The Zooid Mission by Gerdean
Ch 14  CELEBRATION OF FRUITION
 
 

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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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