14
CELEBRATION
OF FRUITION
Ellen & Oscar, and Verbena
When
the circuit opened, Brad was alone in the
Terminal.
He had earlier completed the basic
program simply by using information he had
acquired from his work at Cape Canaveral to tap
into a satellite station.
Having done this, he had to assume that
the intelligent life force on the other end
would know enough about Quantum Mechanics to
connect its own energy source, thereby effecting
the open channel.
The tape recorders and transcribers in
place, he turned to the less interesting and
more tedious part of his work, which was to
create a minuscule circuit board that
Engineering would reproduce and insert into all
the existing TASCs.
As always, the Terminal room was cool and
quiet except for the interminable respiration
system which by now had become second nature to
the scientist.
He tinkered in happy silence, missing
Sylvia, looking forward to her return.
At length he became aware of an
alteration in the atmosphere.
There was a subtle suspension, a
pervading intensity.
Setting the circuit board aside, he stood
up, visually scanning the Terminal for any sign
of default.
Lights blinking on the panel assured him
all systems were intact.
Then he realized that the room had
stopped breathing.
As he stood wondering if he should call
Jesse or if he should check the power source, he
was startled out of his wits by a resounding
voice coming through the channel.
"Greetings!" The voice boomed more from
power than from volume.
"I am El Rey, Ambassador for Those High
in Authority."
Brad felt compelled to sit down, as his
entire body weakened, but he had the
perspicacity to make sure the recording device
was ‘on’.
The atmosphere in the Terminal was
charged with positive ions.
"I bring salutations from the Grand
Universe.
I have come to welcome the civilization
of Zooids into the Stream of Time.”
For a moment the voice paused giving Brad
a chance to take a breath.
He had
no idea that the system he had installed would
result in such a communication!
He had expected the open channel to cross
continental barriers, even to extend to other
worlds, yes, but not to the Gods themselves!
“We have been observing your planet for
millions of years,” El Rey pronounced.
“We have nurtured your growth and
lamented your many regressions and setbacks.
It is now my privilege to honor the gains
of the advanced few who
have persevered in the face of extreme
adversity. Your efforts have created a
civilization that meets universe standards for
cosmic citizenship.”
A lengthy pause ensued.
“I will not speak with you again.
An open channel of communication has been
established for the Jural Colony Project, and a
personal monitor has been assigned to each
individual Zooid. This encircuitment is cause
for galactic celebration.
I offer sincere congratulations to the
Zooids for their courage and fortitude from
Those High in Authority.
Welcome to immortality!”
As the transmittal ended, the air in the
Terminal hummed with static; the breathing of
the room resumed.
It took Brad several minutes to focus his
mind enough to consider what to do.
Obviously, even if a monitor came on, the
voice would be recorded, but Brad didn't want to
miss it if it came on at once.
At length he realized that all he had to
do was turn the machine 'off' and he was free to
leave in search of Jesse and Lanon.
He fled
the sixth floor and sought Jesse in his office
but found it and the apartment empty.
He found Doc Will in the clinic, putting
the final touches on his book.
Doc Will looked up when he heard Brad
enter.
"What's the matter, son?
It looks like you've seen a ghost!"
"It's ... It's working!" Brad stammered.
"What's working?” Doc stood. “The
channel? It’s open?"
Brad nodded, still unsure of his own
voice.
"Go tell Jesse and Lanon.
I'll meet you back in the Terminal."
Brad nodded and took off, having no idea
where to locate the others, but Doc Will knew
exactly where he was going.
When he was certain Brad had gone, he
rode the elevator to the sixth floor and entered
the Terminal.
Everything appeared normal.
He saw the red on/off switch to the
system and flipped it 'on', fully prepared to
address the issue at hand.
In an instant, a voice came through.
"Greetings," it said simply.
"Greetings.
I'm Dr. Wilhelm Blackstone."
"I know who you are.
I am your Personal Monitor." The Monitor
was calm, soft-spoken. "You seem agitated.
Perhaps you need to take a couple of deep
breaths."
"Yes, of course," Doc said, now aware
that his blood pressure was too high and his
pulse was racing.
He breathed deeply, calming himself.
After a moment the Monitor crooned,
“That's better. No sense defeating the purpose
of our conversation."
Doc guffawed, not surprised that the
Monitor knew why he was there. "No," he agreed.
"That wouldn't be in the best interests or
science."
"Are you quite sure you've accomplished
everything you wanted to do here?"
"Oh, yes," Doc answered quickly.
"Quite sure.
I've even managed to put the finishing
touches on my book."
"And you don't care to be around for its
publication?
You are entitled to the accolades, you
know."
"I know, but ... that's not important to
me now."
"You may ask questions," the Monitor
suggested.
Doc blinked.
"I, uh, I'd like to be the first one to
go through the Portal."
"Yes, we understand that you would."
He remembered Angus saying, “You have to
ask permission, Wilhelm,” so he asked,
"May I do that?
Go?"
"You may."
"Thank you."
He felt his pulse rate speed up again and
took another couple of deep breaths.
"When?"
"Soon."
"How will I know when?"
"You will know.
Have patience."
Doc Will sighed.
Soon the room's respiratory system
started up and Doc could feel that the Monitor
had gone.
He sat contemplating the miracle of the
moment until the entrance of Lanon, Jesse and
Brad brought him back.
"You okay, Doc?" Jesse asked.
“You look pale.”
The old man got to his feet.
"Yeah, Jesse, I’m okay.
A little excited, maybe."
He made way for Lanon to sit down at the
system, but Lanon deferred to Jesse.
“It's your accomplishment, Jesse.
Go ahead."
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he grinned.
“Let’s hear it!”
Brad rewound the tape and played the
original pronouncement of El Rey.
All ears were attuned to the timbre of
the voice as well as to the words of the
message.
At the end, they all stood there in a
long, thoughtful silence before Jesse instructed
Brad to have the message transcribed so that he
could read it to the Board and they could
announce it to the populace.
Then, as El Rey's message was being
electronically transcribed, as they were each
still silently contemplating such an
announcement, the tape went on to reveal the
dialogue between Doc Will and his personal
Monitor.
When it ended, Jesse said, "Brad, these
messages between the Zooids and their personal
monitor, maybe they shouldn't be available to
all ears.
Fix this thing to edit."
Brad glanced anxiously toward Doc Will,
but responded to Jesse's request, saying. "I
thought you wanted a transcript of everything
kept here at the Terminal."
"I thought I did, too, but I've changed
my mind.
Zooids might not have any secrets, but
these one-on-one communications are
confidential."
He turned to Doc Will.
"I guess you will be leaving us soon, old
friend."
Doc Will had seen Brad's distress, so he
said,
"Oh, not right away.
Audley will be home soon.
Anyway, as far as I know, the Portal
isn't even half finished yet."
"To the contrary," Lanon said.
