months ago. My
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name is Dr. James Chandly." Dr. Chandly saw a glint of recognition in
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Faye's eyes, as if it were all coming back to her, and let out a deep
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breath. "Do you remember, Dr. Harrower?"
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"Doctor, I am trying to retain my composure as best I can," she
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|
said, "but that's the third time this week that Hyp-Chip decided to
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step out for lunch and leave me in limbo. For the third time in as
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many days I woke up thinking I was still home, but some colorblind
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idiot redecorated the place. And this is the third time I've
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impressed upon the project my need for more DNA. They haven't told
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you anything, have they?" she said, lightening her tone. "They must
|
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know by now how low... they must know... they..."
|
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Faye felt the stinging of tears against the insides of her eyes,
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|
and she blinked, hard. Cool down, she thought, get control. You don't
|
|
need to nap on the hammock again so soon. She took a deep breath,
|
|
letting the furrows on her brow smooth. A new angle of attack
|
|
occurred to her, and she said softly, "Didn't you say that working on
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the project was good for me, Dr. Chandly? Maybe -- maybe you could
|
|
say something for me? Maybe cut through some red tape?"
|
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"Well, I have thought about rattling some terminals for you; I
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|
think I could speed some things along. Let me see what I can do." He
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|
smiled warmly to her, and started to leave her room.
|
|
"And the chip," she asked, "can you do something about it? Get me
|
|
a new one, perhaps?" She scratched behind her ear, as if she might
|
|
affect it by touching the skin covering it.
|
|
Dr. Chandly looked thoughtful for a moment, leaning against the
|
|
door. His hand went for his chin, as if he was stroking the beard he
|
|
used to have. "I think you're ready for something a little less
|
|
heavy-handed. I'll have it reprogrammed tonight. It will let you
|
|
relax wherever you want for however long you want using your memories
|
|
as backdrop. This one won't leave you fuzzy afterward. All right?"
|
|
She nodded slightly, withholding a supreme feeling of
|
|
accomplishment behind her small smile. This is a real sign of
|
|
improvement, she thought, the first in a long time.
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"Oh, and one more thing, Dr. Harrower. You do know about Philip,
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don't you? You do remember what the situation is?"
|
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"What? Oh, yes. Did I call out for Mr. Harro-- um, him just now?"
|
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That bastard, that son of a bitch, she thought, trying to suppress a
|
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sudden trembling in the pit of her stomach. How could Phil, after 23,
|
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um, 22 years, up and do that to me? She sat down on her firm bed, her
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smile now noticeably gone. "Yes, I remember. Thank you, Doctor."
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Her door closed, and she heard it latch shut and lock. And she
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cried.
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Fresh DNA arrived from the Human Genome Mapping Project
|
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coordinator herself, or at least from her office. A long letter of
|
|
apology was transcribed for Faye, but as with all Faye's contact with
|
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the outside, it was screened and in this case, heavily edited. Faye
|
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never saw the point of this concerning messages of a technical or
|
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official nature, and it seemed to her that this note from the
|
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Coordinator was both.
|
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"CLAUDE," Faye asked in the direction of her computer, "are you
|
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sure you can't get the original text of this letter displayed?"
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CLAUDE, for its part, tried to requisition a copy of the original
|
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letter from COREY, Methany's central computer core, but COREY had the
|
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final word in these matters, and if the letter was for Faye, the word
|
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was "no."
|
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"Access denied, Doctor. It is not permissible for you to view the
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original letter, by order of Dr. Chandly and the rest of the staff.
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Would you like to see the edited version again?"
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"No, that's all right, CLAUDE." Faye grinned inwardly, glad that
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there was at least some recognition of her professional title once in
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a great while, even if only from a stupid computer. "It was only
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something like 'Sorry for the mix-up, blah-blah, I appreciate your
|
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contribution to the Project, blah-blah, I'm very happy that you can
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personally complete the Harrower Rung after all, blah-blah, Get well
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soon, blah-blah, Maybe something interesting will show up in your
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Rung, blah-blah, Sincerely, Janice Brooke, blah-blah-blah-blah.'"
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"To what letter are you referring?" asked CLAUDE, "There have been
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no letters that you have read which contained the expression 'blah-
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blah.' In fact, Dr. Chandly has never transcribed those words
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before."
|
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Such a bland computer, Faye thought, sighing. My personal model
|
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has much more personality, even had the makings of a sense of humor
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thanks to Phil... damn. I sure could use him -- CHIP, I mean. Phil
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can rot in Hell. "Never mind, CLAUDE. Are you up to getting back to
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the rung?"
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"We may continue sequencing your rung in twelve minutes, which is
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when the new genetic material will be fully immersed and the bare DNA
|
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liberated," CLAUDE reported. Somewhere in one of Methany's
|
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laboratories, technicians prepared the new batch for analysis,
|
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placing the pod cradling the genetic material into the scanning
|
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sequencer, which fed raw information into CLAUDE, which in turn fed
|
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filtered information to Faye. Or so CLAUDE informed Faye as it
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occurred.
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"All right, are we ready to go yet?" she asked fifteen minutes
|
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later. Faye always liked to keep herself busy, and here at Methany,
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these were the only two hours a day she could. Doctor's orders.
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"Yes, the matrix has assimilated properly," said CLAUDE. "We may
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proceed, Doctor."
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"Very good," sighed Faye. "Now where were we? Oh, at RungStart
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plus 410,211. CLAUDE, throw up visual display beta and start spinning
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the sequencer."
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And so work continued on Faye's section of the human genome, her
|
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"rung" it was called, as in the rung of a ladder. That's all the DNA
|
|
was, a molecules-thick ladder, except that in the human genome, the
|
|
ladder had three billion steps. Each "step" was a nucleotide base
|
|
pair, every three a codon, every 20 to 200 a gene, every several
|
|
thousand or so a genetic trait, and every million a Rung. Each
|
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geneticist on the Project was responsible for mapping out their Rung,
|
|
and after the 3000 Rungs were complete, presumably all there would be
|
|
to know about humanity's DNA would be known, all the codes decoded,
|
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all the mysteries solved.
|
|
Obviously entire chromosomes were cut to pieces, there only being
|
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42 of them in humans, but occasionally Rungs had within them the
|
|
whole code for something substantial. In her Rung, Faye found the
|
|
mechanism whereby hair loosens and falls out at a given length, the
|
|
procedure to make red blood cells, and all the code for a functional
|
|
sixth finger, although that one went very recessive maybe a hundred
|
|
thousand years ago. Sometimes the small tidbits of information like
|
|
these made the project seem interesting, worthwhile; it broke down
|
|
the tedium of having to sort through a million repetitive chemical
|
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bonds.
|
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"Okay," started Faye, "so that pair's a T, then an A, and then a G
|
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-- another Stop Codon. What's it look like to you, CLAUDE?"
|
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To CLAUDE, it resembled a Thymine-adenine pair, followed by an
|
|
Adenine-thymine, and a Guanine-cytosine after that. However, CLAUDE
|
|
could only be 99.4% certain of its interpretation of the data, hence
|
|
the reason for any human involvement in the project at all. Assuming
|
|
this codon was a T-A-G, then Faye's conclusion matched CLAUDE's; this
|
|
string of genetic code would, in fact, end here. "Yes, I concur,
|
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Doctor. This is a Stop Codon, ending the sequence of amino acids
|
|
producing phenzotase. The total number of base pairs in the sequence
|
|
is 624, beginning at RungStart plus 409,590 and--"
|
|
"Thank you, CLAUDE," Faye interrupted, "I'll ask you for the math
|
|
when I need it." She wondered why CLAUDE did that, kept such careful
|
|
track of irrelevant numbers and then reported them so earnestly.
|
|
Numbers have their place, she thought, and that's nowhere near me.
|
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"Okay, CLAUDE, start sequencing again, Display gamma, and stop
|
|
when you find an A-T-G." She leaned back in her chair and waited.
|
|
Generally, there was some noncoding intron, affectionately called
|
|
Junk DNA, between the chunks of active DNA that actually translated
|
|
into amino acids. The junk ended when a Start Codon, A-T-G, was
|
|
found. Junk DNA averaged 300 base pairs long, but one chain of junk
|
|
found in the Marshal Rung numbered more than 36,000.
|
|
After five minutes of reclining, Faye noticed the screen wink out,
|
|
though CLAUDE's "thinking" indicator light flashed furiously,
|
|
indicating a flurry of electronic activity. Well, this intron's a lot
|
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bigger than average, she thought.
|
|
After an hour of silent, though relaxed, pacing, Faye needed to
|
|
talk. "Ummmmmm, CLAUDE, still sorting through the junk, huh?"
|
|
CLAUDE's screen jumped to life, though still quite devoid of
|
|
information, and said, "That is correct Doctor. I have so far
|
|
sequenced 12,060 base pairs without finding a Start Codon.
|
|
Furthermore--"
|
|
"Wait just a minute, though. What are the odds you missed the
|
|
Codon entirely, and are now running through active code?"
|
|
"In my present mode," answered CLAUDE, "the likelihood of this
|
|
occurring is approximately 6,210,000 to one against." The "thinking"
|
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light blinked for a moment, then stopped, as CLAUDE awaited
|
|
instruction.
|
|
"All right, I can live with those odds. You can keep sequencing
|
|
through the night, can't you?" After all, she reasoned to herself, no
|
|
point in wasting tomorrow's allotment of work-therapy time just
|
|
sitting around checking over an endless line of junk.
|
|
This request was a new one for CLAUDE, but after consulting COREY
|
|
it said, "That would be possible, but I cannot accurately estimate a
|
|
time of completion."
|
|
"Just get to it, CLAUDE, and I'll get back to you tomorrow. Bye,"
|
|
she said, realizing that the day's interactive time was almost up.
|
|
"Oh, can you summarize what you've found about this junk so far, and
|
|
put it in some sort of chart or table, please?" Faye wondered why
|
|
she'd asked so politely. She knew CLAUDE would comply instantly
|
|
without complaining. Chalk it up to a lack of staff, she thought.
|
|
"Certainly, Doctor," CLAUDE said, displaying a summary on screen,
|
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"Goodnight."
|
|
But this is wrong, she thought, studying the screen. This couldn't
|
|
be; CLAUDE must have goofed something up. Where are all the C's in
|
|
this thing? Faye had already shut down CLAUDE for the day, so she was
|
|
left to figure the math herself in her head.
|
|
Overall, she thought, of the four base pair combinations A, T, G,
|
|
and C, nothing more advanced than bacteria uses much more of one than
|
|
another. In fact, after 22 Rungs, the level was something like 25
|
|
percent all around. And now here's this junk totally devoid of G's.
|
|
In fact, the A's and C's are impossibly low too, each less than 5%.
|
|
That leaves, oh my God, 90 percent T's. If CLAUDE is losing it, then
|
|
the Rung won't get done for days while it gets debugged. Unless the
|
|
sequencer is messed up.
|
|
Faye froze in mid-thought. Everything about her ground down to a
|
|
standstill, except for her pulse rate. "Sleep now..." she heard
|
|
softly. "As you enter this deeply relaxed state, you find that you
|
|
are feeling very safe, very warm, and very comfortable..." The Hyp-
|
|
Chip continued to weave its web as orderlies ran through their
|
|
routine, scooping Faye up gently, placing her on her bed, and quietly
|
|
slipping out the door. "In this state you can picture any scene and
|
|
see yourself doing anything you want, either familiar and from memory
|
|
or totally original..."
|
|
Faye passed through her laboratory and into her office in the Bio-
|
|
Engineering Department at UNYA, and the lights turned themselves on.
|
|
"Hi Faye. It's good to see you looking so well," declared CHIP, as
|
|
its screen lit up. "It's Saturday, June 20th. You have new mail, a
|
|
lot of it in fact, though most of it is garbage."
|
|
"Thanks, CHIP. I know, mail piles up after two weeks," Faye said.
|
|
She felt good, real good, and ready to dive into the Human Genome
|
|
Mapping Project again. She sat in her chair in front of CHIP, but it
|
|
felt a little too big for her now. Her smile grew bigger. "You really
|
|
think so, about me looking good?"
|
|
CHIP navigated through the system to Faye's electronic mailbox,
|
|
and responded, "Well, you know I don't have any feelings in the
|
|
matter per se, but, in terms of what you told me you wanted to have
|
|
done to yourself, all of the procedures appear successful. You look
|
|
like you've lost 40 pounds. The collegen and enzyme treatments have
|
|
rejuvenized your skin. Your hair is once again dark brown, thick, and
|
|
long. The repolymerizing of your tissue with the silca implants
|
|
appears very natural. In every respect you look twenty-five years
|
|
younger. Oh, by the way," CHIP added, "both your Polymer and
|
|
Reconstructive Surgeons e-mailed to say that your tissue samples are
|
|
all in the green, and that you can consider yourself completely
|
|
finished with treatment."
|
|
"Well, that is good news," Faye responded. "Do you know what I did
|
|
with the rest of the Nobel money? Wardrobe. Never had so much fun
|
|
shopping before. I bought everything: new skirts, new shorts, new
|
|
blouses, new slacks, of course new bras, and even new shoes, my sizes
|
|
have changed so much. Know what, CHIP? I even bought some lycra and a
|
|
knock 'em dead evening gown. I don't think anyone there would have
|
|
believed I'll be 57 next month."
|
|
"Mazeltov, Faye. And they say money can't buy happiness. Do you
|
|
want to read your mail now?"
|
|
"Okay, but just the important letters." Faye tried to get
|
|
comfortable in her chair, but, like everything else, it just didn't
|
|
fit her anymore. "Oh, can you requisition a new chair from the
|
|
University, something to handle a more svelte figure?"
