The Zooid Mission by Gerdean
Ch 3   0802-LZ-Lanon_(La-non’) Zenton
 
 

  Return to Last Chapter  Ani-Blue-E-Mail  Next Chapter 

 3

 0802-LZ

Lanon (La-non’) Zenton

            Whether she heard the twig snap first and then awaken or vice versa she never knew, but there she was, eyes round with surprise and confronted by a stranger.  Her first instinct was to get to her feet, which he helped her to do.  Automatically Audley accepted his proffered hand and then her adrenaline pumped for the third, or was it the fourth, time in less than 24 hours.  She shuddered and pulled away, wanting to seek the security of the Maxum.  Then she remembered the flat tire.

            "Damn! Damn! Damn!" she nearly screamed.

            The stranger asked:  "Are you afraid?"

            She was terrified.  "No!"  She turned and sped toward the car.

            0802-LZ watched the lithe young woman scramble across the underbrush, admiring her agile long legs.  He had not intended to frighten her.

            At the Maxum Audley stopped short.  Where had he come from?  "Damn!" she said again, half in panic and half in frustration.  Who is he?  What does he want?  Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision.  She reached inside the car and quickly retrieved her sunglasses.  His body came into her peripheral vision, standing apart by a good thirty feet.  Her legs buckled and she sat, trembling, fumbling to put on her shoes.  A bitter taste arose in her mouth and she knew it was the taste of fear and she hated herself for it. 

            What did she have to be fear?  Not dying, no, but  of what?  Her vulnerability!  There wasn't another soul around for miles!  Was it her imagination or was he as powerful as he seemed?  Her hand, where he had touched her, still tingled.  He could crush her, she knew, without effort.  She had seen his face for an instant.  What had she seen in it?  Energy.  Power.  "What do you want?" she demanded.

            The man maintained his distance and made a helpless gesture with his hands.

            "Who are you?" she asked again, finding her footing.

            "I won't hurt you.  Please, don't be afraid," he said.

            She refused to believe him.  She didn't dare believe him.  Not now, with a national emergency going on.  Not out here in the wilderness miles from anyone.  Yet, he had not assaulted her in her sleep.  He had offered his hand and she had instinctively taken it.  Besides, she liked the sound of his voice.  It was resonant.  Warm and capable.  Capable of what?  Rape?  Robbery?  Murder?

            "What are you doing here?" she asked.

            He replied, "What are you doing here?" and his voice smiled. 

            Her fear was fast subsiding in the brilliant morning sun.  She caught herself wishing that if he were going to rape or rob her, he would hurry up and get it over with.  She looked around.  The flat tire had to be repaired.  She went to the trunk of the car and found it locked.  The keys were still in the ignition where she left them.

            Suddenly she knew she need not fear.  He was not going to hurt her.  So far, in fact, he had been nothing but helpful.  Well, then, she resolved, if he is going to hang around, he can damned well be useful.  "Hey!" she called out.  "Come over here."

            As he approached, she tried not to notice that his body looked as warm and capable as his voice sounded.  Supple muscles rippled under his forest green jersey.  His legs were long and lean and he moved with a good stride.  To Audley, the stranger pulsated with virility.    His hair was dark.  Even with her eyes averted, she could see his skin was clear and ruddy, and he was big! 

            She clutched the key ring, feeling a familiar twinge between her legs as he approached then stood obediently near the open trunk into which she directed her vision as she felt him looking at her.  His eyes burned her, moving slowly over her face and neck, down over the soft curves of her breasts.  Like a laser beam, she could feel his visual sojourn over her hips, through her groin, down her legs and out through the bottom of her feet.  She trembled.

            "How can I help you?"  His voice came to her as if through a channel, reaching directly into her, caressing her inner ear.

            Not daring to look at him, hearing her own voice completely disassociated from her environs, she said, "I'll pay you to fix my flat tire."

            "I'm sorry to disappoint you," he said softly, "but I have never fixed a flat tire.  I don't know how."

            It was too ludicrous.  Her eyes darted to his face and she fell into his blue eyes.  Blue!  Incredibly blue, like the sky on a clear day.  And bottomless.

            "You're joking," she said, feeling giddy.

            "No, I'm not.  Have you?"

            "Have I what?"

            "Fixed a flat tire."

            "Oh.  No.  Of course.  I mean,” she stammered, “of course not.  But I've watched.  I know what to do.  I'll instruct you."

            "Good.  I will need instruction."

            Again, the voice crept into her head, settled and lingered there, diffusing her thoughts into fragments.  She realized she had been staring.