"We just came from there.
It is completed!
Down to the last bird and flower."
"How in Sam Hill?"
Jesse shrugged. "If we'd've built it, it
would've taken months."
“Who did build it?" Brad asked.
Lanon answered. "Zooids provided the
materials.
The Stream of Time provided the energy."
The color drained from Doc Will's face.
The Portal was ready for him when he was
ready for the Portal.
BRAD ATTENDED SYLVIA’S GRADUATION from
Orientation, leading her straight from the
obelisk to his apartment.
He had hoped to hide from his anxieties
in her loving arms, but this new woman
intimidated him.
She was more confident, somehow, and it
bothered him to realize that, right now, he was
the weaker sex.
He withdrew from their initial embrace
and invited her to sit, but it was he who was
having trouble relaxing.
"What's the matter, Brad?
Didn't you miss me?"
"Very much.
Every day.
But a lot has happened."
"For me, too."
Was he backing out?
"Well, we have whole a week together,
right?"
She nodded. "I report to Midway after the
Fest."
"What’s Colony Midway?"
"It's a satellite of PSR, made up of the
family members of the men at the Reserve."
Brad was alarmed.
"Are you sure you ought to go there,
Sylvia? I mean, these people aren't going to be
what you'd call the cream of society!"
"So what? I'm not afraid to get my hands
dirty, Brad.
Anyway, it's not like I'll be working
directly with felons.
I'll be working with their wives, mothers
and children."
The intensity of her commitment dissuaded
him from further objection.
"It sounds very responsible."
"It is,” she stated.
“I'm very happy about it."
She didn’t sound happy to Brad’s ears.
Without warning, Sylvia felt a wave of
nausea.
She fled to the bathroom and threw up,
leaving Brad confused, helpless and somewhat
embarrassed for her.
When she returned, still pale, he asked,
"Sylvia, what's the matter?
Are you ill?"
"Oh, God," she said, struggling to regain
her dignity.
"I need to talk to Audley."
"To Audley?
Talk to me!
What's the matter?"
"Oh, Brad."
She suddenly started to sob, buried her
face in his shoulder.
He held her, rocked her back and forth.
"I love you so much," she said at last.
"I love you, too, darling, but please,
what's wrong?"
"I don't want to interfere with your
life," she sobbed.
"You silly goose, you are my life!
How could you possibly interfere?"
"I'm going to have a baby."
A strange sound emitted from Brad before
the laughter came.
"A baby?"
His face was aglow.
“We are going to have a baby?”
When she nodded, he got up and went to
the door, opened it, and shouted to a passer-by,
"We're going to have a baby!"
He laughed until his eyes filled with
tears.
He hugged Sylvia again, kissed her hair
and her ears, all the while murmuring, "We're
going to have a baby."
Suddenly he pulled back.
"Don't you want to have a baby, darling?"
"Of course I do."
"Then what's the matter?"
"I want to be a Zooid."
"You can be a Zooid.
You are a Zooid.
What's that got to do with anything?"
"It has to do with everything!
It has to do with whether the baby's
birthday is in May or in Mars.
It has to do with whether he'll wear
knickers or a jumpsuit.
It has to do with whether he'll spend
Christmas vacation with his grandparents or
Winter Fest with us."
"Sylvia, either way, he'll be with us.
It doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does, Brad.
I'll be here.
Where will you be?
Do you see?"
He saw.
"I didn't want to tell you because I
don't want to influence your decisions about the
way you live your life.
If you want to finish this project then
go back to the IOF or on to UCLA, I don't want
to stand in your way.
You have to resolve your own destiny.”
But Brad's destiny was already resolved.
He was the one who was there when El
Rey's voice came through the channel.
He was the one who felt the power of the
Outer Cosmos welcoming the Zooids to
immortality.
Who was he to disregard the single most
important development of the century?
And who was he to disdain the nobility of
this woman's offer?
He looked into her sincere blue eyes for
a long moment then said, "Influence me."
THE FIRST DAY OF FALL FEST, the Celebration of
Fruition, saw the grounds of Gateway transformed
into a replica of a Renaissance fair.
Ellen, helpful under ordinary
circumstances, was invaluable during Fests.
She put herself in charge of the arrivals
and departures of visitors, the distribution and
display of goods, overseeing construction of the
booths, and otherwise being simply
indispensable.
In keeping with her gala spirit, she had
induced Cybelle to lend her the wondrously sexy
costume, imported all the way from beyond the
Milky Way.
Ellen’s ample bosom fairly pushed its way
out of the bodice, and her buxom behind tossed
the chiffon overlay in a way that Cybelle’s
never could have.
The thatch-roofed booths and
multi-colored tents that lined the walkways
contained gifts from all over the realm.
There were bushels of fresh picked fruits
and vegetables, quarts and pints of canned
foods, jams, jellies and preserves, honey,
berries, loaves of fresh baked breads, rolls and
all manner of pies, cakes, cookies, tarts and
candied fruit.
In addition to foodstuffs, there were
hand-crafted wool shawls, tie-died scarves,
hooked rugs, embroidered pillow cases,
lace-edged picture frames, wood-carved jewelry
boxes, water color landscapes, ceramics, oil
paintings, and new items kept coming in with
each arriving Transport Line.
The swimming pool had been covered over
with an elevated platform that served as a
stage. A program of live music was scheduled for
each evening, according to the theme of the day.
The theme for the Day of the Child was
“Be Fruitful” and would be highlighted by Sylvia
and Brad’s Union Celebration at twilight.
The chamber music ensemble was well
rehearsed in the wedding march and they planned
to augment their program with baroque favorites
of a romantic nature.
For weeks, the Elders and Aides had been
preparing their costumes.
Bolts of satin and velvet had been
imported, cut and sewn to order, transforming
the men into Lords, while the women draped their
limbs and criss-crossed strands of pearls across
their breasts in the fashion of Ladies.
Suits of armor defended the lounge,
crossbows graced the benches.
Scribes read poetry from scrolls.
Boys played the lute and girls chased
them with frivolity.
A festive holiday mood permeated every
inch of Gateway and throughout colonies like
Mardi Gras or San Francisco on a New Year’s Eve.
Ellen met each Transport Line as it
arrived, greeting the guests and directing them
on to their destination.
Audley and Angus, still invisible, were
on the Transport Line that stopped in Las Vegas
pick up passengers en route to Fall Fest, Oscar
among them.
At the platform, agog with energy and
excitement, Ellen directed Audley to go at once
to her apartment where Sylvia was being fitted
for her wedding dress.
Angus prodded Oscar onto the platform
where Ellen accused, “You’re not a Zooid.”
“How do you know?” Oscar returned.
“Because you’re leering at me.”
She smiled as she made that observation.
“Zooids don’t leer.”
Oscar closed his mouth and gulped.
“Sorry.”