|
|
"You got it. Here's the first relevant letter," announced CHIP,
|
|
displaying it to the screen. It was from a friend, but its tone was
|
|
all business and to the point. The gyne-genetic engineers could not
|
|
de-integrate Faye's DNA into new haploid eggs, and while in the
|
|
future the technology might exist to do so, Faye's menopause was, for
|
|
the time being, permanent.
|
|
She closed her eyes, exhaled deeply through her nose, and placed
|
|
her hand on her newly smoothed and flattened belly. Damn, she
|
|
thought, they were my last chance. Well, at least the rest of me is
|
|
young again. Look at the bright side: ha-ha, no more stained
|
|
underwear to worry about; my new panties are safe. Faye tried to stop
|
|
her grimacing, asking CHIP for the next letter, but a smile didn't
|
|
come easy.
|
|
The next several letters were personal, and Faye's newfound
|
|
enthusiasm didn't shine through at first, but by her fifth, she
|
|
seemed as elated as when she first sat down.
|
|
"This last letter is interdepartmental, from the head honcho
|
|
himself: Dr. Horner," said CHIP. "Want me to delete it?"
|
|
"No, better let me see what Jason has to say." More fluff, thought
|
|
Faye, a general morale booster, a new grad student Melinda someone-
|
|
or-other is our newest intern... oh wait, a little something
|
|
welcoming me back. At least it's nothing embarrassing. "It says here
|
|
that everyone else's rungs are getting sequenced pretty well. One of
|
|
them is even done."
|
|
"Yep, though despite your absence, you've decoded more than most
|
|
everyone," answered CHIP.
|
|
"That's because I enjoy it. And speaking of which, let's do a
|
|
little work on the Rung before I go home. I think Phil's in for a
|
|
surprise when he sees me now, a week ahead of time."
|
|
"I should say so, Faye. I'm firing up the sequencer now." Through
|
|
the door from the lab, a machine growled to life, revving up to
|
|
speed. "When you left we had come across some junk. It was sort of
|
|
long-ish, and these first 453 base pairs are really unusual."
|
|
"Oh yeah, all those C's and that pattern after it," remembered
|
|
Faye. "You make anything of it?"
|
|
"Yes, and you might find it interesting. That pattern after the
|
|
C's doesn't code for anything biological, but maybe for something
|
|
else. It's a set of prime numbers."
|
|
Inside herself miles away, Faye's Hyp-Chip, satisfied with its
|
|
patient's current status, released her from its trance. Faye fell
|
|
asleep without stirring.
|
|
|
|
Work continued on the Harrower Rung, after only a day's delay.
|
|
Both CLAUDE and the sequencer checked out fine, and after surveying a
|
|
section of the junk sequence personally, Faye felt that she wasn't
|
|
chasing down a mere mistake, but something unusual, something worth
|
|
studying further, an anomaly never before recorded in anyone else's
|
|
Rung.
|
|
CLAUDE found a Start Codon after about 107,000 base pairs, making
|
|
this the largest hunk of junk ever found, and that in itself
|
|
warranted a further study. The first 400 and last 500 base pairs were
|
|
all C's, something also never seen before.
|
|
"The likelihood of this occurring randomly is 1.6 x 10^120 to one
|
|
against," volunteered CLAUDE.
|
|
It's gotta be proud of itself when it does that, Faye thought;
|
|
there's no other reason for it. She smiled and let CLAUDE indulge
|
|
itself further, hoping the diversion would let a new hypothesis pop
|
|
into her head.
|
|
"And the sequence between these beginning and ending numbers of
|
|
Cytosine-guanine base pairs," continued CLAUDE, "is exactly 106,387
|
|
base pairs long, a Casidak number which--"
|
|
"What's that, a Casidak number? I've never heard that one before,"
|
|
piped Faye. She leaned forward in her chair as CLAUDE explained.
|
|
"A Casidak number is any number which factors into two and only
|
|
two different prime numbers other than itself and 1, the smallest of
|
|
which is 6, which factors into 3 and 2. In the case of 106,387, the
|
|
factors are 557 and 191."
|
|
CLAUDE droned on about other Casidaks, primitive positive roots of
|
|
Casidaks, and prime numbers in general. CLAUDE displayed the first
|
|
several base pairs of the 106,387, and something about the sequence
|
|
struck Faye as soon as CLAUDE said "Prime numbers are one of the few
|
|
abstract mathematical principles understood by most primitive
|
|
cultures."
|
|
"T-A-T-A-A-T-A-A-A-T-A-A-A-A-A-T-A-A-A-A-A-A-A, that doesn't code
|
|
for any useful amino acid chain," Faye mumbled, thinking aloud. "But,
|
|
oh my God, those right there are some prime numbers! A whole bunch of
|
|
them, right CLAUDE? Look at this set right here," she said raising
|
|
her voice in excitement and touching the screen, "there's 1 A, then
|
|
2, then 3, then 5, and then 7 A's, you see the pattern, don't you?"
|
|
"Yes, I do," CLAUDE replied. "The chance of this sequence randomly
|
|
occurring are approximately 2.6--"
|
|
"Fine, fine, fine, CLAUDE, I get the picture." Faye didn't want
|
|
any more huge numbers breaking her chain of thought. "There's a
|
|
greater chance of me getting run over by a hoverbus than this
|
|
happening completely by chance, apparently, okay, okay. Does this,
|
|
uh, pattern occur at any other point in the junk?"
|
|
CLAUDE's thinking light flashed as it surveyed the junk. "No,
|
|
Doctor, this is the only such arrangement in the junk sequence," it
|
|
answered. "And to what hoverbus are you referring?"
|
|
"Never mind about the hoverbus, CLAUDE. There is no hoverbus. I
|
|
wasn't talking to you anyway -- and don't ask me who I was talking
|
|
to, got it? Ok, how do you account for these--" How would I classify
|
|
this anyway? Faye thought. There's no set category for this kind of
|
|
code. "--unusual sections, the C's and the primes?"
|
|
"I am not capable of answering that question, Doctor, due to a
|
|
lack of data," CLAUDE answered mechanically, "however I can offer
|
|
some suggestions which you may conclude upon."
|
|
"All right. Fire away, CLAUDE."
|
|
Faye ambled around her room, brushing dust off her newly acquired
|
|
knick-knacks, while shooting down possible explanations much faster
|
|
than CLAUDE could send them her way. After about 20 suggestions, Faye
|
|
was glancing through her photo album.
|
|
"Recombinant obligate intracellular parasites?"
|
|
"A virus? That could account for the phenomenon, but not the
|
|
actual sequence. This stuff wouldn't code for anything useful to a
|
|
virus." She turned a page.
|
|
"Extreme missense mutation?"
|
|
"Nope. That might re-write a section of DNA, but the resulting
|
|
pattern would be just as random as the original." Faye smiled,
|
|
thinking of the story behind that photo of the stripper her co-
|
|
workers got for her surprise birthday party. God, was I over the hill
|
|
then, she thought, sighing.
|
|
"Errors in Okazaki Fragment placement from DNA ligase?"
|
|
"Possible for small repeating fragments, but certainly not for a
|
|
couple hundred C's or those primes. And besides, this sequence isn't
|
|
just in one human's sample; it's everyone's." Faye looked up from her
|
|
album, still remaining seated. "That's one of the reasons why the
|
|
Human Genome Mapping Project exists; the samples The Project
|
|
distributes are representative, a collection of DNA from tens of
|
|
thousands of people. Individual differences are a moot point. You're
|
|
talking about things that affect just an individual's DNA; not a
|
|
whole species', not all of mankind's."
|
|
"Any one of these conditions might have occurred some time ago,"
|
|
responded CLAUDE. "The older the genetic modification, the more
|
|
representative it would be today. It is a simple matter of inherited
|
|
traits, or in this case, genes."
|
|
"Can you break down the sample, CLAUDE, determine what percentage
|
|
of it has this junk?" Maybe we can see how far back this junk came to
|
|
be, she thought. Faye settled back down into her chair, slowly
|
|
turning pages.
|
|
CLAUDE stopped thinking, and declared "Almost 100 percent of the
|
|
sample possesses this sequence of junk, Doctor, indicating this junk
|
|
was present from the earliest times of mankind's development, most
|
|
likely in the first examples of Homo Sapiens."
|
|
Faye looked up, startled that CLAUDE would make such a sweeping
|
|
conclusion. Wait, she thought; statistically speaking, that would
|
|
have to be the case. "Humanity's last evolutionary jump," she said
|
|
softly, "was about 120,000 years ago, and apparently this junk was
|
|
along for the ride." As she pondered it, she asked, "Any more ideas
|
|
about how it got there?"
|
|
CLAUDE settled into its "suggesting how the junk got this way"
|
|
mode, and Faye settled back into her scrapbook.
|
|
"Histone contamination?"
|
|
"Couldn't make something this long, plus the changes would be in a
|
|
lot more places than just here in this junk." Faye found another
|
|
photo of a lab party, celebrating the completion of the department's
|
|
first Rung. It was a big occasion, and would bring the department
|
|
more prestige and funding that it had ever known. Everyone was there,
|
|
including families and support personnel. It was her unveiling too,
|
|
and heads turned as friends and colleagues recognized that stunning,
|
|
curvy brunette with Phil as Faye. And there in the background was
|
|
Jason, introducing Melinda to Phil. That asshole, Faye thought. Wait,
|
|
Melinda? Was this the first time they met? Jason introduced them? Why
|
|
I didn't figure it out until now?
|
|
"Genetic engineering?"
|
|
"What?"
|
|
"Genetic engineering. It is my last suggestion," said CLAUDE.
|
|
"But 120,000 years ago?" was all Faye remembered murmuring. Her
|
|
mind, for the moment, raced. Well Melinda is beautiful -- and young,
|
|
real youth... and blooming. Look at how she's looking at him! What
|
|
chance could I have had? she thought. Faye's eyes felt hot on the
|
|
insides, and her last thought was "Again?" as the Hyp-Chip kicked in
|
|
and brought her down.
|
|
"Sleep now..." the chip suggested, almost knowing Faye possessed
|
|
no real power to resist. It continued through its routine, "In this
|
|
state you can picture any scene and see yourself doing anything you
|
|
want, either familiar and from memory or totally original..."
|
|
|
|
"Hi CHIP," said Faye as she walked into her office, "how goes the
|
|
junk?"
|
|
"Good morning Faye. It's Monday, June 22nd," responded CHIP, "You
|
|
have new mail -- just a note from Dr. Horner, though. And I can't
|
|
wait to talk to you about the junk."
|
|
"Yes you can, CHIP," said Faye, not missing a beat, "for just long
|
|
enough to tell me what Jason wants."
|
|
"Oh, all right. He just wants you stop by his office sometime
|
|
before lunch. Can I delete the message now?" CHIP sure seems, well,
|
|
chipper today, Faye thought.
|
|
"Fine, fine, go ahead. Now, what about the junk?"
|
|
"Well first of all, I sorted through all the junk, and that took
|
|
almost all day yesterday. Total number of base pairs before the next
|
|
active sequence of DNA: 107,287."
|
|
"That's huge," interrupted Faye.
|
|
"The biggest section of junk yet found, in fact. Remember those
|
|
400 C's at the beginning? Well, there are 500 more at the end,
|
|
leaving 106,387 in between. That's a Casidak number you know."
|
|
"Actually, I didn't," she said, repositioning her bra straps. I
|
|
wish someone told me they would dig in more with the extra weight and
|
|
all, Faye thought. She hoped it was just a matter of getting used to.
|
|
"Should I?"
|
|
"Well, they're kind of obscure; I doubt a geneticist would have
|
|
ever heard of them, though some astrophysicists are really big on
|
|
them. Basically, it's a really big number that only divides into two
|
|
big primes. So far so good?" asked CHIP.
|
|
"You haven't lost me yet."
|
|
"Excellent. Now, some astrophysicists, who observe other stars in
|
|
their search for intelligent life, think that the first messages
|
|
Earth will get will involve Casidaks. Here's why: astrophysicists
|
|
assume that aliens would want to keep the message simple and easily
|
|
decoded, without references to language, so they would send a
|
|
picture." CHIP's screen cleared and formed a rectangle, with an "x"
|
|
on a horizontal side and a "y" on a vertical. "So say you receive a
|
|
message with a Casidak number of 0's and 1's, which is also easy to
|
|
send across space, by the way; you can lay the whole sequence into a
|
|
grid with x columns and y rows of 0's and 1's, just like filling up a
|
|
sheet of graph paper. The 0's make up the background and the 1's make
|
|
up the lines the picture is drawn with"
|
|
"Does this have a point?" Faye asked, wondering where this would
|
|
lead.
|
|
"Sure it does," answered CHIP. "Between those C's are a Casidak
|
|
number of T's and A's. Those primes just after the C's are what made
|
|
COLLIN, the Physics Department's computer, wonder what running it
|
|
though a Casidak Square might produce."
|
|
"Wait, you chat with other computers at night?"
|
|
"Just to keep busy. I don't chat about anything secret," CHIP
|
|
said. Almost sheepishly, Faye thought. "But the point is COLLIN hit
|
|
something. The resulting Casidak Square was 557 by 191 dots, and
|
|
believe it or not, what I think is a picture resulted. Here it is."
|
|
CHIP's screen displayed the "drawing" encoded within the junk of
|
|
her rung. The coarse resolution and lack of color looked out of place
|
|
on CHIP's normally vibrant and animated display; the picture itself
|
|
looked as if a someone had drawn figures on a sheet of printer paper
|
|
with a thick crayon. Human figures, albeit stick figures, were
|
|
definitely present. Along with some other, less readily identifiable
|
|
ones.
|
|
"This is the real McCoy, no BS?" Faye questioned. "I still
|
|
remember when you--"
|
|
"Not this time, Faye. Here's the numbers, you can see the
|
|
corroboration yourself. See?" CHIP displayed a chart.