            Abruptly she directed her attention to the lug wrench, jack and spare tire and, with his assistance, gathered them all to the damaged tire.  As she explained the function of each piece he watched and listened intently.  His presence was so disconcerting.  She foolishly tore a fingernail and, after a blaze of DamnDamnDamn, he proceeded to change the tire without her help.

            Standing over him, watching his tawny fingers explore the tools and examine the faulty tire, Audley imagined those fingertips touching her nipples.  She wanted him.  She didn't know or care who he was, where he came from or where he was going, but she wished to God he would take her right there on the shoulder of the road, in the dirt, beside the lug wrench.  But he worked in silence, concentrating on his project, seemingly having forgotten all about her.  His indifference irritated her.

            The sun was getting hot, she complained to herself, and still there were no other cars on the road.  Was the power failure still on?  Surely not.  She looked at her watch.  "Damn!" she said unwittingly.  "My watch has stopped.  Have you got the time?"

            He looked up for a second and then returned immediately to the task at hand.  "About 10:15."

            "Say, that's pretty good.  Where'd you learn that?"

            He tightened the final bolt and replaced the hubcap.  "I've had some training in Celestial Navigation."  He wiped his hands on the cloth Audley handed him, careful not to make contact.

            "What about you?" he asked. "What do you do?"

            "I'm a reporter.  At least I was a reporter.  I'll probably get thrown off the press after this recent fiasco."

            The stranger stood up, brushed the dust and dried grass from his fudge-colored trousers.  "What fiasco is that?"

            Closing the trunk, Audley caught herself wondering about the contents of those trousers and moved away abruptly.  She might want him, but be damned if she would be brazen about it.  She wasn't that liberated.  "It's too much to go into,” she said.  “What do I owe you?”

            He smiled.  "What I could really use is a ride."

            Her heart skipped a beat.  "Sure," she answered at once, remembering her promise to Brad that she would not pick up any hitchhikers.  Well, he wasn't hitchhiking.  She was paying off a debt.  "Where to?"  She hoped he wanted to go a long way.

            "Where are you going?"

            Again, his simple question sparked off many possible answers.  Where, indeed, was she going?  She had the feeling that any answer would be acceptable to him.  She smiled.  "Far, far away.  Come on.  I'll give you a lift."  She slid behind the wheel, ready to leave before he could change his mind.

 

0802-LZ LEARNED A LOT during his first encounter with a human being, aside from the art of tire changing, much of which was a solid appreciation for the complimentary opposite sex.  He had studied charts and reports on the mortal male-female relationship, of course.  He had been informed about the innate sexual attraction of these creatures of animal origin and had found the concept no more or less interesting than any other mental or social concept.  But now he had been exposed to the sex attraction first hand; in his some two thousand odd years of existence 0802-LZ felt something new, and he enjoyed it.

            He also recognized that his system was geared too high.  It was not in his jurisdiction to read other people's thoughts, but the female's thoughts were unjustly evident.  He fitted his new frame into the plush comfort of the Maxum then pressed two forefingers to his brow to instruct his mentors to reduce his energies.  After his recalibration, he said, “You were talking about a fiasco."            

            "What?"  She had been thinking about the fiasco she had made of her and Brad's engagement.  Breaking the news to Doc Will would be difficult.

            "Something having to do with your work as a reporter," he urged.

            "Oh, yes.  Weinberger."

            "What's a wine burger?"

            Audley laughed.  "That’s a legitimate question.  Weinberger publishes 'The Silent Majority'.  You've seen that magazine, haven't you?"

            "No."

            "Well," she continued, undaunted by his ignorance and feeling more at ease in his presence.  "It's a monthly magazine, slick and glossy.  People think it fashionable to have the most recent edition on their smoked-glass coffee tables.  I suppose they read it, I don't know.  Who is the silent majority anyway?  I don't really care for the format so I don't know why I stay on with them but...  I'm sorry," she apologized.  "I didn’t mean to run on and on.  I don’t usually talk so much.”

            "No, please.  I find it very interesting.  Tell me more."  While he absorbed Audley's words, tone of voice, pace, energy content and inflections, 0802-LZ observed with equal interest the passing landscape of his landing sphere.

            "I was on assignment," she ventured.

            "Yes."  He noted the thick vegetation of the area.  He felt the density and weight of the atmosphere, the temperature, humidity and barometric pressure.  He studied the transporting vehicle, took in its odors and sounds and the methodologies utilized to propel it from one space to another.