Angus was amused at the interplay between
the young people.
Ellen tossed her braid.
“Since you’re not a Zooid, what are you
doing here?”
“I came to see my boss, Dr. Spencer.”
“You can’t see him just now.
He’s not available.”
“Why not?”
“He’s preparing to be united.”
“United to what?”
“To Sylvia, of course.”
Her skirts flounced.
“He used to be engaged to Audley
Blackstone,” Oscar informed her.
“Audley,” she corrected, “is attached to
Lanon.”
“Lanon Zenton?”
“Yes, why?”
All during this dialogue she continued to
be of assistance to those who were seeking
direction or needing instructions after
disembarking from the train.
“Where is he?”
He had a hard time keeping his eyes on
hers, her costume was so distracting.
“If you must know, he’s with Brad and I
think they went to the Portal.
Why?”
“Sylvia is his Investigative Assistant.
Let me see her.”
“No, you can’t see Sylvia,” Ellen
averred.
“She’s putting on her wedding gown.”
He sighed, seemingly stopped in his
efforts to get inside Gateway.
“You want to make yourself useful ‘til
somebody is available?
I could use some help.”
His face lit up.
“Really!
Oh, that’d be great!”
Ellen appraised him with distaste.
“First we’ll need to find you something
to wear!”
“What’s wrong with what I got on?”
“It’s a uniform!” she complained.
“I thought women liked to see a man in
uniform.”
She flounced.
“I don’t know what movie you’ve been
watching, but there’s nothing very attractive
about drab green.
Especially at a Fest!”
“What’s a Fest?”
She rolled her eyes back in her head.
“It’s a party.”
“Oh!” Oscar grinned.
“Okay.”
“My name’s Ellen, what’s yours?”
“Oscar.”
“Well come on, Oscar.
You can help me put the canopy over Mrs.
Drake’s dried flower booth.”
As Ellen scampered off with Oscar in tow,
Angus mused that the young man with his
misguided political fervor might inadvertently
cause trouble.
He called to his mate Flora for her
counsel.
When she arrived, he explained, “A young
man has come to Gateway to investigate Lanon
Zenton.
This young man was once involved in Dr.
Spencer’s search for the cause of the black-out
and I suspect he’s preparing to lay the blame on
Lanon, thereby redeeming Brad’s reputation with
the IOF and with the American President.”
“Oh, these zealous mortals!” Flora
lamented.
“They can be such a nuisance!”
“Perhaps,” Angus suggested, “it is
intended that now, since the channel is open and
the Portal is completed, Lanon will be urged to
return to his Home Station.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, neither pleased
nor displeased.
“My only concern,” he advised, “is that,
in spite of the accelerated pace of the project,
it is not yet completed.
This young man must not be permitted to
upset the cradle of civilization!”
Flora nodded.
“Ellen has the gifts to dissuade him from
acting too quickly, but in the interest of the
Stream of Time, we have the obligation to
oversee these final stages.”
“I agree, my dear,” Angus said squeezing
her arm and bringing forth a spray of
phosphorescent sparks.
“And the privilege.”
THE CRADLE OF CIVILIZATION had nothing on the
cradle Jesse lay in -- the cradle of Cybelle,
wet and warm from their lovemaking.
She purred and pulled him close, smiling
into his bare chest, causing him to wonder again
at the miracle of this woman who had become his.
From the first instant he saw her he
wanted her, and not just in the physical sense.
He wanted her to inspire, encourage,
stimulate and assist him in all ways and in all
things, as he wanted to do and be for her.
He could not believe how perfect she was.
Had he spent a year of his life trying to
figure out exactly what he wished for in a mate,
he would not have come close to the perfection
he found in Cybelle.
She breathed when he breathed, not to
accommodate him, but because she was his
counterpart.
“How can anything so carnal be so
divine?” she whispered.
“Want to do it again?”
“Mmm.”
When she later opened the drapes to let
daylight flood the room, Jesse’s eyes lingered
on her naked body.
Her copper colored hair fell to the back
of her knees and she often draped it around her
like a cape.
Dressed thus now she paraded herself
before him, enjoying his open admiration.
“Shouldn’t you be doing something for the
Fest?” she asked.
“Making a speech or something?”
“Not now,” he said softly.
“Later today Brad and Sylvia are going to
celebrate their Union, and tomorrow I’ll tell
the Board about the open channel and read them
the message from El Rey, but at the moment there
is nothing more important than what I’m doing.
Being with you.”
He propped himself up on an elbow.
“Do you know El Rey?”
“Oh, heavens, no,” she said.
He’s a big fish.
Way out of my league.”
“What I want to know is how come a
beautiful thing like you is messing with a small
fish like me.”
“Because you’re a perfect little fish.
Just my type.”
“Really, Cybelle.
There must be thousands of wonderful
personalities out there in the universe.
You could have any one of them.”
“But I don’t want any one of them.
I want you!”
Her tresses covered him like a blanket.
“There may be stronger arms, or clearer eyes, or
sharper wit, but you are just my style.
You’re perfect, just the way you are.”
“You’re incredible.”
“The Day of the Child,” she observed.
“No meetings to go to, no schedule to
keep.
Would you like to brush my hair, Jesse
Brothers?”
“Yes.”
He brushed her hair, all of it, as they
dreamed their dreams with the morning sun
splayed upon their nakedness.
THE DREAM REALIZED, Audley found herself in a
garden, a room strewn with tuberose, plumeria,
white azalea and gardenias.
Flora’s mission was to gather the
blossoms necessary for the bridal party; and
when she returned from Hawaii with yet another
fresh armful, Cybelle laughed and said,
“Enough, Flora!
Enough!”
Audley’s dress and those of the goddesses
were made of whisper soft blue velvet.
After the crowns of columbine, chains of
tuberose and corsages of orchids were in place,
the females helped Sylvia into her wedding gown
made of white rose petals.
They oohed and ahhed and sighed and cried for a
minute before Audley remarked, “I thought you
said Zooids don’t have weddings!”
Cybelle countered happily, “This was
Jesse’s idea!”
Sylvia prattled.
“I know Zooids don’t have weddings, but
when Brad and I told Jesse we wanted to announce
our Union, he just wanted to make a big deal of
it.”
Her tone became conspiratorial.
“It’s not just for us, you know.
It’s a celebration for everybody!
What with Flora and Angus having an
anniversary, and with Cybelle and Jesse so much
in love, and you, too, Aud, so crazy about Lanon,
Jesse thought it would be appropriate for a
Celebration of Fruition.”
“Shouldn’t this be taking place on the
Day of the Union?”
“Actually,” Flora counseled, “it’s more
appropriate that Sylvia and Brad get married on
the Day of the Child.
They’re going to have a baby.”
Audley grinned and hugged her friend.
“Sylvia, that’s wonderful!”
“I know, but quit squashing me.