|
|
"Well, these numbers look all right, I suppose."
|
|
OK, let me work this out, she thought, displaying the picture
|
|
again. That looks like a stooped-over man, like a weird hunchback
|
|
with long arms, and there's an arrow pointing from it to this tall
|
|
stick-figure man. And from that line, there's another arrow pointing
|
|
to, whoa, what looks like an octopus? And what about this line here?
|
|
Hours later, Faye had a printout of the picture on Jason's desk,
|
|
and interpreted it.
|
|
"Now let me get this straight," said Dr. Jason Horner. A little
|
|
too loud for comfort, thought Faye. "You think this picture does the
|
|
following: one, establishes a base ten counting system based on this
|
|
character's fingers." He pointed to the upright stick figure. "Two,
|
|
that this hunched-over character with the big forehead and thick arms
|
|
is an early human, Homo Erectus." He pointed to the hunchback figure.
|
|
"Three, that this octopus thing had something to do with the change
|
|
of this hunched-over thing to this tall thing." His hand swept all
|
|
over the paper. "Four, that this octopus thing comes from a star in
|
|
this constellation, as seen from Earth." He pointed to a set of dots
|
|
bearing a strong resemblance to Virgo. "Five, and that now someone
|
|
should go to someplace that you and your computer say is off the Baja
|
|
Californian coast and do something." Jason pointed to what looked
|
|
like a map of the western coast of the Americas. "And six, that doing
|
|
this will contact these octopus creatures or something?"
|
|
Faye had no idea that it sounded so stupid in context, but CHIP
|
|
and she, with the help of COLLIN, had spent hours reasoning it out.
|
|
She stood her ground. "It could be. I was planning on letting the
|
|
astrophysicists across campus play with it. They've been looking for
|
|
this kind of thing for decades. Let them be the judges."
|
|
"No way," Jason proclaimed, getting louder. "You may be on a hot
|
|
streak, Mrs. Nobel Prize winner, but these sort of sensational
|
|
conclusions can only make trouble for this department. Remember the
|
|
University of Utah and their cold fusion claims, or UC San Diego's
|
|
aquatic mammalian communication 'breakthroughs?' They lost all their
|
|
academic credibility and respect after those fiascos." Jason began to
|
|
pace around his office. "This department has just completed its first
|
|
Rung for the Human Genome Mapping Project, with more on the way, and
|
|
one of our staff, namely you, is a recent Nobel Prize winner. To
|
|
throw all this prestige away by letting this 'alien picture' thing
|
|
leave this office is academic, scientific, and financial suicide, and
|
|
that's final."
|
|
I might not have had any problems with Jason before, thought Faye,
|
|
but I can see why CHIP thinks about him the way it does. "That's
|
|
right, I am Mrs. Nobel Prize winner," said Faye, raising her voice
|
|
more than she had in a long time, "and I think that qualifies me to
|
|
judge what is scientifically legitimate and what isn't!" Faye slammed
|
|
the door on her way out.
|
|
"You have new mail," said CHIP, "interdepartmental in nature."
|
|
"Let me see it already. It's about the damn Rung Completion party
|
|
isn't it?"
|
|
"Dr. Horner shot down the picture theory, didn't he?" CHIP asked,
|
|
knowingly.
|
|
"It's more than that," stammered Faye. "He's got dollar signs in
|
|
his eyes and he thinks that he can push me around, that he can keep
|
|
this theory under wraps indefinitely."
|
|
"What are you going to do?"
|
|
"Well, the party is tomorrow night, so I can talk with some
|
|
people, important and otherwise. Maybe Phil would have an idea."
|
|
"And to totally change the subject, was Phil surprised to see
|
|
you?" questioned CHIP.
|
|
"Yeah, he was surprised, but not all that happy, I thought."
|
|
Faye's voice lost the edge it had very recently acquired. "But that's
|
|
not important now. I'm going home to cool off."
|
|
Faye returned to the labs the next night, wrapped in her evening
|
|
gown, ready to schmooze and lobby. Phil knew what he was talking
|
|
about, Faye thought. Hours into the gathering, Jason approached Faye
|
|
and Phil with Melinda, and leaving Melinda with Phil, Jason invited
|
|
Faye into his office in order to speak privately.
|
|
"I've been chatting with colleagues all night, Doctor Horner,"
|
|
Faye said coldly, "and I think I have a strong enough leg to stand on
|
|
to push this picture business through."
|
|
"Faye," Jason said smiling, "I've changed my mind. You're right, I
|
|
think maybe you should shuttle it across campus, and see what they
|
|
come up with."
|
|
"Wait, what's the catch?" she questioned.
|
|
"No catch, I've just had a change of heart. I consider you a
|
|
valuable asset to this department, and therefore, your opinions are
|
|
valuable to me as well." He poured two glasses of champagne, offering
|
|
one to Faye. "But let's just keep it on campus, all right?"
|
|
She eyed the extended glass for a moment, and accepted it, taking
|
|
a sip.
|
|
Faye felt funny as she slumped into one of Jason's chairs. Her
|
|
senses suddenly numbed and she started shaking uncontrollably.
|
|
She saw Jason smile smugly as he poured his glass into a potted
|
|
plant and turned toward his computer.
|
|
"CORBIN," he said, "I need to access to Dr. Harrower's files and
|
|
notes. Copy them all to my location, deleting her originals,
|
|
administrative clearance level sonza. I'll modify them later."
|
|
Faye tried to move, struggled to yell, fought to stop shaking, but
|
|
she could not do anything.
|
|
"Now compose a letter to Janice Brooke, Coordinator of the Human
|
|
Genome Mapping Project, something to the effect that unfortunately,
|
|
due to a sudden mental or nervous breakdown probably resulting from
|
|
extreme personal stress following dramatic physical reconstruction,
|
|
Dr. Harrower will be unable to finish sequencing the last, oh," he
|
|
calculated a number which would exclude the recently discovered junk,
|
|
"700,000 base pairs. Please reassign the Harrower Rung, et cetera.
|
|
You clean it up, CORBIN."
|
|
Jason turned to Faye, and said "What you've just drunk contains a
|
|
little bug I whipped up yesterday, which is even now reacting with
|
|
the trace anti-aging proteins still in your bloodstream, which will
|
|
block all of this alien visitation nonsense from your memory once and
|
|
for all." Jason grinned hard, looking Faye right in her trembling
|
|
face. Unfortunately, the process will in all likelihood unbalance you
|
|
mentally, but a good institute should be able to help you along.
|
|
And," he added, "I think Melinda will be able to ease Phil's loss.
|
|
She's quite the temptress; an effective tool, I've found."
|
|
Faye's Hyp-Chip had never sensed everything it monitored jump into
|
|
the red so suddenly. As if by reflex, it totally shut Faye down, and
|
|
she slammed into sleep.
|
|
|
|
The charter boat Santa Maria bobbed gently in the Pacific,
|
|
swinging Faye's hammock. Despite the cooling effect of the setting
|
|
sun, she didn't shiver in her bikini.
|
|
"Sweet," she whispered, nuzzling Juan's ear, "I have to get up now
|
|
and check the asgal device."
|
|
He turned slightly, allowing her to roll off onto the deck with
|
|
both feet. "Si." She pulled part of her suit up from her ankles and
|
|
went below.
|
|
The device registered the magnetron waves stronger than ever
|
|
before, winking softly. She stepped to the uplink board, and the
|
|
satellite pinpointed them to the fifth decimal place off the coast of
|
|
Baja California.
|
|
It matches, she thought, putting her copy of the Casidak Square
|
|
CLAUDE printed out back into her tote. There really is something to
|
|
this map after all.
|
|
As she put the sheet away, her tote tipped, spilling some of her
|
|
papers. No biggie, she thought, casually scooping them up. I'll have
|
|
to frame these someday, she thought as she held Methany's release
|
|
forms. She glanced at the charred remains of Phil and Melinda's
|
|
wedding announcement in the ashtray on the console, noting that it
|
|
burned differently than Phil's divorce papers and his pathetic,
|
|
whining letters, and chuckled. And those too, she thought as she went
|
|
topside, loosening her bikini again.
|
|
"Phil," she said looking at Juan, "eat your heart out."
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
WARREN ERNST (wernst@ucsd.edu) graduated from the University of
|
|
California, San Diego on June 14, 1992 with a B.A. in Political
|
|
Science. He now plans to look for some sort of gainful employment.
|
|
Warren wrote this story, originally titled "Unsoccessive Sequential
|
|
Events," for a class in science writing. Warren is a friend of famed
|
|
InterText writer/loon Greg Knauss. According to Greg, there are a few
|
|
things in this world which have weathered the ages: the pyramids,
|
|
Stonehenge, and Warren's hairstyle.
|
|
--------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
Was / KEN ZUROSKI
|
|
|
|
When I first saw her, she was walking through the park on a warm
|
|
summer day. She was wearing a long dress and a small piece of
|
|
multicolored twine around her wrist as a bracelet. I was alone,
|
|
watching people in the crowd. She was surrounded by her friends and
|
|
didn't notice me.
|
|
Half a year passed; we were introduced through a friend of a
|
|
friend. Then one night as I was working late, the phone rang. I
|
|
picked it up and it was her, asking me to dinner in a wobbly voice.
|
|
"You know," I said, "I think I'm going to take you up on that."
|
|
Over dinner, she told me that she didn't believe in God and that
|
|
her favorite singer was Dylan. She had been in a terrible motorcycle
|
|
accident when she was young, and now she didn't drive. She was
|
|
studying to be a biomedical engineer. Also, her Walkman headphones
|
|
weren't working and did I think I could fix them? I told her to bring
|
|
them by tomorrow and I'd have a look.
|
|
I grew accustomed to waking with her body next to mine. She would
|
|
always entwine herself about me, her head on my chest. Late at night,
|
|
I would lie motionless, listening to the sound of her beating heart;
|
|
somehow I was reassured.
|
|
"Who will love me when I'm old and bald?" I asked rhetorically,
|
|
one day, gazing grimly into a mirror at my receding hairline.
|
|
I felt a kiss on the back of my head. "It's good luck to kiss your
|
|
lover's bald spot," she said, laughing. And, after a moment, I
|
|
laughed too.
|
|
At a bar one time, I sat on a stool, fidgeting nervously and
|
|
watching as she, with sublime nonchalance, beat an astonished
|
|
steelworker at a game of pool: one ball after another vanishing into
|
|
the pockets in rapid succession, the challenger standing there
|
|
furious, his swagger evaporated, his pride depleted.
|
|
We visited some friends who owned a cabin in the mountains. The
|
|
hour was late, but she was anxious to begin the return trip; she had
|
|
an exam to study for the next day. I was tired and wanted to sleep,
|
|
but we climbed into my truck, pulled onto the highway, and headed for
|
|
home.
|
|
She fell asleep immediately, her head in my lap. I drove alone
|
|
through the empty country roads. The panel-lights glowed yellow-
|
|
green; outside the truck, all was darkness.
|
|
I grew tired. I could barely hold my head aright. The truck was
|
|
swerving and the lines on the highway blurred; I had to pull over to
|
|
sleep. I switched the engine off, and the night was very still. I lay
|
|
my head back and closed my eyes.
|
|
She stirred, and I felt a kiss on my knee. "Someone cares," I
|
|
heard her sleepy voice say.
|
|
I peered up into the sky. Overhead, the stars blazed furiously --
|
|
hundreds, thousands, billions. "I care, Sue, very much," I said, and
|
|
stroked her hair; but she was already asleep.
|
|
Then one day she came to me -- it doesn't really matter where. She
|
|
hesitated for a moment, and then said uncertainly: "I don't feel the
|
|
same way I used to."
|
|
I stared for a while at the tabletop, then at the floor. Then I
|
|
stormed from the room, slamming the door open with the flat of my
|
|
hand. I strode away with giant, prideful steps. I heard her call my
|
|
name, but I didn't look back.
|
|
We had one or two more telephone conversations after that. Toward
|
|
the end of the last, she began to cry. I was astonished. I said: "Why
|
|
are you crying?"
|
|
"Because I love you," she wailed.
|
|
"If we love each other," I said, "then we can work it out." But
|
|
she hung up a moment later.