            "A very special assignment, actually.  To cover the Third Annual Convention of the Institute of Futurology in Meadowland, Connecticut."  She could hear herself trying to impress him.

            "Did you fulfil your assignment?"

            "No," she confessed.  "Not exactly, anyway."

            Rather than ask "why not" as she anticipated he would, he asked, "Do you enjoy the topic of futurology?"

            She glanced at him, appreciating his appearance.  His nose was perfectly sculpted and straight, set between two high, pronounced cheekbones.  Nice strong chin, sweet lips.

            "Do you think about the future?" he asked again.

            Her eyes quickly returned to the road. "Not much.”  She had just driven away from her future with Brad. “Do you?"  She, too, could answer a question with a question.

            "Often," he responded.  "For example, how long can you continue to propel this vehicle without fuel?"

            Audley gasped.  She had completely forgotten about fuel, and the gauge registered 'empty'.  Damn! she thought.  Where in hell am I going to get gas out here in the middle of nowhere?  Her passenger seemed unconcerned.

            "There might be a map in the glove compartment," she said, pointing to the latch, not having the nerve to reach across his legs.  "Take a look.”   

            Inside, 0802-LZ found a small road atlas.  The map was altogether different from the ones he knew on Zenton.  After observing the mortals’ quaint perspective of space, he quickly located their position on the highway while Audley racked her brain trying to figure out how to get fuel.  For the first time since midnight, she hoped to find a car on the road, a car with gasoline she could siphon.

            "Penn State Reserve is up ahead just a few miles,” he offered.  “Do you think they would have fuel?"

             Relief flooded her as she answered, "Yes! They will.  I'm so glad you thought of them!  I didn't know what I was going to do!"   Twice already, he had earned his keep.  Even if the tank ran dry, they could walk from this distance.

            He returned the map to the glove box and shifted his pelvis.  "This is a very comfortable vehicle," he observed.  “Very accommodating.”

            "Yes, I think so, too,” she said, also relaxing.  “But it's not mine.  I have a small sports car.  Not as comfortable as this one but less expensive to maintain."   He didn't seem inclined to discuss cars, so she egged, "This car belongs to Dr. Bradford Spencer."

            "Doctor of what?" he asked.

            She didn't like it.  A man with his physique and mystique should want to know who this Spencer fellow was and what was her relationship to him.

            "Doctor of Physics," she snapped.

            "He is with the Institute of Futurology?"

            "Yes, he is,” she nodded triumphantly.  Now she was getting somewhere.  "He was appointed to the IOF when it started three years ago.  He’s their Head Systems Analyst.  He's very intelligent." 

            "You're very impressed with him.  Is he your mate?"

            "He's a friend of my father," she blurted, furious with herself that she had not definitively said 'No!’  She sulked.  This was not at all going as she had hoped.  She drove on, watching for the PSR off-ramp.

            At length he asked, "Why are we the only travelers?"

            "The roadblocks," she replied indifferently.

            "Why are the roads blocked?"

            She couldn’t believe he didn't know.  "Where were you?" she demanded.  "Since 10:00 last night the entire East Coast has been suffering a massive power failure!"

            "A power failure?"  He scowled.  Had he caused it?  Would they have let him materialize if the requisite energy was detrimental? He pressed his forehead with his fingers.

            Audley noticed the gesture.  Was he okay?  Confused?  He was certainly unconventional! 

            After a moment he said, "I was unconscious."

            "Unconscious?” she asked cautiously.  “Why?  What happened to you?" Be damned if she would be more interested in him than he was in her.

            "My craft went down," he said simply, removing his fingers.

            "Your plane?"  He must be a pilot, she assumed.  He said he’d had Celestial Navigation.

            "Yes," he added.  "Back there where I met you."

            "And you didn’t get hurt?"

            "Apparently not," he said, patting his arms and chest to indicate that all was in normal working condition.  0802-LZ was learning masculine techniques very quickly.  She noticed his hands were solid and well formed.  His fingers were elongated and sensitive without being feminine.  His nails appeared manicured.  One thing was certain: he worked with his brain and not with his hands.  She took a deep breath and returned her attention to the road.

            "What about your co-pilot?  Any passengers?"

            "No.  I flew solo."

            "Well.  It's a wonder you weren't killed.  Did your power go out?"

            "Yes," he laughed.  "You could say that it did."

            The most unsettling quality about him, she determined, was his voice.  Somehow, he spoke more intimately than any voice she had ever heard, as if he had a secret that he shared only with her.  He was like a constant and pleasant double entendre.

            "What are you called?" he asked.