You’ll bruise my blossoms!”
“And you!
Quit crying!
You’ll mess up your face!”
The goddesses then saw to the appearance
of the men, finding them all appropriately
dressed and inordinately handsome.
Even Angus had made an effort to pull
himself together.
AS TWILIGHT APPROACHED and the prism lights
danced in the air, everyone put away their day’s
activities in anticipation of the festivities of
the evening.
“Sure seems like a lot of fuss for one
wedding,” Oscar said, transformed by his new
costume.
Ellen, radiant by his side, said, “It’s
not just for Brad and Sylvia!
It’s for all of us.
It’s for lovers everywhere!”
Zooids, aides, and guests swarmed around
the platform in hushed expectation.
As the chamber orchestra began to play,
Brad emerged from the lounge, flanked by his
best man, Lanon, followed by Angus in his hooded
cloak, with Doc Will pulling up the rear.
One by one they stepped onto the
platform, arranging themselves in a circle to
await the arrival of the women.
Posting himself at the top of the stairs,
Doc Will was the official escort.
Flora came first, strewing blossoms,
stopping only when she reached Angus’ side.
Cybelle came next, her hair graced with a
crown of gardenias; she floated into Jesse’s
open arms.
Audley, trembling, fastened her gaze on
Lanon; his strength carried her across the lawn
and up the stairs to stand beside him.
Doc Will nodded and was very pleased.
Then, to the classic strains of the
wedding march, Sylvia, the most radiant woman on
Urth, carried herself and her gown of petals and
pearls regally across the expanse.
As the crowd murmured their approval, Doc
Will stepped down, held out his hand to her, and
led her up the staircase to Brad.
They joined hands, all of them, forming a
circle of friends.
After a moment Angus’ voice rang out.
“This is a solemn and joyous occasion,
appropriately called a Celebration of Fruition.
I borrow on the Union of this man,
Bradford Jules Spencer, and this woman, Sylvia
Chandler Watergate, to renew my commitment to my
mate, Flora.
May you young lovers find the same
contentment in your souls three thousand years
from now -- ”
“ -- Angus and I find today,” Flora
continued.
“In your Union, may your children,
visible and invisible, human and divine, be a
joy to your heart and a credit to truth, beauty
and goodness.”
Next, Doc Will spoke.
He said, “In the years to come, may you
remember that you are your own person.
It is not required that you always agree,
only that you respect your differences.
Above and through it all, may you always
care for one another.”
Jesse then paid tribute.
“When you are away from one another, let
your heart be assured of the soul mate’s undying
affection.
Let the waiting time be to whet the
appetite for the taste of your lover’s kiss.”
Cybelle joined in.
“May your friendship rob sorrow of its
suffering.
May your days be filled with laughter,
your nights with contented sighs, and may your
life together be forever.”
Then Lanon offered, “May you each
accomplish that which your heart finds to do,
and if you should fall short of your goal
today, may you comfort one another in the
knowledge that you will be given a new
opportunity tomorrow.”
Audley wished for her friends, “May you
always have the fullness as well as the promise,
and may you never fear love, for love - and
therefore life - are eternal.”
It was Doc Will who said, “You may kiss
the bride.” As Brad and Sylvia embraced, Flora
and Angus lit up the air with phosphorescent
sparks.
There was no doubt in the minds of Audley
and Lanon, or in the hearts of Jesse and Cybelle,
that the words uniting Brad and Sylvia extended
to them as well.
Ellen and Oscar, both aglow, led the
bride and groom, their attendants and the throng
of celebrants into the dining rooms where a
union feast awaited.
THE FEST OF FRUITION was underway.
After congratulations
and champagne toasts, and while plates were
being heaped with plenty, Doc Will stood back
and surveyed all that he saw, and he was glad to
have followed Angus’ advice.
He saw Sylvia renewed.
He saw Brad fulfilled in love at last.
He saw his daughter rarified by Lanon’s
devotion.
Replete with all this joy surrounding
him, he knew the time had come.
He approached Lanon and Audley, their
hands filled with trays of food and drinks, as
they crossed the room to the elevator.
“Hi, Dad,” she smiled.
“Wasn’t it just perfect?”
“Absolutely,” he agreed, beaming at her.
He caught Lanon’s eye.
“A perfect end to a perfect day, wouldn’t
you say, Lanon?”
Lanon fully understood Doc Will’s
implication.
“Yes, sir.
Thank you, Dr. Blackstone.”
“You two going up to stargaze?”
“Dad,” she blushed, none the wiser.
Lanon answered.
“We thought we’d go up and enjoy the
view.
Get some fresh air.”
“A candle light dinner, so to speak,” Doc
agreed.
“Want to join us?” she asked.
“I was thinking I’d turn in.”
“But Dad, it’s still early!” Audley
objected.
“For you young ones, it is, but I think
I’m ready to get some rest.
Audley?
You got a kiss for your old dad?”
“Of course.”
Their lips touched.
“Don’t worry about me, Daddy.
I won’t stay up too late.”
He put his hand on Lanon’s shoulder.
“Thank you, son.”
Lanon simply said, “Good night, sir.”
Dr. Blackstone pushed the elevator button
for them.
“You two enjoy yourselves.
Good night.”
He waved to them, then to the life he had
lived here with the Zooids.
By the time Doc Will figured out how to
fasten himself into the magnetic tram and set it
in motion, the stars were bright.
The full moon cast a mystic light upon
the silent sand.
Behind him the lights and laughter of
Gateway faded and before him the shadow of the
Portal appeared, a pristine gazebo on a distant
dune.
He felt removed, disassociated, detached.
The feeling had come over him as he was
listening to the voices of the lovers in the
Union ceremony, for he, like Angus and Flora,
was renewing his vows to Sarah, and now it was
time for them to be together.
At the Portal, Doc Will opened the
capsule and stood on the threshold, astounded by
its size.
The design was misleading.
It was immense!
By the light of the moon, he stepped into
the hall.
Eight elegant supporting pillars lifted
his eye to the glass-domed rooftop, revealing
the star-strewn heavens.
The sound of his footsteps were swallowed
up in the vastness, giving way to the subtle
warble of birds and the gentle trickle of water
in the fountains.
“Wilhelm?”
It was Angus, emerging with Flora from
the shadows.
“Yes, Angus, Flora.”
He felt transfixed as they approached and
stood beside him.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Angus asked in his hoarse whisper.
“I’m sure,” he averred.
“How does it work?”
Angus and Flora stood on either side of
him and helped him up the stairs to the
platform.
Again, his eyes were drawn upward.
In an instant a star appeared. The light,
dim at first, quickly grew in intensity until
its light became brilliant.
It grew brighter until it cast a beam of
light into the center of the dais.
As Doc watched in stupefaction, it
crystallized and shattered, revealing the full
figure of a woman, a goddess, in flamboyant
array.