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
KEN ZUROSKI (kz08+@andrew.cmu.edu) is currently completing the
|
|
requirements for a Ph.D. in Rhetoric at Carnegie Mellon, where he is
|
|
studying the "folk psychologies" of graphic designers. He steals time
|
|
from his thesis to write works of lugubrious fiction.
|
|
--------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
Glow / BRIAN TANAKA
|
|
|
|
Annabella stepped forth into the twilight. Five years old.
|
|
Curiosity on two skinny legs.
|
|
Her home was a trailer propped uncertainly on cinder blocks in a
|
|
backwater town. At the edge of a backwater town. And in the dark
|
|
interior of the trailer her father was passed out. Drunk. Lost in a
|
|
boozy nightmare. Inert at the folding kitchen table. Forehead pressed
|
|
to the flaky, plastic, simulated wood grain.
|
|
And Annabella stepped forth into the twilight.
|
|
There were no other kids for company. No playgrounds nearby. Just
|
|
a burnt-out warehouse, and a public garbage dump. She followed the
|
|
gravel road up to the chain-link fence that surrounded the dump. The
|
|
heavy stench from the heap, a smell so familiar to Annabella, was
|
|
being pushed off away from her by a choppy breeze. She put her
|
|
fingers up to the fence and walked slowly beside it; feeling her hand
|
|
vibrate as it skimmed the links. A raccoon crawling out of the dump
|
|
through a hole under the fence heard her coming and froze halfway out
|
|
of the hole. Of the two, Annabella was the least startled, but she
|
|
watched warily as the creature considered her, then jogged off into
|
|
the low, leafy brush.
|
|
The hole under the fence was new and small. The kind of rut a
|
|
raccoon would make. Or a dog, or a rabbit. The beige earth was dug
|
|
away to form a U-shaped trough under the links, and the bottom of the
|
|
fence was bent up and away to make a larger passage.
|
|
The evening was cold, and growing colder as it dipped into night.
|
|
Annabella folded her arms across her body. She considered the hole,
|
|
and continued on along the fence. But it wasn't long before she
|
|
turned back and returned to the hole.
|
|
She gathered her skirt before her and crawled into the passage.
|
|
Her head passed through easily, but her shoulders were just a bit too
|
|
wide. She began pushing with her legs. Pushing. Pushing. At last she
|
|
came free and emerged fully from the passage, crawling on her hands
|
|
and knees.
|
|
The dump was a great, dark desert of garbage, with rolling dunes
|
|
of used diapers, newspapers, washing machines, and rotting table
|
|
scraps. Annabella climbed over the nearest dune. And the one after
|
|
that. And in the descending darkness, from the crest of a stinking
|
|
dune, she looked down into a ravine of refuse whose dark shadows were
|
|
but a stage for a glow. Some slab of phosphorescent, fluorescent,
|
|
green garbage. Some toxic waste tossed over the fence by disposal
|
|
workers too lazy to drive the last five miles to the official toxic
|
|
dump site for one measly slab of deadly whatever-it-is was glowing
|
|
down there. Beckoning.
|
|
Annabella half-climbed, half-tumbled down the hill to the glow. It
|
|
drew her to itself, charming her with its steady, light. Trailer park
|
|
Annabella. Drunk daddy Annabella. Dark world dwelling, brown-eyed
|
|
Annabella. Turned on by the radioactive slab. Entranced by the magic
|
|
in the night. She kneeled by the glow and studied it intently.
|
|
Breaking free of her silent reverence, she giggled at the thought of
|
|
a thing of such unearthly beauty somehow being abandoned in a garbage
|
|
dump. Tenderly, she picked it up. And carefully, she stole back over
|
|
the dunes.
|
|
|
|
--------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
Rufus Won't Wake Up / BRIAN TANAKA
|
|
|
|
The sight before the first officers on the scene was undoubtedly
|
|
the most bizarre thing they had ever seen. A child's toy, a "Big
|
|
Wheel" plastic tricycle, lay cradled in the front seat of a Mercedes
|
|
Benz amongst the shards of remains of the shattered windshield it had
|
|
burst through. The front wheel was lodged firmly in the vicinity of
|
|
what should have been the jaw of the shattered skull of one Ned
|
|
Dirkheim, sole occupant of the vehicle. As if this were not enough, a
|
|
trail of blood, apparently left by the fleeing assailant, described a
|
|
path from the site of impact, across the hood, through the parking
|
|
lot, and out into the muggy night, signifying the impossible -- or at
|
|
least the highly improbable: Someone had ridden that tricycle through
|
|
the windshield, and walked away.
|
|
|
|
"Where is he?"
|
|
"He's always late."
|
|
Ned Dirkheim, his face lined with deep furrows, looked at his
|
|
watch for the fourth time in as many minutes. "Where is he?" he asked
|
|
again.
|
|
Mark didn't feel he needed to answer. Instead he dropped his
|
|
cigarette to the marble floor and crushed it with his foot.
|
|
"We ought to leave without him," Ned said, scowling. "That would
|
|
teach him."
|
|
"Take it easy, Ned. He's always late. You know that."
|
|
Ned fidgeted with his car keys.
|
|
Mark continued, "Well, don't you? You should by now."
|
|
"Yeah, yeah."
|
|
"Well, if you don't want him in our carpool..."
|
|
"I know. Just tell him. I know. I just might do that."
|
|
"You've been saying that for the last..."
|
|
"I know! The last eight years." He regained a bit of composure and
|
|
said, "I'm tired and I want to get home."
|
|
Mark just laughed. He was about to light another cigarette when he
|
|
saw Douglas get out of an elevator on the far bank of the lobby.
|
|
"It's about time," Ned muttered to Mark. He turned and started
|
|
toward the parking lot before Douglas could join them.
|
|
"What's up with him?" said Douglas, motioning toward the rapidly
|
|
disappearing Ned.
|
|
Mark laughed and said, sarcastically, "Douglas, I'm surprised at
|
|
you. Don't you know you shouldn't keep the Junior Vice President of
|
|
Dayton Realty waiting?"
|
|
"Jesus. I forgot my briefcase, so I had to go all the way back up
|
|
to..."
|
|
"Save it. Save it. I don't give a damn. Ned's just a little high-
|
|
strung these days."
|
|
They caught up with Ned at his Mercedes Benz and he let them in
|
|
without a word. They rolled out of the parking complex and Ned
|
|
barreled out onto the Hollywood freeway. He pulled into the first
|
|
lane and joined the thousands of other commuters bumper to bumper on
|
|
their long, slow voyage to their suburban homes. The traffic crawled,
|
|
threatening always to come to a complete halt, like a steel river on
|
|
a concrete bed, flowing and snaking into the smoggy, brown horizon.
|
|
It was nearly an hour later when they crept off the Hollywood and
|
|
onto the Ventura freeway. Ned took the Woodman street exit and
|
|
dropped off Douglas in front of his home.
|
|
"Goodnight, Mark. Goodnight, Ned," Douglas said.
|
|
"Yeah, see ya' tomorrow, Doug," said Mark. They both glanced at
|
|
Ned staring out of the windshield, but he said nothing.
|
|
The car roared off, back to the freeway, and out again into the
|
|
Los Angeles twilight.
|
|
"If you don't mind me saying so, I think you should try to unwind
|
|
a little," Mark said.
|
|
"Well, I do mind."
|
|
Mark decided it was not worth the effort to talk to Ned. He lit a
|
|
cigarette and sat back to enjoy the ride.
|
|
A car passed them, swerved in front of them, cut into another lane
|
|
and sped ahead.
|
|
"Damned kids!" Ned bellowed. He gripped the steering wheel
|
|
tightly, and fear raced through him. "I swear to you, I'm never
|
|
having kids as long as I live! They just grow up to be maniac
|
|
teenagers."
|
|
"All right, Ned. All right. Calm down. Watch the road. Just get us
|
|
home. Look, if the freeway is getting you so wound up, why don't we
|
|
just get off at the next off ramp, instead of the one we usually use,
|
|
and take surface streets to my house. We're nearly there anyway."
|
|
"What the hell." He turned down the off-ramp, and onto a wide
|
|
boulevard.
|
|
"Slow down a little," Mark said.
|
|
"Just leave the driving to me," he said, violently snapping on the
|
|
headlights and swerving onto a side street.
|
|
Suddenly a thump sounded in the car and a small white shape flew
|
|
up in front of the windshield.
|
|
"What the fuck was that?" asked Mark.
|
|
Ned slammed on the brakes and the car came to a lurching halt.
|
|
Both men looked back down the street. Ned felt dizzy as he recognized
|
|
the lifeless shape in the street. It was a dog. A very dead dog.
|
|
"Let's get out of here," he rasped, his throat tight with
|
|
revulsion.
|
|
"But, Ned, shit. That's someone's dog."
|
|
"I don't give a shit. It's not my fault some..."
|
|
"Look!"
|
|
A small boy had walked up to the dog. He pushed it a few times
|
|
with his sneakered foot, and turned to face the car. Ned felt a
|
|
strange bolt of energy race up his spine. For a moment, the child
|
|
seemed larger than he should have been, his eyes more penetrating
|
|
than they should have been. Ned felt a clammy panic embrace his heart
|
|
-- the boy seemed to loom over the car, towering there in the
|
|
suburban street. He felt the child's gaze burst through his very soul
|
|
like a buzz saw through butter.
|
|
The sound of the passenger door opening brought him back to his
|
|
senses.
|
|
"Get back in here, dammit, Mark!" he said.
|
|
Mark turned to him and said, "Are you kidding me? That dog belongs
|
|
to that kid. We better talk to him. And you should probably make some
|
|
sort of arrangement for compensation with his parents."
|
|
Ned was feeling more like himself now. He glanced into the rear-
|
|
view mirror. Yes, the small child was merely a small child.
|
|
Apparently, he had gone through a momentary delusion -- probably from
|
|
the stress of the incident. That child, he thought, is too young to
|
|
think of taking my license plate number; I could drive off and no one
|
|
would know.
|
|
"Well, aren't you going to get out?" Mark said.
|
|
"No. No, I'm not going to," Ned said, "Let me take you home first
|
|
-- it's only a few blocks away -- and then I'll come back. No use
|
|
both of us being home late just because of some stupid dog." He put
|
|
the car in gear and drove to Mark's house.
|
|
"Well, Ned. Good luck with the kid and his dog. I hope his parents
|
|
don't give you too much hell."
|
|
Ned chuckled. "Oh, they won't."
|
|
"What makes you so sure?"
|
|
Ned just chuckled again.
|
|
"Look, Ned. This is the first time you've laughed all night.
|
|
You're making me nervous. You are going back to the kid, aren't you?"
|
|
"Oh, Christ, Mark, why the hell should I? It's just some stupid
|
|
dog. The kid'll get over it in no time. Next week he'll have some new
|
|
toy and he won't even remember he had a dog." Mark didn't look
|
|
convinced. "Just forget about it, Mark. You can bet I'm going to.
|
|
Hell, I honestly couldn't even tell you exactly where it happened."
|
|
"Forget about it? How could I forget? That kid was standing there
|
|
staring at us."
|
|
"Look. To tell you the truth, I don't really give a shit."
|
|
Mark had trouble hiding his contempt and said, "I don't think I'll
|
|
need a ride in tomorrow. I'll take the bus." He slammed the door.
|
|
Ned drove back to the freeway. Of course, I did the right thing,
|
|
he told himself. I'm a busy man. I don't have time for some brat's
|
|
tragedy. God knows no one had time for mine when I was a boy.
|
|
Under the freeway overpass he paused for a red light. He noticed
|
|
some graffiti scrawled across the concrete wall. Damned kids, writing
|
|
on the walls, he thought. He read aloud: "Rufus won't wake up." Must
|
|
be the name of some new rock group.
|
|
The light changed and he slid back onto the freeway. Soon he was
|
|
near his home. He had almost put the incident with the dog out of his
|
|
mind, and to completely eradicate it he decided to pull into his
|
|
favorite neighborhood bar. He parked the car in the lot, got out, and
|
|
locked his door. He noticed a tuft of fur caught in the chrome around
|
|
the headlight and stopped to pull it out. There was more caught in
|
|
the center of the grillwork, and he methodically pulled it all out.
|
|
Amid the gore and fur was a dog tag. He read it and his initial fear
|
|
rose up again in him. It said:
|
|
"Rufus"
|
|
1314 Kilgore Lane
|
|
555-6345
|
|
In his mind's eye he saw the graffiti under the freeway: Rufus
|
|
won't wake up. It must be pure coincidence, he told himself. He
|
|
looked down at the tag. His hand was trembling. He tossed the tag
|
|
into a nearby hedge and headed into the bar. Stupid kid, he thought.
|
|
Stupid dog.
|
|
"Hello, Mr. Dirkheim. Good to see ya'. Come on in and make
|
|
yourself comfortable," Nick the bartender said upon spotting Ned.
|
|
"Hello, Nick."
|
|
"Say, you look a little shook up. Everything all right?"
|
|
"Gimme a bourbon, Nick. And make it snappy."
|
|
"Comin' right up." He poured a glass.
|
|
Ned promptly tossed it down. Jesus, he thought, I've got to pull
|
|
myself together. He walked to the men's room and stepped inside.
|
|
There in the brilliant florescent glare he saw, amongst the other
|
|
graffiti, the last phrase in the world he wanted to see: Rufus won't
|
|
wake up.
|
|
He stood stunned for a few moments, then rushed to the sink and
|
|
soaked a paper towel in the lukewarm water. With determination he
|
|
scrubbed at the scrawl on the wall. He noticed with horrified
|
|
fascination that it was written in a child's hand. He scrubbed
|
|
furiously but the words would not be removed.
|
|
Suddenly, the sound of barking from the bar grabbed his attention.
|
|
He tossed the towel in the garbage and hurled himself through the
|
|
door. A few people at the bar were laughing uproariously, and Nick
|
|
was wiping down the far end of the bar, but no dog could be seen.
|
|
Ned strode up to Nick and said, "Is there a dog in here?"
|
|
"What?"
|
|
"A dog. Is there a dog in here?"
|
|
"You know I wouldn't let a dog in my bar, Mr. Dirkheim."
|
|
"Did you hear a dog just now?"
|
|
"No, sir."
|
|
Ned sat himself down on a stool. "Say, Nick, give me another."
|
|
Nick did, and then returned to wiping down the counter.
|
|
"Funny you should mention dogs, Mr. Dirkheim."
|
|
Ned lifted his glass to his mouth. "Why's that?"
|
|
"Well, there's all this dog hair on my bar. I can't get it off, it
|
|
seems like..."
|
|
Ned spilled his drink, coughed and sputtered.
|
|
"It wasn't my fault!" he blurted out. "The damned thing ran right
|
|
out into the street!"
|
|
"What the hell are you talking about? Keep it down!"
|
|
The knot of people at the other end of the bar laughed riotously
|
|
again, but to Ned the laughter sounded like a pack of dogs barking.
|
|
That this explained the barking he had heard in the men's room calmed
|
|
him not at all. He jumped off his stool, tossed a wad of dollar bills
|
|
on the bar, and dashed out the door.