She wore a skirt of dazzling royal
purple; her shirt was woven gold.
Around her waist, she wore scarves of
chartreuse and turquoise.
Pounds of ornaments set with precious
gems dangled from her wrists, her neck, her
ankles, her waist and her ears.
Her hair, long and curly and black as
pitch, flared like a frame from her pale,
beautiful face.
Flora approached at the sight of her.
“Verbena!” she said, embracing her.
“What are you doing here?”
The goddess flashed her eyes and her
bracelets.
“You are such a naughty girl!” Verbena
said, enveloping Flora in a shroud of love, her
voice coming from another dimension.
“You told Our Mother you’d be right back
and look at you!
You’ve been gone for ages!
Angus, is that you?”
She turned her face to receive his kiss.
“You’ve been having fun again, haven’t
you, dear boy?”
“Of course,” he murmured.
Verbena’s flashing eyes took in the good
doctor.
“Who is this child?”
Someone said, “Doc Will.”
“I have come for you!”
She extended her hand to him but he
hesitated.
“Are you ready to come with me?”
This was not at all what Doc had
expected!
Somewhere he had the idea that trumpets
would blare and angels would sing. He had had
visions of chariots of fire, but not an
overdressed femme fatale with come-hither
glances!
“Come!” Verbena insisted.
“I will take you to Sarah!”
He looked at Angus then at Flora.
“Tell Jesse I’ll miss him.” He then
reached out and took Verbena’s hand.
In that instant the light intensified and
enveloped the two of them completely.
There was a powerful surge, more like a
vacuum cleaner than an explosion, then the loud,
clear chirp of a bird, and it was done.
The strange thing for Audley was that,
having made the awesome commitment, serenity
washed over her.
Instead of feeling anxious about loving
Lanon, she felt the luxury of warmth and peace
pervade the space between the two of them, lying
unceremoniously in lawn chairs on the rooftop
deck of the obelisk, watching the stars come
out.
Emboldened by her receptivity, Lanon
said, “I now know why humans have emotions.”
She smiled.
“Oh?
Why is it that we have emotions?”
“Experience actualizes!
It is not enough just to know something.
I mean, what value would it have for me
to come here, look the place over, report my
observations, then watch the Portal be built and
the channel open, and not feel any of it?
Life must be felt!”
He was passionate about this realization.
“And the full range of experiential
living goes all the way from the recognition
that something needs to be done, to assessing
the challenges involved in doing it.
It gives us a chance to master our
struggles and then celebrate the victory of
accomplishment.”
“It sounds pretty academic to me,” she
said, resting her head on his shoulder.
“It is academic, in theory, but
it’s actual in practice.
Being human means to persevere with your
dreams while accepting your limitations.
Then, by applying our will intelligently,
we can be victorious over great odds, and that
brings a kind of rightful pride that is
very satisfying.”
“Yeah,” she purred. “I know the feeling.”
“I’ve been feeling it, too,
lately,” he confessed. “I think I’ve learned how
to see life from a human perspective.”
“I’m sure it will help you understand
humanity better,” she affirmed.
“It also helps me understand why we
couldn’t ... why you wouldn’t ... why we had to
wait.”
She nuzzled into him and he held her
close as the night sky, lit with a million
stars, carried them uneventfully farther and
farther out into space until their eyes were
drawn to an especially brilliant beam of light
toward the northwest.
Slowly Lanon sat up, watching as the beam
pierced through the darkness and lit up the
gazebo in the near distance.
“Whoa!” Audley said, also rising.
“What is that?”
“That’s the Portal,” he said, on his
feet.
Suddenly she was cold and anxious.
“It’s finished?”
He nodded. Within seconds the brilliant
beam of light contracted into a single vibrant
thread that connected Urth and sky.
She
stood up.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
As the light went out, her keen sense
perception came through with frightening
clarity.
“Where’s Dad?”
Lanon inclined his head towards the
Portal but kept silent.
They both watched intently as the light
renewed and withdrew from the desert like a
comet in reverse.
His fingers shot to his brow while she
demanded, “Lanon!
What was that?”
Hysteria was in her voice.
“Tell me!”
She pulled his fingers from his face and
clutched them, seeing his eyes joyous,
celebrant.
“It was accomplished.”
“What was?”
“Your father’s terrestrial escape.”
“Oh, my God.”
She dropped his fingers; they burned her.
She backed away from him.
“What have you done?”
He was confused by her reaction.
“It was a success !”
He stepped toward her but she recoiled.
“Don’t touch me!”
She stepped back.
“Don’t even look at me!”
Her face contorted by pain and confusion,
she screamed, “You murdered him!
You came here to take him away!”
“No, Audley, I didn’t!”
”Yes, you did!”
Her eyes glazed like a mad woman.
“Like a thief in the night you came here
and stole him from me.
Why?
He was healthy!
He was happy!”
Lanon reached for her.
“Audley, your father wanted to go!”
He reasoned, “He is the one who asked
permission to be the first to go!”
“You ghoul,” she snarled.
“He left on the channel you came here to
open up.”
She sneered her hatred toward him.
“He’d still be here if it weren’t
for you.”
Lanon had never seen fury.
He responded, “Audley, don’t be upset.
The transmission as a success!
Doc Will -- ”
”I’m not upset!” she spewed.
“I’m
furious!
I’m livid!
I’m beside myself!”
“But,” he said helplessly, “this is a
celebration!”
“For you, maybe, but for me
it’s a travesty!
A cruel and heinous execution!”
She started for the elevator.
He went after her.
“Audley, wait!”
She turned on him.
“Get away from me.”
Her voice was cold.
“Thanks to you, Lanon Zenton, my father
is dead!
I never want to see you again!”
AUDLEY WEPT AND RAGED.
What a fool she had been!
She had been vulnerable!
To her, it was a betrayal, a conspiracy.
Even
Angus was a co-conspirator.
The Zooids, who supposedly had no
secrets, had arranged it all behind her back!
Jesse had sent her off on a wild goose
chase so she wouldn’t know what was going on.
Flora and Cybelle had brainwashed her
with romantic notions and Lanon had blinded her
with false promises of love.
There was nowhere to turn.
Her father was gone.
Sylvia was now a Zooid.
Brad, too. Everyone was in on it.
What a fool she had been!
In her room, smashing flower petals, she
railed and packed her suitcases and cried.
“Damn! Damn! Damn!”
As the Celebration of Fruition proceeded
into the wee hours of the morning, Audley rode
the Transport Line to Los Angeles and took a
taxicab home to her studio in Malibu.
SOMETHING HAD CHANGED while she was away.
Even after Eugene and his pals vacated,
and she had put everything back the way it was,
something was different.
She couldn’t put her finger on it.
The sheets on the king-sized bed were the
same, and she still slept in one small corner.
The upholstered chairs still overlooked
the room below and the beach beyond.