|
|
Just outside he slipped and fell. He jumped back to his feet. To
|
|
his great dismay, he saw that he had skidded on a pile of canine
|
|
dung. He spun on his heels and headed in a dash for the car. Someone
|
|
had carved into the paint on the hood with something sharp. It said:
|
|
Rufus won't wake up.
|
|
Ned gasped. He fished his keys out of his pocket and fumbled with
|
|
them, dropping them to the asphalt. He retrieved them and unlocked
|
|
the door. Once seated, with the doors closed and locked, he picked up
|
|
his car phone and dialed Mark.
|
|
"Hello."
|
|
"Hello, Mary Ann? Is Mark around?"
|
|
"Why, yes. He's here. Hold on a moment."
|
|
Ned held on. It seemed much longer than a moment. The seconds
|
|
ticked by. They felt like minutes, hours, days. He began to wonder if
|
|
they had been cut off. He pushed down the automatic door lock button
|
|
again and glanced out the side window. He was horrified, but not
|
|
entirely surprised, to see scrawled across the front wall of the bar
|
|
in five foot letters: Rufus won't wake up.
|
|
He felt his bowels convulse involuntarily. Come on... Come on...
|
|
he thought, pick up the goddamned phone. He knew he had to get back
|
|
to the scene of the incident to straighten out the mess he had begun,
|
|
but what he had told Mark was horribly true -- he couldn't remember
|
|
exactly where it had happened. All those dark side streets looked
|
|
much the same. It could have been any one of them. But, Mark could
|
|
tell him exactly where it had happened.
|
|
A faint rustling sound on the receiver blossomed suddenly into a
|
|
burst of static, followed by a low whine, an oozing howl slithering
|
|
down the phone line and into Ned's ear.
|
|
"Hi," said a voice on the phone.
|
|
"Hello, Mark?" said Ned, although he knew it wasn't Mark. It was
|
|
the voice of the child.
|
|
"Mister... Rufus won't wake up."
|
|
Ned's world spun. It's impossible, he told himself. Yet the voice
|
|
continued.
|
|
"Did you hear me, mister? Rufus won't wake up."
|
|
"I hear you," he said. "Listen, kid. I -- I -- I'm sorry I hit
|
|
your dog."
|
|
"No you're not!" The child's voice rose with emotion. It was plain
|
|
to hear he was crying, and angry.
|
|
"I am. I'm really sorry, kid." He realized suddenly that he really
|
|
was sorry. And almost against his will he shot back through the murky
|
|
years of memory to his own childhood and all the pleas unheard, all
|
|
the tears unseen. He once again felt his young, needy arms embrace
|
|
his father who felt stiff and unyielding under the hug. His father
|
|
who was a cold stone monolith. His father who could never return an
|
|
embrace.
|
|
"No you're not!" the child repeated.
|
|
"Yes. Yes I am. I truly am." He felt somehow offended the child
|
|
would not believe him just as he had come to this revelation that
|
|
startled even himself.
|
|
"You're not sorry! You're not, you're not, you're not!"
|
|
"Please believe me."
|
|
"Rufus won't wake up, and neither will you." the child said.
|
|
And Ned Dirkheim drew his last breath in a rasping, rushing gasp.
|
|
And Ned Dirkheim watched a speck in the sky turn to a distinguishable
|
|
shape with impossible speed. And Ned Dirkheim recognized the shape as
|
|
a Big Wheel. And Ned Dirkheim felt the convulsion of his car as the
|
|
windshield burst. And Ned Dirkheim tasted plastic and came apart at
|
|
the seams.
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
BRIAN TANAKA (btanaka@well.sf.ca.us) lives and frolics in San
|
|
Francisco. He continues to enjoy writing despite having just
|
|
graduated from San Francisco State University with a B.A. in Creative
|
|
Writing.
|
|
--------------------------------------------------------------------
|
|
|
|
The Unified Murder Theorem (Conclusion) / JEFF ZIAS
|
|
|
|
SYNOPSIS
|
|
|
|
They killed the guitar player on a Thursday night, as he sat in
|
|
the bar, playing his blue-glowing guitar. The last words the hit men
|
|
said were simply: "Goodbye from Nattasi."
|
|
Jack Cruger, an accordion instructor, leads a mundane life --
|
|
except when trying to make a baby with his beautiful wife Corrina.
|
|
But all of that changes the moment that Tony Steffen walks in his
|
|
door. Tony gives Cruger an accordion to play -- and blue light
|
|
appears inside it when he plays. In addition, he plays better than
|
|
he's ever played before.
|
|
Tony informs Cruger that the blue strands of light coming out of
|
|
the accordion are strings, each representing a path, a possible
|
|
outcome. Cruger has been chosen to be a "spinner" of strings by the
|
|
"Company," -- an organization whose job it is to create and support
|
|
all worlds, galaxies, and universes. The company's chairman prefers
|
|
to have living beings "spin" the fates... but there's a catch --
|
|
there's another company, one that does what you expect the Devil to
|
|
do. If Cruger spins for the "good guys," he'll be given protection in
|
|
return -- other spinners will ensure that neither he nor his family
|
|
will be harmed... except for what is beyond their control, such as
|
|
intervention from the Other Company.
|
|
Tony, occasionally accompanied by a beautiful young woman named
|
|
Sky, sometimes visits with Cruger. Tony tells him that many of the
|
|
company's executive positions are still held by aliens, most from the
|
|
planet named Tvonen. The Tvonens are now very advanced -- but their
|
|
technology is completely analog-based, with no digital electronics at
|
|
all. Earth is quickly becoming more technologically adept than the
|
|
Tvonens. The Tvonens believe that human thought, with its pursuit of
|
|
the Grand Unified Theorem -- a theorem that could describe every
|
|
detail of the functioning of the universe -- would give the Company a
|
|
giant edge in its ability to guide the universe.
|
|
Tony is in charge of implementing the theory into a computer
|
|
system that will allow the Company to have such control over the
|
|
universe. Obviously, such a prospect is not taken lightly by the
|
|
Other Company, operated by renegade Tvonens and shape-shifting aliens
|
|
known as Chysans.
|
|
But then Cruger finds Tony dead on his doorstep, and Cruger's
|
|
neighbor Leon Harris, watching from next door, comes over and takes
|
|
Cruger inside to call the police. In a panic, Cruger runs outside,
|
|
only to find Tony's body gone. When Harris tries to grab him, he gets
|
|
a powerful taste of Cruger's otherworldly insurance policy. Cruger,
|
|
now without Tony, decides to let Harris in on what the Company is.
|
|
In the wake of Tony's death, the two go in search of Tony's
|
|
girlfriend Sky. They succeed in tracking her down, but she says she's
|
|
never heard of anyone named Tony. The school has no records of Tony's
|
|
existence. It's as if he's been erased from existence.
|
|
After being attacked by a group of thugs from the Other Company --
|
|
and being saved by the insurance policy -- Cruger and Harris try to
|
|
figure out Tony's notes and how he could have been using his computer
|
|
to control the entire universe.
|
|
From above, in a ship orbiting the Earth, God -- the company's
|
|
Chairman -- looked down down on Harris and Cruger and saw possible
|
|
sucessors. He had been Chairman for two thousand years, but it would
|
|
be time to go soon. Since the use of Earth's technology would be what
|
|
gave the Company power over the universe, it seemed fitting that a
|
|
human should be the next chairman. These two men, the Chairman
|
|
realized, were the Company's best hope, if the Other Company didn't
|
|
get to them first.
|
|
Cruger and Harris are introduced to Neswick, an IRS agent who
|
|
doubles as their new Company supervisor. His daughter, Tamara,
|
|
quickly becomes intimately involved with Harris.
|
|
One night, while playing, Cruger is paid a visit by someone who
|
|
seems to be a future version of himself: except this one says he and
|
|
Harris have become God. The future Cruger also plays a guitar and is
|
|
conspicuously missing a wedding ring. After exchanging arguments, the
|
|
future Cruger disappears.
|
|
In a fit of suspicion about Neswick, Cruger follows Neswick to the
|
|
airport, where he sees him rendezvous with his daughter, Tamara.
|
|
Nothing strange there. But then, almost under his nose, Cruger
|
|
recognizes a face: Sky! She kisses Neswick and then Tamara, laughing
|
|
and talking.
|
|
Cruger feels his stomach sink at least a yard. He knows innocent
|
|
coincidences like this are harder to find than dodo birds. Much
|
|
harder.
|
|
|
|
Chapter 29
|
|
|
|
The unconscious is not just evil by nature, it is also
|
|
the source of the highest good: not only the dark but also
|
|
the light, not only bestial, semihuman, and demonic, but
|
|
superhuman, spiritual, and, in the classic sense of the
|
|
word, "divine."
|
|
---Carl Gustave Jung
|
|
|
|
"Leon, I have a strange question for you. If you tell me to eat
|
|
dirt, I'll understand."
|
|
"Wow, I can't wait to hear it: ask away."
|
|
"Will you let Corinna hypnotize you? I have a theory I want to
|
|
follow up on."
|
|
Harris was surprised. "Does your wife know how to hypnotize
|
|
people?"
|
|
"Sure. She was a therapist before we were married. They taught her
|
|
in school: it's a standard technique." Cruger grinned. "No sweat."
|
|
"Has she done it since then?"
|
|
"Well, she hypnotized me once before we were married, but it's
|
|
like riding a bike, you know? If you've done it you don't forget."
|
|
"And how do I know my brain won't be scrambled? And there might be
|
|
things I wouldn't want to tell your wife." Harris grinned. "Might
|
|
make her think twice about being with a guy like you."
|
|
"Um," Cruger said, "I'll take my chances."
|
|
"Uh huh." Harris paused a moment. "Ok, what the hell."
|
|
The two of them walked the fifty feet to Cruger's house. Corinna
|
|
was home; they found her in the kitchen sorting through the mail.
|
|
"Hi, honey," Cruger said, and kissed her on the cheek. "You
|
|
remember Leon Harris? Lives next door?"
|
|
"Sure," Corinna smiled and extended her hand. "Good to see you
|
|
again, Mr. Harris."
|
|
"I've got a favor to ask, Corinna. Could you hypnotize Mr.
|
|
Harris?"
|
|
Corinna stopped, junk mail in one hand and bills in the other.
|
|
"Could I what?"
|
|
"You know, take him under so I can ask him a few questions."
|
|
"You've got to be kidding." She looked at Harris. "He's kidding,
|
|
right?"
|
|
Harris fidgetted. "Uh, I thought you said this wouldn't be a
|
|
problem, Jack."
|
|
"It's not." Cruger set his hand on Corinna's arm. "It's nothing
|
|
serious, honey. It's just that, um, he's curious. He's never been
|
|
hypnotized before and wants to see what it's like."
|
|
"That's not a good reason." Corinna said in a firm voice.
|
|
"Well, that's not the whole reason, really..." Cruger went on. His
|
|
thoughts were racing. Should he tell her about the Company? About
|
|
what he and Harris were doing? He wished he'd thought this through a
|
|
little further.
|
|
"So what's the real reason for this?" Corrina was looking hard
|
|
into his eyes.
|
|
"Um," Cruger started. "You see, uh, we..."
|
|
"We have a bet." Harris said sheepishly. Corinna and Cruger both
|
|
turned toward him.
|
|
"A bet?"
|
|
"Well, not exactly," said Cruger.
|
|
"He doesn't believe that I was at the airport last night."
|
|
Corinna's eyes narrowed. "I don't get it."
|
|
Cruger jumped in. "See, I don't think he was at the airport
|
|
because he was on a hot date with Tamara, and he says there's nothing
|
|
going on between them." Cruger crossed his arms and smiled. "I've got
|
|
fifty dollars on this."
|
|
"This is crazy, Jack." Corinna dropped the junk mail into the
|
|
trash. "No."
|
|
Cruger took her hand. "Please, just once? I'll never bug you about
|
|
it again." He looked into her eyes and tried to seem as sincere as
|
|
possible. He knew sincerity counted at times like this.
|
|
Corinna appeared to reconsider. She turned back to Harris. "You're
|
|
really willing to do this?"
|
|
Harris shifted and put his hands in his pockets. "Um, sure. Yeah."
|
|
"Alright." Corinna's mouth formed a straight line. "But just this
|
|
once. And you'll use that money to take me to dinner. When did you
|
|
plan on doing this?"
|
|
"Well, how about now?" said Cruger.
|
|
"Now? I've got to work in three hours!"
|
|
"How long will this take?"
|
|
"Long enough!"
|
|
"We don't have much time... we really need to get this settled.
|
|
Please?"
|
|
There was a moment when Cruger almost thought she was going to say
|
|
no, but then she nodded and led them into the living room. She made
|
|
Harris sit down and, with a glare at Cruger, she began.
|
|
First, she systematically relaxed each part of his body, then told
|
|
him a repetitive story about a man traveling downward, and further
|
|
downward, on a fast, smooth, elevator. When Harris was definitely
|
|
under, she nodded to Cruger.
|
|
"Leon, it's last night and you're at home. Can you remember that?"
|
|
"Yes." Harris' voice was entirely relaxed.
|
|
"What did you do?"
|
|
"Tamara came over. We talked and had some wine."
|
|
Cruger's raised his eyebrows; Corina pursed her lips. "Anything
|
|
else you can remember?" Cruger asked.
|
|
"We had sex, then we went to sleep. We were tired."
|
|
Cruger smiled widely for Corinna's benefit, then thought for a
|
|
minute."When you went to sleep, do you remember anything in
|
|
particular, any dreams?" Corinna glared at him, but he ignored her.
|
|
Harris was silent. His face was slightly tensed compared to a
|
|
moment before. Finally, he began forming words.
|
|
"I do remember a little. I was dreaming, I think. Yes, I was with
|
|
Tamara." Harris's talking was very soft, barely audible. Cruger moved
|
|
closer to hear better.