Brad’s photo, the music, the liquor
cabinet and the taste of Galliano were all the
same but, like an old friend you haven’t seen
for many years, there was an experiential chasm
between them.
Even so, it was here that Audley licked
her wounds in silence and in solitude, going
through the motions of a life.
It was not until November, when her
calendar read “Thanksgiving Day,” that she
answered the phone to hear Jesse’s voice on the
line.
“Hello, Audley,” he said.
“This is Jesse.”
When she didn’t speak he asked, “How are
you?”
She was cold toward him. He was part of
the conspiracy.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“What do you want?”
There was a long pause before he met her
where she was.
“I was wondering about the progress of
the work you contracted to do for us.
Have you finished?”
She sat down.
“No.
They aren’t finished.”
She had tablets full of notes in her
luggage still untouched.
“What are your plans now?” he asked.
She had no plans.
“You are welcome to come back here,
Audley.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“There’s no place for me there, Jesse.
My assignment with the JCP is over.”
“I see,” he said at last.
“Well, if you should ever change your
mind.”
She heard herself say, “Tell Lanon I said
good-bye.”
“I would tell him if I could, Audley, but
he’s gone.”
What little strength she had left
deserted her.
“Did he go back to Zenton?”
“I don’t really know.
Lanon, Angus and Flora, Cybelle.
They all left.”
Across the miles, she sensed Jesse’s own
private grief.
“Their assignments were over, too?”
“Yes.”
“Were they all a success?”
“Yes.” he averred.
If they were all such a success, she
wondered, why was it all so sad?
“We could use you here, Audley, if you
want to come back.”
Tears rolled down her face.
“No,” she said, letting the phone slip
back into the cradle.
“Thank you.”
She had already given the JCP everything
she ever had.
Several days later she received a check
in the mail,
from the Jural Colony Project, paying her
generously for her time, even though the work
was incomplete.
She wasn’t proud of her inability to
fulfil her own assignment, but with the check,
she arranged to have the laundry room completed.
While the workers worked on the project,
Audley grieved.
She drank and cried and refused to answer
the phone when it rang, so it finally stopped
ringing.
The world outside was now a place for her
to hide, a dark cave of unreality where she
could indulge her feelings of isolation and
uselessness, but she could not look at the sofa
without thinking of Lanon asleep there.
She could not look at the bathtub without
seeing Lanon immersed in its bubbles.
She could not look at the view without
hearing his whistle of appreciation.
She could not watch the television; it
held too much violence.
She could not keep up with world events;
people were killing each other over natural
resources and ancient religious differences.
Everywhere, people were maiming
themselves and each other on highways in drunken
attempts to escape the unreality of life and the
imperfections of themselves and each other.
She could no longer read the newspaper.
It was filled with stories about mothers
killing their own children, fathers deserting
the responsibilities of their own families,
teachers wanting money to teach more lies,
churches wanting money to instill more fears,
politicians unable to speak the truth and
impotent to do anything about anything.
Even the completed laundry room gave her
no sense of satisfaction.
Christmas came and went.
She closed her eyes to the lights and her
ears to the caroling.
She bought no gifts, weeping over the
fact that she could not give gifts to her
father.
In the back of her mind, she knew Sylvia
and Brad would be celebrating Winter Fest, and
she cried over the fact that she would not be
exchanging gifts with either of them.
New Year’s Eve came and went.
Her resolve was to try to live, to try to
find something to live for.
Her whole life, it seemed, had led up to
being in love with Lanon and on the eve of the
Union, it was over.
He had not only abandoned her love, he
had taken her father with him.
He had taken everything!
Love had given and taken everything, and
left her alone.
She knew that if she didn’t do something
she would die.
She would succumb to alcoholism or starve
to death.
She called Martha, her surrogate mother,
and accepted Martha’s invitation to come and
stay for awhile.
It was not an easy pilgrimage to make.
She missed her father, and seeing the
house where she was born and raised, seeing his
study and his desk and the leather sofa where he
once napped and read, seeing the lab,
remembering Lanon, and having to recognize her
own role in bringing the two together was
painful.
Martha fed her, gave her warm milk,
nurtured her through the worst parts.
One day she confessed to Martha that her
father had told her he was planning to go.
“He told me, too, in his own way,” Martha
said.
“I knew when he left with Lanon that I
wouldn’t see him again for a long time, but when
I started getting instructions from him, I knew
for sure he was getting ready to leave.”
“What instructions?”
“Oh, stuff about his Last Will &
Testament, his books,” she said.
“Everything was spelled out, what to do.”
She added, “He gave me the house, you
know.”
She nodded.
“He said he was going to.
It’s only right.
I don’t need it.”
“I don’t need it either.
I’m going to sell it.”
“Fine.”
Audley’s eyes craned to see the nooks and
cupboards as if for the first and last time.
“Where’ll you go?”
“With my son and daughter-in-law in
Austin.”
“That makes sense.”
It was nice that something made sense,
but now even Martha would be gone.
“I’ll have a pension,” Martha said. “Your
father provided well for me, so I’m going to
give the money from the sale of the house to the
Zooids.”
The words were like a splash of cold
water to Audley.
She hadn’t allowed herself to think of
them for a long time.
Martha consoled, “You’ll be alright with
the money from the sale of his book.”
“Yeah,” she said.
“I’ll be alright.”
She had forgotten about the book!
She had promised her father she would
oversee its publication.
She had been carrying it around with her
in her luggage, along with the notes from the
JCP assignment, knowing that one day she would
have to look at it.
Venturing out of the kitchen and up to
her room, the room in which she was born, she
opened the suitcase.
Doc Will’s book, not surprisingly, had
been renamed to “Home Station.”
She spent the long winter days with
Martha, going through her father’s things,
preparing for the estate sale.
At night she read from his book.
Over time, she began to see her father’s
life and death from a new perspective.
Poring over old photos of Wilhelm and
Sarah, she saw that they had been very much in
love.
He must have missed her very much, all
those years, never remarrying.
He had devoted his life to his work,
biding time until they could be reunited.
As the days passed into weeks, Jesse
crept into her consciousness more than once, as
he had also lost someone dear to him, his soul
mate, Cybelle.
With the success of the Zooid mission, it
seemed, their cosmic support system had been
taken away.
She wondered if she would ever see Angus
again, then had to smile when she realized that
she had never really ‘seen’ him in the first
place!
By the end of February, the house was
ready for sale.
The carpets and draperies had been
cleaned, the floors buffed to a high sheen, the
attic emptied of memorabilia.
Doc’s library had been packed up and the
books dispersed according to his instructions,
as were the contents of his laboratory.
His patients’ notes were archived, except
for Lanon’s; those she tucked away in her
private things, reflecting that even now,
through it all, she was still protecting him.
On the day before the estate sale, a
gusty day in March, she found herself walking
down the steps to the beach.
With her childhood packed up and shipped
away, she knew it was not her studio, nor the
coastline, nor the season that had changed.
It was she who had changed, and it was
not just because of Lanon, it was also because
of her experiences with the Zooids.
The reason life was not real for her
anymore was because all the reality she had ever
known had happened to her in Guadix and in the
Colonies.
She recalled the dignity with which
Victoria Redbow had told the story of the life
and death of her youngest son, Amadon, and
regretted that she had not been able to do the
same for her father.
She remembered the red barns and white
fences and happy faces of Elliot and Anna Sproul
at Breadbasket, the smell of ensilage and the
sound of crickets, and regretted that part of
her was no longer tied to this Urth.
She remembered Findlay and his daily
bicycle ride over the Pennsylvania hills of Penn
State Reserve, and his teachings on prisons of
the mind, and she
regretted her prison of self.
Listening to the waves lap upon the
shore, she remembered the quiet devotion of
Dierdre.
She remembered the look of gratitude in
Brad’s eyes when he saw Sylvia openly displaying
her ring, and Doc Will’s toast to the marriage
of Brad, who was like his son, and Sylvia, who
was like his daughter.
She remembered Angus, how he made her
laugh, and took away her fears.
She remembered the words of Cybelle and
Flora, and finally she remembered Lanon.
She dropped to her knees in the sand and
rocked back and forth to the rhythm of the
capping waves, remembering all of him, the way
his voice caressed her ears, the way her skin
tingled where he touched her.
She remembered him when he was brand new,
his laser beam eyes, his questions, and his
childlike wonder at this primitive planet.
She remembered how he had trusted her,
how he had wanted her.
She remembered their morning walk in the
mystical prism of Gateway and the wonder of his
kiss.
She removed her lapis necklace and buried
it in the sand along with all her dreams and
illusions.
She wept.
How could she live without him?
What life was there for her now?
Perhaps it was herself answering her own
cries, but she seemed to hear Lanon’s voice.
It said, “May you each accomplish that
which your heart finds to do, and if you should
fall short of your goal today, may you comfort
one another in the knowledge that you will be
given a new opportunity tomorrow.”
There was only one thing she could
do.
DR. BLACKSTONE’S PUBLISHER had been waiting for
the book; it would provide her with an income
for a long time to come.
Her Malibu studio apartment was easy to
sell; Eugene had always coveted it.
Compared to the lifetime collection of
her father, her possessions were few and easy to
sell, donate or destroy.
She gave her MG to Red Fingernails.
She even left her memories behind.
With a small satchel of personal things,
she placed her hand on the metal plate and
punched in her destination.
As soon as the doors closed and she was
buckled into her seat, she felt a long-absent
sense of anticipation.
This was not just a reporting assignment,
although she had all her notes and now finished
drafts in her briefcase.
This was not just a lark, an experiential
adventure.
This was a commitment.
Audley Claudine Blackstone had committed
herself to something besides Audley.
Something significant.
If she had to wait for an eternity for
the taste of her lover’s kiss, she would do
something useful while she waited.
She turned on her TASC to look for the
new program that Brad had installed, the one
that Lanon had helped bring about.
She identified it and brought up the
screen to access “Monitor.”
This seemed to be a slower program than
the others.
She was about to become impatient when
suddenly the air crackled with static
electricity and the image of an unknown entity
appeared on the screen.
It was neither male nor female.
“Greetings,” it said.
“Hello,” Audley replied, not knowing what
to expect.
“Ask questions,” it said.
“Are you Monitor?”
“Yes,” it responded.
“How does this work?”
The program did not come with
instructions.
“Ask questions.”
What should she ask? she wondered.
Will Jesse be glad to see me?
Will Sylvia be too busy to spend time
with me now?
Will I ever see Lanon again?
She turned the machine off.
What, indeed, was she to ask.
What did she need to know?
She turned the machine on, again cued
into Monitor.
“Greetings,” the voice said.
“My Dad.
Dr. Wilhelm Blackstone.
Is he well?”
“He is well,” the Monitor replied and
Audley’s eyes filled with happy tears.
“Has he seen Sarah, my mother?”
“They are together.
They send you their love.”
A little sob escaped her before she dared
to ask, “And Lanon?
How is he?”
“Lanon is well.”
She did not dare ask about him further.
Instead, she went back to the academics.
“Am I doing the right thing by joining
the Jural Colony Project?”
“It matters little what you join.
It is the spirit in which you join that
makes a difference.”
“Do I have the right spirit?”
“We find no objection to it.”
Who is “we” she wondered, but turned the
machine off.
How did one talk to something so
abstract?
She remembered the first time she met
Angus.
“Here you are face to face with 5,000
years of experience,” he had once said, “and all
you can think of are your emotional
involvements.”
Was the Monitor so different?
She turned on the machine.
“Greetings,” it said.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I am your personal monitor.”
“Do you have a name?”
“No.
I am your monitor.”
“Does that mean that you belong to me?”
“No,” it replied.
“I belong to me.
I am attached to you.
Exclusively.”
“And we’ve never had a conversation
before?”
“If you think about it, you will remember
having spoken with me before, many times.”
She had thought she was talking to
herself.
“We’ve never spoken so directly, though,”
she insisted.
“We have never spoken so mechanically.
Our communication has always been
direct.”
“I see.
Where do you come from?”
“I come from where you have not yet been,
from where you have decided to go.”
“And where is that?”
“Forward.”
Audley leaned back in her seat and felt
the magnitude of what this Monitor might be able
to tell her if she only had the wisdom to ask
the right questions.
“Will we be able to talk again?”
“You have a TASC,” the Monitor said.
“I have a machine,” Audley clarified.
“You tell me if I have a task.”
“Is that a question?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, you have a task.
I will help you.”
“How?”
“Ask questions.”
She could not formulate a question and
yet she could not bring herself to cut off the
contact.
The connection remained viable between
them until she felt the Transport Line slow and
stop at the landing of Gateway.
There the TASC disconnected
automatically.
Jesse met her at the platform.
They didn’t speak at once, but went into
each other’s arms and held each other, out of
memory, out of affection, out of mutual
experience.
“It’s good to have you back, Audley,” he
said, leading the way upstairs.
“Are you well?”
“I am well,” she acknowledged.
“And you?”
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t sound fine to Audley, merely
well enough.
“What have I missed?” she asked, feasting
her eyes on the bubble and the network that was
Gateway.
They crossed the deck and entered the
calm of his apartment.
“Have you heard from ... the others?”
She slid into one of the wingbacks.
He shook his head.
“Angus ventured off to another fledgling
planet to investigate psychism, but he promised
he would be back.”
“And Flora?”
Jesse sat across from her.
“Flora left, too.
Her sister Verbena was having a
graduation of some sort and Flora wanted to
attend that before she went on to her next
gathering mission.”