|
|
"She stood me up, and held my hands," Harris said. "We were both
|
|
naked. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be meditating, thinking
|
|
very hard. My body became light and for a minute I couldn't see at
|
|
all because of a bright light shining all around us. But, I could
|
|
still feel Tamara's hands, warm, almost too hot to touch, in my
|
|
hands."
|
|
Cruger paused for a moment, trying to anticipate Corinna's
|
|
objections to the direction of his questions, but her objections
|
|
never came. He glanced at her; she sat silently, leaning forward in
|
|
her chair. "Um, go on," Cruger said, trying to make his voice sound
|
|
calm and assured.
|
|
"I must have just slept more for a while and then, all of a
|
|
sudden, I was awake, and everything was extremely cold. I slowly
|
|
opened my eyes, just a little at a time because hot, sticky air was
|
|
sort of stinging. When I opened them up I was in a strange place,
|
|
really strange.
|
|
"The air was misty with pockets of steam, and the ground was this
|
|
dark green and purple color. Bright and shiny. The land was flat but
|
|
all I saw around me were really smooth shiny black rocks, the ground,
|
|
and these big balloon-looking things all over the place which were
|
|
kind of like trees.
|
|
"I heard a noise and then looked around behind me. There was this
|
|
little purplish thing, a creature. It had lots of arms and legs and
|
|
the face was ugly -- looked like a monkey with a frog's skin. This
|
|
thing took my arm and led me toward this big smooth rock. There was a
|
|
hole in the ground next to it, and this thing led me down the hole;
|
|
it was like an entrance to a cave but very steep.
|
|
"We went down these corridors and then came to a room with torches
|
|
lighting it. The room was filled with these creatures, they just
|
|
appeared out of nowhere with all of their arms and ugly skin. A few
|
|
of them blended into the walls behind them like chameleons."
|
|
Harris seemed to lose his train of thought as he paused for a
|
|
moment, swallowing hard and licking his lips.
|
|
Corinna was still silent, so Cruger pressed on. "What happened
|
|
next?"
|
|
"Then they all started making noise. They all seemed to be talking
|
|
at once. They started forming this circle, joining all of their hands
|
|
together and making this noise, this humming sort of noise. One of
|
|
them pushed me into the center of the circle, then I swear I heard
|
|
one of them laugh -- I mean a real human laughing sound.
|
|
"They closed in really tight all around me. They stuck out hands
|
|
and touched me, but, all of a sudden, I wasn't scared. Their hands
|
|
were warm and smooth; I relaxed and stood there with their hands
|
|
holding me up. Then it was very strange. I felt myself talking to
|
|
myself, in a way. It was as if they were asking me hundreds of
|
|
questions rapid fire and my brain was answering them. Every thought I
|
|
had seemed to elicit some kind of feedback that I felt in their
|
|
hands. I don't know how much time passed. I remember feeling tired
|
|
then. Next thing I knew, I was in my bed at home just waking up."
|
|
"Did you feel like you just dreamed this?" Cruger asked.
|
|
"No. It seemed real. I told Tamara. She thought it was pretty
|
|
funny. She said I've been reading too much science fiction lately."
|
|
Cruger paused, then looked toward Corinna. "I think we're done."
|
|
Corinna took a moment to respond, then she slowly began to bring
|
|
Harris out of the trance. Cruger stood up and made for the bathroom,
|
|
closing the door behind him. Then he sat down and slowly began to rub
|
|
his temples. From the living room, he could hear Corinna's gentle
|
|
voice--just a soothing sound, no words.
|
|
As Harris' story sunk in, Cruger's stomach muscles tightened to a
|
|
knot. He could almost smell his own sweat, as the perspiration crept
|
|
down his shirt sleeves. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit
|
|
together, and he didn't like the image that was forming. It looked
|
|
like a big lemon. Now, how to make lemonade?
|
|
|
|
Chapter 30
|
|
|
|
The next evening Cruger went over to see Harris at Tony's office,
|
|
carrying a beaten-up guitar behind him and feeling a bit guilty about
|
|
abandoning his accordion.
|
|
Had Harris figured out the whole picture, part of the picture,
|
|
none of the picture, or just about everything? Hopefully he had
|
|
figured out enough, because it was beginning to look like they were
|
|
in a race against time.
|
|
"Do you know how this spinning works? Have you found anything like
|
|
the code for that in the programs?" Cruger asked.
|
|
"I think I know how it's set up. I've made a basic assumption
|
|
concerning the transference of energy -- given the models for
|
|
spinning that I know about."
|
|
"Well, good. Actually, I have a reason for asking. You promise not
|
|
to laugh at me when I ask you a question?"
|
|
"All right," Harris said, "I can't wait to hear this one. I
|
|
promise to not split a gut or anything, but can I just smirk a little
|
|
bit?"
|
|
"OK; smirk away. Here it is: I've been thinking of playing -- and
|
|
spinning -- with a guitar. Do you think you can fix it so that my
|
|
spinning works with the guitar?"
|
|
To Cruger's surprise Harris answered seriously, although it did
|
|
look like he was smirking. "I was wondering why you had that thing
|
|
with you. Look, I think I know how to set it up. It would be a pretty
|
|
good test to see if my theory about spinning is right."
|
|
"Now wipe that smirk off your face; you've enjoyed this enough
|
|
already," Cruger said.
|
|
"Why do you want to have a guitar to spin with anyway?" Harris
|
|
asked as if he wanted the information for his files. Probably very
|
|
orderly files.
|
|
"All of this is so ironic, don't you think? Once I saw a cartoon
|
|
that showed a man on his way through the pearly gates being handed a
|
|
harp. The caption read: 'Welcome to heaven.' In the frame below, a
|
|
man was being handed an accordion and the caption read: 'Welcome to
|
|
hell.' I want to make sure my name shows up on the correct employee
|
|
roster."
|
|
"Good point," Harris said. "the accordion is pretty hellacious.
|
|
I'll chalk this up as a piece of pro bono work -- change for the
|
|
good."
|
|
Harris sat at the computer, entering new descriptive identifiers
|
|
for Cruger's guitar. After about fifteen minutes had gone by, Harris
|
|
asked him to try playing the guitar a little to see if it worked yet.
|
|
Cruger struck a few chords on the instrument, and played a quick
|
|
melodic minor scale, up and down. No blue light -- nothing in the
|
|
tone of the instrument was extraordinary in the least. The cheap
|
|
thirty-dollar guitar sounded like a cheap thirty-dollar guitar.
|
|
"Wait, I think I know what's wrong." Harris shook his head and
|
|
kept on working.
|
|
Cruger held the guitar across his knee and struck a simple chord.
|
|
Something was different; the sound was deeper, fuller. He continued
|
|
to play and the instrument gained momentum, starting to resonate
|
|
fully on every note. The higher harmonics intensified, ringing out
|
|
richly across the room. Then, bending over the instrument as he
|
|
played, Cruger saw a pale blue light shining from within the body of
|
|
the small guitar.
|
|
|
|
Chapter 31
|
|
|
|
Getting the jump on them was easy. Cruger grabbed the phone,
|
|
called Ms. Branner at the IRS, and said he was from the travel
|
|
agency. Just confirming the flight to Denver, that's right miss, Mr.
|
|
Neswick's next flight is... what did you say? The twenty-third, 1
|
|
p.m., that's correct. And rental car is... Avis, did you say? Right
|
|
again.
|
|
So Cruger got to Denver on an earlier flight.
|
|
But the stakeout wasn't much fun. A stakeout is especially
|
|
tiresome for a guy who doesn't know what he's doing.
|
|
Cruger sat in his rental car waiting for Neswick to pull out of
|
|
the airport. There was only one exit from the Avis lot; he hoped he
|
|
would recognize Neswick when he drove past. Cruger's stomach started
|
|
to rumble every couple of minutes; it sounded loud enough Cruger
|
|
worried a cop would come knock on his window, telling him to turn
|
|
down his subwoofers. Ain't no subwoofers, he would have to say, it's
|
|
my goddamn stomach: You have a candy bar or something? and the cop
|
|
would go away with that puzzled-cop look on his serious face.
|
|
Finally, twenty minutes after Neswick's plane was supposed to have
|
|
landed, Cruger saw him pulling out in a Ford Taurus. Must not have
|
|
had luggage, Cruger thought as he turned the key in the ignition.
|
|
Cruger kept a safe distance; but he could see two passengers that
|
|
looked to be Sky and Tamara. Neswick went south on 25 and stayed on
|
|
all the way to Colorado Springs, then went through town and back into
|
|
the foothills.
|
|
They stopped at a large house on quiet street that gave at least
|
|
an acre to each home. The lots were lined by random assortments of
|
|
gigantic boulders and jagged granite.
|
|
Cruger pulled up to the house down the street. He was close enough
|
|
to see Neswick, Tamara, and Sky as they walked up to the door and
|
|
knocked. It opened a crack, and the three filed inside. Cruger
|
|
thought he saw a glint of silver from the clothing inside, but the
|
|
door closed before he could be sure.
|
|
Cruger drove up to the house, got a closer look. The name NATASSI,
|
|
in small white letters, was painted on the cedar box resting on the
|
|
cracked 4x4 post alongside the steep driveway.
|
|
Cruger drove down the hill and got himself the closest Best
|
|
Western hotel room. There was only one Natassi in the phone book.
|
|
Theodore Natassi. He was on 266 Garden Rock road, right where Cruger
|
|
had followed Neswick and crew. He imagined a trained detective would
|
|
know what to do as he showered and lay on the bed, drifting into an
|
|
unplanned nap.
|
|
|
|
Neswick and Tamara were talking in the other room -- Natassi could
|
|
hear Neswick with his annoying, dull voice telling her about the
|
|
mountains and the American Indians and the Rockies wildlife as if he
|
|
were lecturing a college class.
|
|
Natassi turned towards Sky. She was sitting the parquet kitchen
|
|
table, eating dozens of cookies, seemingly oblivious to the ponderous
|
|
bulk he turned towards her.
|
|
"Tell me about the school you attend," he asked Sky. He watched
|
|
for her reaction, more important to him than anything she would say.
|
|
Her expression did not change. He wanted to probe, but would start
|
|
soft. Maybe in conversation she'd slip -- a grimace, a frown -- and
|
|
tell him something, maybe something he really wanted to know.
|
|
"Not much to tell," she said without looking up, and then, "You
|
|
know, I can eat a million of these things, these cookies, and not get
|
|
fat. All the girls at school are starving themselves to try to get
|
|
thin, and I eat all day long. Cracks me up." Sky, the wicked mistress
|
|
of pure innocence. Natassi both hated and admired her ability to play
|
|
the innocent foxy-cute teenager. They should give awards, he thought,
|
|
for such great acting. She was the best. An Oscar to the alien girl
|
|
who plays the airhead but is really Satan's handmaid.
|
|
"You've heard about someone breaking the rules? The deletions?"
|
|
Natassi watched her face closely. "I want to find out who it is,"
|
|
Natassi said, making his voice stern. "You wouldn't have any ideas,
|
|
would you? Operatives behaving abnormally? Getting too... involved
|
|
here on Earth?"
|
|
She met his eyes for a moment but didn't say anything, her blue
|
|
eyes tranquil and seeming to say, "I wish I could help but, alas, I
|
|
can't." She sat still, wrapped in shorts that barely reached her
|
|
thighs and a tiny halter top.
|
|
Natassi let the silence hang in the room. Why would she do it? Why
|
|
would Tamara, or any other operative? Maybe a grudge, maybe
|
|
personality clashes, maybe some of these humans rub you so far the
|
|
wrong way you just have to take them out. Like Neswick -- like all
|
|
the Chysans -- rubbed him, only much worse.
|
|
|
|
Chapter 32
|
|
|
|
Cruger didn't get much further the next day -- no one entered or
|
|
left the Natassi home. Then Cruger had to catch his flight back,
|
|
wondering what he accomplished on his trip.
|
|
He had told Corrina he was going to the Polka festival in Pueblo.
|
|
He talked about hearing the Detroit Polish Moslem Accordion Warriors
|
|
play Love Potion Number Nine and other big hits. He said he sat in
|
|
with Nose Harp players from New Orleans. She didn't seem to care
|
|
much, and the next morning was affectionate and athletic in bed,
|
|
especially for a pregnant woman.
|
|
|
|
Neswick gestured for Harris and Cruger to sit. It was three days
|
|
after the mystery weekend and Neswick had called them into an early
|
|
evening meeting.
|
|
"The Company has a large and complex organization, but I'll tell
|
|
you what you need to know. As you probably already know, a good
|
|
percentage of the Company is composed of people from Earth.
|
|
"Many of the executive positions are still held by managers from
|
|
elsewhere. The vast majority of these -- well, I'll call them
|
|
foreigners, sounds better than 'aliens' -- most of them are from the
|
|
same planet: Tvonen. You won't find this planet on any of your
|
|
astronomy charts; I assure you. The Chairman himself is a Tvonen."
|
|
Cruger raised his eyebrows and exchanged a quick glance with
|
|
Harris.
|
|
"These Tvonen went through a process of evolution quite similar to
|
|
what the humans have endured. However, a few major differences exist,
|
|
and I'd like to call attention to these differences."
|
|
Cruger noticed that Neswick always sounded as if he were
|
|
addressing the graduating class at Harvard. The man's stiff, arrogant
|
|
style bothered him.
|
|
"First of all, the Tvonens have creationist mythology like ours.
|
|
The only irony is, their mythology is not allegorical but factual."
|
|
"We're familiar with the origin of the Tvonens. Tony filled me
|
|
in," Cruger said.
|
|
"So you know about a Tvonen undergoing 'the change'?"
|
|
Both Cruger and Harris nodded.