He did not mention Cybelle or Lanon.
“But what about you, Audley?
What have you been doing with yourself?”
She shrugged.
“Mourning,” she said simply.
“For Dad and Lanon and everything I’ve
thrown away in my life that I didn’t cherish
while I had it.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Audley,”
he said kindly.
“It’s part of the human condition.”
Something in what he said caused her to
ask, “And what happened with Cybelle?
Have you heard from her?
Will she be back?”
Jesse placed his long fingers under his
chin in that familiar pose.
“It doesn’t matter.”
She allowed her reaction.
“How can you say it doesn’t matter,
Jesse? You know damned well it matters!
How can you sit there and be so
transcendental?
Can’t you admit to being human?
To having feelings?”
As soon as he looked at her, she felt
guilty for her outburst.
It was all too apparent that he did
have feelings but, like the Monitor, Jesse
wasn’t focusing on his emotional involvements.
“I’m sorry, Jesse.
I didn’t mean to say that.”
“I know,” he smiled.
“We all say some strange things when we
aren’t looking.”
She grinned.
“I wasn’t seeing very clearly.”
“Why don’t you?” he suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“Why don’t you see clearly?
You’ve never taken a good look at the
Portal.”
“No, I haven’t,” she admitted.
“Go ahead,” he urged.
“We’ll talk when you get back.”
“You mean now?”
She felt like granite.
He nodded.
“Now.”
THE CAPSULE CLOSED over her head and moved her
gently into the clear, spacious desert.
It was a reflective sojourn for Audley
Claudine, something she needed to do.
She had left Gateway in such anger, in
such an immature, emotional frenzy.
Since then she had made peace with
herself, at last, but now the Portal represented
a way she might make peace with others -- with
her father, with Lanon.
Her eyes welled up with tears at the
thought of him.
She had been so unfair to him in her
distress.
She had forgiven herself for her
childishness, but she needed to ask Lanon’s
forgiveness for her anger, her human frailty.
Would he be able to understand?
Was he human enough then or now to know
what she had been through?
She had no way of knowing, but she had to
ask.
The Portal, a delicate, romantic gazebo
from a distance, loomed large before her as the
capsule rose up at the last dune.
It was aglow with an energy that was
otherworldly.
It was blue, sort of, and it glittered
like sunlight on a mountain stream.
The capsule slowed to a stop.
This was no place to come upon in a
hurry.
How many people, she wondered, had made
their terrestrial escape here since her father
had made the virgin journey through the Portal
from this world to the next?
And how fraught with strange and fearsome
feelings were they?
How had her father felt when he
approached this imposing yet sublime temple?
He had said he was ready.
He had tried to tell her he wanted to go.
He had tried to get her to understand and
to support what he was doing, but she couldn’t
deal with it.
It called up too many fears, too many
memories of untimely departures.
Only after these many months of
reflection was she able to appreciate that he,
too, had a soul mate and was tired of living
without her.
Only when she was able to see beyond her
own needs was she able to see that her father’s
love for her mother was no less than her own
love for Lanon.
Only now was she able to release him, to
go on.
How she wished she had been able to be
there for her father!
If she had to do it again, she would have
given her blessing to his departure, she would
have walked with him to the door.
She stepped out onto the cool parapet of
the Portal.
It was more than large.
It was immense!
The light of the sun poured onto the
elevated platform, which was a pedestal, not a
funeral pyre.
On the periphery were Flora’s exquisite
botanical gardens and Cybelle’s aviaries.
The marble benches near the fountains
were cushioned and inviting.
She slipped off her shoes at the entrance
and made her way across the mighty floor.
The birds, minding their own business of
making music, sounded close yet far away.
In this place of mixed feelings, she
tuned in to the sounds of the birds. Their song
was the easiest thing on which to focus. As she
heard them, she savored their simplicity, their
purity, recognizing how we sometimes make life
too complicated, too busy with emotions and
conflicts.
The silence of the temple, so large, so
generated to focus inward and upward, might have
been overwhelming but for the gentle music of
the birds, under which could be heard the
trickle of the fountains.
She sat on one of the benches with her
back to the water and willed herself to feel the
magnificence of the structure which took her
father and which also took Lanon.
The energy of the Portal was intense.
Its power was intimidating.
Her eyes lingered on the gardens once
more before she allowed her vision to lift to
the sky.
More than see, she could feel see
the energy of the heavens swooping and swirling.
She became ensnared in the incredible
surge of life not of this world.
Her surroundings fell away.
She lost herself and was lifted, no
longer human, no longer mortal, no longer tied
to the world of flesh and blood, of mind and
matter, but a part of the universe, one with the
energy of the cosmos, welcomed, accepted,
validated.
Her heart reached out and her soul
stretched up, being born of the Spirit ripping
through her like a spasm of joy.
An eternity later she could feel the
living water of the fountain in her and on her
face and she knew she was crying, but it was not
the sad cry she’d had for many months.
This was a happy cry, a baptism.
Something deep inside her celebrated a
coming home.
The birds trilled and her soul, too, was
singing.
In another instant, she could feel the
bench beneath her, and her bare feet on the
cool, smooth floor.
Reluctant to open her eyes, she hung
suspended.
She was not afraid to face life.
She was ready to embrace her mortality,
to do the work that would be required of her, to
bring other souls to this Portal -- for it was
clear that this would be her task.
How could anyone not want everyone
to feel this feeling, this oneness with
everything?
How could there be any fulfillment for
humanity as a whole without this individual
connection with infinity, this personal
relationship with divinity?
It
was all so exquisite, so timeless, so sublime.
Something cool touched her neck.
Reaching up to find out what it was, her
fingers came to rest on the large blue bead of
her lapis lazuli necklace.
How could this be?
She had buried the necklace in the sand,
along with all her illusions, and yet now it lay
again on her neck like armor.
She opened her eyes to see Lanon, as
through a veil, standing before her.
She shut her eyes quickly, feeling her
heart pounding in her throat.
Was Lanon simply a hallucination?
Was it all just an illusion?
With her eyes closed now, recognizing his
presence, she felt him kneel in front of her, to
be equal with her.
“Lanon,” she whispered.
She opened her eyes and
reached out to touch him, to make certain
he was real, but he put his finger on her lips.
“Audley,” he said quietly, confirming his
presence.
“I have watched you.
I have seen you grow in understanding,
and I have seen you come to accept your
destiny.”
She drank in his words.
“I have watched you from Zenton and I
have felt what you have felt.
As close as we were before, I did not
really know you until I felt you suffer.
It is not in me to allow you to suffer.”
“Be with me,” she said, not realizing she
was forming words, not anxious about his
response, knowing their love was forever.
“Until the end of time.”
Then the fountain vanished and the birds
were silenced.
There were only the soul mates, wrapped
in the soundest, most profound, mortal embrace.
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