|
|
"That special enzyme in their bloodstream controls the secretion
|
|
of the hormone for sexuality. Isn't that cruel?"
|
|
"What is their civilization like now?" asked Harris.
|
|
"Now they are what we would call a very advanced society. They
|
|
have technology that you would consider staggering. But, keep in
|
|
mind, they are much different from humans. For example, they never
|
|
devised any digital electronics. Their entire technology is based on
|
|
analog computing and mineral crystals. They also have terrific
|
|
projective holograms that can transmit with pinpoint accuracy. For
|
|
clothing, they wear trained microorganisms that are self-cleaning and
|
|
form-fitting.
|
|
"They may be more advanced than humans, but humans are about to
|
|
pass them up. Digital electronics are more precise, more capable of
|
|
the infinite. See," said Neswick, "the problem you men have is that
|
|
you have no concept of the infinite. Once you master that concept,
|
|
everything else is simple to understand.
|
|
"To picture the infinite, look at it this way: think of everything
|
|
there is -- I mean everything. Okay. Now realize that there is
|
|
actually a little bit more. You see?"
|
|
Harris wondered if this was like when he tried cleaning things
|
|
dirt and dust from behind the back of the refrigerator.
|
|
Cruger scratched his shoulder and felt like a not-particularly-
|
|
bright Orangutan.
|
|
"Always, no matter what, there is a little more. Never can there
|
|
be everything."
|
|
Cruger thought he understood but sarcastically played with the
|
|
idea that he may not have understood everything that Neswick meant.
|
|
|
|
Neswick had a different meeting later that day. Now that he had
|
|
them all in the same room, he could get the message across quickly
|
|
and simply.
|
|
"It has come to my attention that someone is breaking regulations
|
|
by performing unnecessary deletes."
|
|
He scanned the room quickly but, as expected, they all had blocks
|
|
up.
|
|
"The importance of this mission cannot be overemphasized. Every
|
|
extra delete greatly jeopardizes the work we are doing. Is that
|
|
clear?"
|
|
Of course, they all had entirely unreadable, impassive looks on
|
|
their faces. He excused them and they left, single file, no one
|
|
talking.
|
|
He wondered if his management would see this as weakness on his
|
|
part. How could he let this behavior go unpunished? But, how could he
|
|
punish before he was sure of the identity of the perpetrator?
|
|
But playing with the Big Enigma was dangerous. It could only go on
|
|
for so long.
|
|
|
|
Chapter 33
|
|
|
|
Sky walked out of class with a small collection of books and a few
|
|
floppy disks, and Cruger was waiting for her.
|
|
"Sky," Cruger said.
|
|
"Oh, Hi." She looked at him with some apprehension. If she were a
|
|
normal high school girl, she might simply be wondering why this grown
|
|
man had come to talk to her for a second time.
|
|
Cruger guessed the apprehension was for a different reason.
|
|
"Do you have a few minutes? I need to ask you a couple of
|
|
questions."
|
|
She waved her hand at a few classmates walking by. "Well, okay.
|
|
I've got some time right now," she said.
|
|
They kept walking, drifting toward the benches at the side of the
|
|
paved walkway.
|
|
"What class was that you just got out of?" Cruger said.
|
|
"Oh, that's computer lab -- pretty good class."
|
|
"Sounds worthwhile. What do you do in there, the whole works?"
|
|
"Yeah, I guess," she said.
|
|
They sat on a wooden bench, facing away from the flow of students.
|
|
There was a stretch of grass was in front of them as well as the
|
|
school's token piece of art, a small bronze statue of a Spanish
|
|
missionary.
|
|
Before he got a word out he knew it was too late. She could
|
|
evidently read him much better than he thought.
|
|
"So you know a lot about us, Cruger. It doesn't matter. Your
|
|
knowledge is irrelevant," Sky said. Her soft schoolgirl's voice had
|
|
become steely cold and hard.
|
|
"Know what?" Cruger's insincerity was clear both telepathically
|
|
and explicitly.
|
|
Sky smiled a wicked, gleaming smile . "I hope you're proud of
|
|
yourself. And to think, I sort of liked you." She moved towards
|
|
Cruger as he stood stationary, ignoring all the impulses he felt to
|
|
run or do something equally cowardly.
|
|
She put her arms around his shoulders and brushed her lips across
|
|
his cheek. She was changing now, into a taller, more womanly figure.
|
|
Her light brown skin was unnaturally smooth and perfect, like a photo
|
|
on a magazine cover. Her eyes became the deepest blue-green Cruger
|
|
had ever seen.
|
|
"You like me too," she murmured.
|
|
He tried to move away but she held him with surprising strength.
|
|
Cruger almost laughed at his predicament: here he was trapped by a
|
|
student of feminine beauty. Sky had metamorphosed into (probably) the
|
|
most beautiful woman in the world. She pressed herself closer to him,
|
|
nearly smothering him in her soft face and cascades of golden-white
|
|
hair. With one hand she locked his face in a grip much too strong to
|
|
be coming from her delicate, perfect fingers. Her full lips pressed
|
|
against his. She caressed his face with her other hand.
|
|
"You're mine now," she said.
|
|
Cruger tried to take a deep breath to stop his trembling, but it
|
|
was no use. He was under her control -- no longer a free-thinking
|
|
individual but a prisoner, a victim, an object of a desire that he
|
|
had no control over. One pocket of Cruger's frantic brain screamed
|
|
the survival siren, the other repeated an inappropriate punch line
|
|
over and over, softly: what a way to go. But it wasn't. This wasn't
|
|
passion, love, or even animalistically physical. She laughed, reading
|
|
his small, self-pitying thoughts.
|
|
"I don't care what you like. I have plans for you," she said. He
|
|
listened and felt the reality of her statement dance across his body.
|
|
Sometimes God throws you a slider, but Satan has the wicked sinker.
|
|
And he sank. Like a caged animal, he stopped dreaming of escape
|
|
through the cage door: his spirit was broken; he sank into
|
|
submission; he gave up.
|
|
|
|
Chapter 34
|
|
|
|
Cruger came to consciousness and Sky stood before him. She was
|
|
once more Sky the woman-child; her look of innocence mocked him.
|
|
Cruger's quick self-survey told him that he was mostly uninjured and
|
|
sitting cross-legged on the floor, but he felt dizzy. He also felt
|
|
groggy; his throat felt dry; his eyes were swollen.
|
|
"What happened?" he said.
|
|
"You passed out. Out cold," she said, emitting a gleeful innocent
|
|
giggle, as if she had just collected for Unicef or returned from a
|
|
Girl Scout outing. The perfect voice was back, dancing like
|
|
snowflakes in a breeze. "You were scared, poor Mr. Cruger," and she
|
|
laughed again, this time with an air of scorn in her angelic voice.
|
|
"What are you going to do to me now? Rape me? Kill me?"
|
|
"I've been thinking about it," she said. "You'll be interested to
|
|
know that I think I'll just let you go."
|
|
The thoughts rushed through Cruger's mind before he could stop
|
|
them: he wanted to immediately go to the office and have Harris
|
|
delete her. Kill her, erase her, get rid of her forever. Cruger
|
|
quickly clouded his thoughts with his emotions of relief and the
|
|
self-applause of his survival system. It seemed to work, Sky showed
|
|
no visible reaction to his thoughts, if she had been reading him at
|
|
all.
|
|
Cruger's voice was hoarse and weak. He said, "What would they do
|
|
if they found out about that?"
|
|
"Nothing, nothing at all," she said, laughing as she shook her
|
|
head from side to side. "They're a little disappointed in me, though.
|
|
Even devils have standards, rules, limits, a sense of balance. I
|
|
violated them. They can do take me back to Chysa, which is what they
|
|
were planning anyway. My tenure here is up."
|
|
"Your two years of service?"
|
|
"Right," she said. "What good would it do for them to kill me? I'm
|
|
a good little devil -- maybe even an overachiever -- especially if
|
|
I'm back home where I can't do much damage. I trained for years to do
|
|
my job; I became one of the very best." A frown came over her
|
|
inappropriately innocent face; her eyes darkened. "I don't want to go
|
|
back, but I have to."
|
|
"You couldn't hide from them, staying here on earth? Not that I'd
|
|
want you to stay," Cruger said.
|
|
She smirked at him. "No, they can find me anywhere here -- we have
|
|
tools for that. Within hours they would have me retrieved. No point
|
|
in trying to hide." She looked him squarely in the eyes. "You know
|
|
something? I love life here. I've become so human that I can't
|
|
remember the body I had back home. I'm so human that I'm moony over
|
|
boys and I shop until I drop and do the mall scene, I mean all the
|
|
way, Nordstrom cards and an analyst and the whole bit -- all my
|
|
spoiled friends at school with divorced parents have 'em. I love this
|
|
body, I love your food and sports and sex and wine. I fit in better
|
|
here than on Chysa."
|
|
Cruger wondered about the implications of devils enjoying
|
|
themselves on Earth. Not like a duck out of water at all, he thought.
|
|
The fact that she fit in so perfectly was frightening.
|
|
She read his mind. "Right, you aren't just a bunch of angels here,
|
|
you know."
|
|
"And to think you haven't even been to Las Vegas or Manhattan or
|
|
Bangkok; I think you would love it most of those places," he said.
|
|
For a moment she looked almost overwhelmed, as if she were finally
|
|
imagining her life away from Earth. Her large eyes focused directly
|
|
on Cruger's. "No, I really can't kill you," she said. "Though you
|
|
tempt me. What you're doing is important and we have this policy of
|
|
minimal homicidal intervention with humans. It especially goes for
|
|
you, since you're important to the future of the universe and that
|
|
stuff. If I mess with you too much, I might cause a Big Enigma."
|
|
"What do you mean, Big Enigma?"
|
|
Sky laughed. "You know how the Big Bang starts a universe? Well
|
|
the Big Enigma is a condition where all of the strings existence
|
|
conditions cannot be resolved. Everything cranks to a halt. The
|
|
solution set for all universal planar coordinates would become zero.
|
|
Consciousness would be static, and we're stuck forever. Major bogus
|
|
deal, huh?"
|
|
Cruger thought about the implications. he wondered if he flirted
|
|
with the Big Enigma every time he spun. And people had been worried
|
|
about nuclear weapons and the greenhouse effect, he thought.
|
|
"We need to continue the game. There's no game if we don't have
|
|
players on both sides, right? Go ahead, do what you have to do. Go."
|
|
Her words were matter of fact. She had decided what to do and luckily
|
|
it left him alive.
|
|
She turned around and said one more thing: "And you know, I'm not
|
|
the one you're really looking for."
|
|
Unfortunately, Cruger knew -- he was now certain. Sky was telling
|
|
the truth.
|
|
She walked away, leaving him to think about that.
|
|
In ten minutes Cruger was home and walked next door to see if
|
|
Harris was there. No luck. Corrina was at work. Thank God. He walked
|
|
back from Harris's house feeling somehow encapsulated as if a fine
|
|
magical lore surrounded him and the pavement were undulant and
|
|
insubstantial. The space in which he moved seemed crystalline and
|
|
empty; what he felt was horror and relief, all rolled into a tight
|
|
rock that somehow fit into his gut.
|
|
|
|
Cruger felt guilty from the start, but he figured he had to do it.
|
|
He decided to tail her because, what the heck, he was running out of
|
|
ideas. And he still remembered that his future self hadn't been
|
|
wearing a wedding ring.
|
|
She drove to a nearby shopping mall with a small medical center
|
|
that Cruger had often seen, but never been to. He saw that there must
|
|
be some mistake. It wasn't the doctor's office -- at least not the
|
|
right kind of doctor.
|
|
Cruger walked into the waiting room after he saw her, through the
|
|
half-closed blinds, get up and walk past a large ornate wooden door,
|
|
into what Cruger presumed were the doctor's inner offices.
|
|
He gently walked into the waiting room, happy to see no one was
|
|
around -- even the receptionist was gone from her counter next to the
|
|
ornate wooden door. Cruger skulked up to the receptionist area,
|
|
looked into the appointment book, and read her name, clear as day,
|
|
even upside-down, written in the book.
|
|
Then he got out fast, his heart beating faster than ever, palms
|
|
cold and sweaty, legs threatening to sink him to the ground. Damn, I
|
|
knew it ... I knew it, he told himself. When he made it to his car,
|
|
he just sat there for a while, shaking, waiting for the ability to
|
|
drive to return so he could get the hell out of there.
|
|
|
|
Chapter 35
|
|
|
|
Always do right. This will gratify some people, and astonish
|
|
the rest.
|
|
-- Mark Twain
|
|
|
|
Cruger called Tony's office -- they still called it that -- and
|
|
Harris answered. He didn't tell Harris anything except that he'd be
|
|
there in a few minutes.
|
|
Cruger tried to act cool, natural. Harris showed Cruger how the
|
|
database of strings was laid out. The concept of digital
|
|
representation of every event and person known was staggering.
|
|
"Isn't it impossible to have this much information stored on a
|
|
small computer?" Cruger said.
|
|
"Yes, but it's not stored here. This is just God's front end.
|
|
Inside there's that glob of Tvonen technology that seems to be doing
|
|
most of the work."
|
|
"How close are you to finishing the whole project?"
|
|
"Pretty close. I think I can issue any command from here, but I
|
|
still haven't run the caretaker program."
|
|
Cruger looked puzzled.
|
|
"The two of us can't control the whole show -- I mean, even if we
|
|
do end up being God, we're still only human," Harris said. "The
|
|
caretaker will make sure everything runs smoothly, and will keep
|
|
threads from tangling. We'll still be able to issue commands and
|
|
guide the process, but it'll do most of the dirty work."
|
|
Cruger nodded, let Harris' words sink in, and then spoke.
|
|
"I need you to make some deletions for me."
|
|
Harris looked astonished. "Delete people? Why?"
|
|
"I've found out who the Chysans are -- the aliens who are working
|
|
for the Other Company."
|
|
"Who?"
|
|
Cruger ignored the question. "Pull up the deletion program," he
|
|
asked. Harris nodded and brought up the routine.
|
|
"First, Theodore Natassi from Denver, Colorado."
|
|
Harris typed the name in, cross-listed with Cruger's thread.
|
|
"No entry. Who is this guy, and what kind of contact have you had
|
|
with him?"
|
|
"I think he's near the top of the Other Company. I've never met
|
|
him."
|
|
"Well," Harris said, "this won't work unless your string
|
|
intersects with his. How about someone else first, someone whose
|
|
string crosses his and yours?"
|
|
"Easy. Lyle Neswick."
|
|
Harris' face filled with disbelief.
|
|
"Neswick? No way, man. Neswick can't be Chysan. That would mean
|
|
that Tamara--"
|
|
"--is one of them, Leon. They've got to be deleted."
|
|
"No way," Harris repeated. "No way. I can't believe that Tamara --
|
|
"
|
|
"I saw her with Sky and Neswick. They're working together... Sky
|
|
admitted it to me."
|
|
"She was lying!"
|
|
Cruger shook his head. "She wasn't lying. I know -- I saw her
|
|
change shape. She's Chysan."
|
|
Harris swiveled around in his chair. "I can't believe it. Tamara?
|
|
It can't be true."
|
|
Cruger grabbed the computer's keyboard and typed Neswick's name.
|
|
Harris swiveled and grabbed it back, but Cruger managed to make a
|
|
final slap at the return key.
|
|
"If you delete him, she goes, too!" he said. "He's her father! If
|
|
he never existed, neither did she!"
|
|
"He's not her father! And now It's done, isn't it?" Cruger asked.
|
|
Harris let out an angry laugh. "No, it's not done." He pointed at
|
|
the monitor.
|
|
Are you sure you want to delete this person?
|
|
Cruger tried to grab the keyboard back from Harris, but the
|
|
athletic programmer shoved him away.
|
|
"They're all working for the Other Company!" Cruger yelled.
|
|
"Neswick, Tamara, Sky... and Corrina." Cruger said.
|
|
"Corrina?"
|
|
"Never pregnant. Never an Earth woman. I suspected something was
|
|
weird with the first 'miscarriage'. I never went to a doctor with
|
|
her. Turns out she always went to shrinks instead of OB/GYNs."
|
|
"Holy shit," Harris said.
|
|
"Yep, holy shit.!" shouted Cruger. "Makes sense now, though. Why
|
|
the hell else was I picked for the Company? Why did Tony come to me?
|
|
I suppose it was my job because of who my wife was. My wife, a long-
|
|
time agent from Chysa!"
|
|
Harris stared at Cruger in disbelief. Cruger stood for a moment,
|
|
then slumped into a chair. They both sat for a while, just looking at
|
|
the small computer and its screen sitting on the desk in the stuffy
|
|
room. The screen still asked, "Are you sure you want to delete this
|
|
person?"
|
|
"Let me tell you the story. Maybe it'll make it easier for you,"
|
|
Cruger said. "Sky was living with foster parents. She had been sent
|
|
there at the supposed age of fifteen. No records exist for her
|
|
whereabouts before that point in time. Also, she was pretty handy in
|
|
computer class at school. She had been doing some extracurricular
|
|
work there. Doing the code for Corrina -- that murderous code. Before
|
|
that, she had been keeping tabs on Tony."
|
|
"So they infiltrated the Company pretty well. How did they do it?"
|
|
"I'm not sure. The only thing we can be sure of is that there are
|
|
more of them that we don't know about."
|
|
"Thank you," Harris said, "a very comforting thought."
|
|
Cruger continued. "Seems that Sky was having some real adjustment
|
|
problems to life here. She was referred to a psychiatrist by the High
|
|
School guidance counselor. Probably same shrink Corrina originally
|
|
went to. She stopped going a few weeks ago, the records say. I got
|
|
the name of the doctor from the school counselor but I can't find
|
|
that doctor listed anywhere. Gone."
|
|
"That's suspicious, but a lot of things are suspicious."
|
|
"Another suspicious thing was that Sky, Tamara, and Neswick all
|
|
knew each other very well. I followed Sky over to Neswick's place
|
|
once. Then the three of them were all together over there, enacting
|
|
the words Menage a troi."
|
|
"Neswick and Tamara, that's disgusting," Harris said. His voice,
|
|
charged, higher than usual, rang of hurt.
|
|
"Come on, he was no more related to her than you were. That was
|
|
all an act." Realizing that Harris may have been more attached to
|
|
Tamara than he had guessed, said, "Sorry if this hurts -- but, it has
|
|
to be done. We've got to delete them all."
|
|
"Don't worry about it. I wasn't going to ask her to marry me. But
|
|
I was dumb enough to get pretty involved with her. You know, agents
|
|
of Beelzebub make pretty good girlfriends. She did everything to make
|
|
me happy: had her own money, loved sex, loved computers, and never
|
|
had to visit her mom or go to confessional."
|
|
"Sounds pretty good. Can't blame you for biting the hook," Cruger
|
|
said. "I did."
|
|
"Yeah," Harris said, picking up the keyboard. "Let's get this over
|
|
with."
|
|
"Don't do it," said a muffled voice from behind them. Nobody had
|
|
come in the door, but someone was there. They both turned to see who
|
|
it was.
|
|
Standing in the corner was a huge figure in a silver spacesuit.
|
|
"My name," the figure said, "is Natassi."
|
|
|
|
Chapter 36
|
|
|
|
That was when Cruger put it all together -- the mystery man in the
|
|
house in Denver.
|
|
"The devil himself, huh?" he said.
|
|
Natassi turned to Cruger. "That's what Uraken and the rest of the
|
|
Company would call me, yes. And it seems that you've taken the
|
|
biblical allusions to heart -- you're working for God, on a mission
|
|
against Satan."
|
|
"More or less," Cruger said. "Satan was a fallen angel, right? I
|
|
guess that makes you an outcast Tvonen."
|
|
"Very true." The figure stepped forward, the floor creaking with
|
|
his weight. Harris stood up suddenly but Natassi raised his hand,
|
|
signalling him to stop. "I'm not the evil creature they would have
|
|
you believe I am. I worked for the Company; I helped form it before
|
|
humans had domesticated a beast -- before Uraken was born. And I was
|
|
thrown out -- not because I was promoting evil, but because I was
|
|
promoting free will."
|
|
"What?" said Harris.
|
|
The figure shifted its weight and the silver suit hissed, making
|
|
it seem as if Natassi were sighing. "Do you know how the universe
|
|
works, Mr. Harris?" Natassi asked. "As it currently stands, spinners
|
|
guide the threads of the universe subconsciously, with their art.
|
|
It's an organic method, one that allows for a great deal of...
|
|
spontaneity. It's as close to free will as anyone can get.
|
|
"But the goal of the Company is omnipotence. The Unified Theorem
|
|
is the ultimate application of that design. With your computer,
|
|
you'll be able to run everything -- anything. Total control."
|
|
"So you're saying you're a good guy looking out for the little
|
|
people?" Cruger said incredulously. "I'm supposed to believe that?"
|
|
"What about you?" Harris spoke up. "How does killing people work
|
|
into this plan of yours?"
|
|
This time, Natassi may have sighed. "We take what help we can get.
|
|
Chysans are independent by nature: they despise authority and
|
|
control, and hence the goals of the Company. Chysans enjoy as much
|
|
violence and killing as they can find. We've tried to keep the
|
|
Unified Theorem as far away from completion as possible. Tony was
|
|
close, and he would have implemented the program the second it was
|
|
ready. We killed him."
|
|
"And now you're going to kill us?" Harris asked, trying to guess
|
|
how long it would take to quit out of the deletion routine and launch
|
|
the caretaker program. "Where are your Chysan thugs?"
|
|
"They aren't here," Natassi said. "And they won't be. It seems
|
|
that this meeting is the best we can hope to do. We're at the last
|
|
moment of free will, and I'm here to make my last request."
|
|
"Which is?"
|
|
Natassi stepped forward. "Stop the Company!" he hissed. "Make it
|
|
so there are no more spinners -- so that those blue glows disappear
|
|
forever! Then have the computer delete itself. Let the universe be on
|
|
its own, to do whatever it wants."
|
|
"Total chaos," Harris said. "Sounds like something the devil would
|
|
advocate."
|
|
Harris pressed down on the key combination that took him out of
|
|
the deletion routine, back to the main menu. The computer screen
|
|
flashed briefly.
|
|
"Don't start it!" Nattasi said, his voice rising. "Uraken's like
|
|
almost every other Tvonen -- he wants total control. You're giving it
|
|
to him! The Tvonen will rule the universe. Take it from me. You don't
|
|
want to see an omnipotent Tvonen."
|
|
Cruger looked at Harris. Cruger thought about Corrina, and about
|
|
what the alien in front of him represented. Then he nodded at his
|
|
partner, who tapped a few keys.
|
|
The disk drive whirred briefly; the program ran.
|
|
There was a God.
|
|
The alien began to fade away with an effect that looked more like
|
|
smoke dissipating in a breeze than the Star Trek sparkles Cruger had
|
|
expected to see.
|
|
"The Chysans won't be happy," Natassi whispered as he vanished. "I
|
|
hope you can live with your decision."
|
|
|
|
A little while later the menu bar of the computer's screen
|
|
flashed. The flash was followed by a gentle chiming sound effect that
|
|
snapped the two men into a state of alertness.
|
|
"I don't believe it," said Harris. "We got a message off the
|
|
network. Someone, something on the other end of that cable finally
|
|
contacted us."
|
|
"Are you sure?"
|
|
"Damned sure. The only way we get this alert message is an
|
|
incoming network packet."
|
|
The message, displayed across the screen in large italic type, was
|
|
short and simple.
|
|
|
|
Congratulations on a job very well done. You're both on
|
|
your own now. You're in charge. Congratulations on
|
|
your promotions.
|
|
--Uraken
|
|
|
|
Cruger looked at Harris who returned the look. Cruger's mouth was
|
|
open. His eyes were blank and his mouth then twitched as if either to
|
|
begin talking or drooling.
|
|
"Congratulations?" Harris said.
|
|
Cruger composed himself a little. "Uraken?"
|
|
"What really gets me is the 'You're on your own' part. What do you
|
|
think?"
|
|
"I think we're in charge now," Cruger said. "Which means that the
|
|
people who are running the universe aren't Tvonens after all."
|
|
"The people who are running the universe..."
|
|
They stood there, less Godlike than anyone would ever have
|
|
imagined, balancing their suddenly weak bodies on the feet of men who
|
|
had just finished a marathon. "Congratulations" was the word that
|
|
stuck with Cruger.
|
|
Cruger turned to Harris. "Congrats," he said, not sounding
|
|
jubilant. "I think I'm going to go home and tell Corrina to get her
|
|
ass back to Chysa."
|
|
"I'm thinking..." Harris said, letting the last word trail off
|
|
into nothingness.
|
|
"Of what?"
|
|
"Nothing much. A programming project I did in college is coming
|
|
back to me -- a random number generator. I'm thinking about writing a
|
|
new one."
|
|
|
|
Epilogue
|
|
|
|
It was Thursday night and Cruger was playing his regular sets of
|
|
solo guitar at the Cafe Emerson. It had been two months since he had
|
|
become co-keeper of the universe, two months since he'd went home to
|
|
find Corrina already gone.
|
|
His guitar chops felt good, but remembering Corrina brought him
|
|
down. It takes a while to get over losing someone you loved, even if
|
|
they aren't what they appear.
|
|
When two guys came up to him and shot him through the head, he
|
|
wasn't even surprised. Spinners were being attacked all over by
|
|
Chysans unhappy with the dissolution of the Other Company. They
|
|
evidently didn't understand what "insurance" was.
|
|
So Harris's employee safety program kicked in immediately and
|
|
Cruger was alive again, the bullets back in the thirty-eight, and two
|
|
assailants erased forever. The only person in the Cafe that even knew
|
|
something had happened was Cruger. Within a few seconds, he was able
|
|
to take a deep breath and put it out of his mind.
|
|
Cruger said a silent thank-you to Harris, made a mental note to
|
|
remember to thank him in person at the office in the morning, and
|
|
decided to do one more tune before ending the set.
|
|
He played Someone To Watch Over Me with a wry smile stretched
|
|
across his face. It was an excellent rendition, of course -- probably
|
|
the best any of the people in the bar had heard. Even the mistakes
|
|
Cruger made -- and there were a few-- just added to the feeling and
|
|
humanity of the performance.
|
|
An a unique performance it was. After all, most people did the
|
|
song as a ballad. But not Cruger -- he played it fairly up-tempo.
|
|
After all, if you can't set your own tempo, then who are you,
|
|
anyway?
|
|
|
|
--
|
|
JEFF ZIAS (ZIAS1@AppleLink.apple.com) has begun a stint with the
|
|
spin-off software company Taligent after a ten-year stint writing and
|
|
managing software at Apple Computer. Jeff enjoys spending time with
|
|
his wife and two small children, playing jazz with Bay Area groups,
|
|
writing software and prose, and building playhouses and other
|
|
assorted toys for his children to trash. Having actually been a
|
|
studious youth, Jeff has a BA in Applied Mathematics from Berkeley
|
|
and an MS in Engineering Management from Santa Clara University.
|
|
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_Quanta_ is published in two formats, ASCII and PostScript(TM)
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_CORE_ is available by e-mail subscription and anonymous ftp from
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Submit! You will submit to InterText! No, we're not trying to
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Spectre Publications, Inc. is a relatively young corporation
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