            She grinned.  His vernacular was fun.  "Oh, I'm called a lot of things.  Spoiled, indulged, willful, sexy...."

            "I meant, what is your nomenclature?"

            Nomenclature?  “My nomenclature is Audley Claudine Blackstone, but my friends call me Audley."

            "Audley."  He tried it out, sounding it. 

            She liked the way he pronounced it -- with the umlaut.  So many people, including Brad, made it sound like 'oddly'.

            "It's French.  My mother was French."

            "She is making the ascent?"

            "I beg your pardon?"

            "You said she was French.  Past tense."

            "'Making the ascent' is such a novel way to put it.  But, yes, she's been making the ascent since I was four years old."

            "And the Claudine?"

            "I'm not sure where that came from.  It's probably the name of some old movie star.  What about you?  What's your nomenclature?"

            0802-LZ considered.  Nothing regarding his mortal identity had been pre-arranged; he had been left to his own creative devices.  But before he could formulate a response, the radio crackled loudly and the voice of an announcer broke in:

 

THIS IS WWVA IN WHEELING, WEST VIRGINIA.  THE BLACKOUT IS OVER.  FULL POWER HAS BEEN RESTORED.  REPEAT; THE BLACKOUT IS OVER.  FULL POWER HAS BEEN RESTORED.  PLEASE REMAIN IN YOUR HOMES AND STAY TUNED TO THIS STATION FOR FURTHER DETAILS.  THIS IS WWVA IN WHEELING, WEST VIR....

 

            Audley clicked off the radio as her passenger pointed to the Penn State Reserve turn-off.  She swung the speeding Maxum onto the off-ramp.  The gauge registered below empty, but from here the road sloped downward and the Maxum could coast if necessary.

            The scenery changed quickly from the eight-lane highway to a gently curving country lane, paved with macadam, lined on both sides by thick rows of maple trees and evergreen.  A vast field of grazing cattle lay to the left, and to the right, a dense forest clung to the side of the mountain range.  Tall fences on either side announced a Private Property effect.

            "What is this Penn State Reserve?" he asked.

            "It's one of the JCP Life Experimental Stations."

            "Oh?"  Had he reached his destination already?

            Around the final downgrade and curve, the engine sputtered.  They coasted the balance of several yards to a gas pump and guard station where two guards in denim stopped them, one on each side of the car.  Audley extended her license, press card and vehicle registration to the guard whose nameplate read: Barrister.

            "Good morning, Barrister," she chirped.

            Barrister scrutinized Audley and her passenger, then her credentials.  "What’d you do, run out of gas?” he asked.

            She nodded.  “Yep.”

            “We can accommodate you, Ms. Blackstone, but you'll have to pay for it."  He returned her identification.

            "Well, of course!  I expect to pay for it.  Premium prices, too, if necessary.  I can't very well go on without fuel!”            "What I mean is we don't take checks or plastic."

            "Alright, Mr. Barrister.  I have cash.”   

            While the second guard filled the Maxum's tank, Barrister inquired, "You wouldn't happen to know a Wilhelm Blackstone, would you?"

            "Yes, he’s my father,” Audley responded proudly.

            "Well, I’ll be,” Barrister said.  “Small world, isn’t it?”

            “Is it?” she asked.  “How do you know my father?”

            “I was one of the first inmates he ever tested.  Habitual criminal.  Mostly armed robbery.  If you remember, tell Dr. Blackstone that Barrister said hello."

            "I surely will, Barrister," she said, smiling.  Putting some psychic distance then between herself and the guard, she turned to her handsome passenger to explain, "My father helped set up this place."

            The man from Zenton was genuinely interested.  "What did he do?"

            "First he had to convince the United States Criminal Justice System that they needed this kind of rehabilitation."

            "Rehabilitation?"

            "Yes.  PSR is a prison, didn’t you know that?"

            "You said it was a Life Experimental Station."

            "It is!" she insisted.  "They experiment with prisoners."

            Zenton had no prisons. "How?”

            "I don't know how, but I do know the government is very grateful to Dad for the work he did.”

            “Barrister said your father tested him.” 

            “Well, Dad does that, as a mindal scientist.  He makes up and administers tests.  Here at PSR, he set up all the special tests they use on prisoners."

            "Does PSR belong to the government?"

            "No, it's one of the projects of the JCP."

            "What is the JCP?"

            "You haven't heard of the JCP?" she demanded.  "That's like saying you never heard of the CIA or the FBI!  The JCP is the society of people who live in these Life Experimental Stations.  PSR is just one of them."

            “Are they all rehabilitation centers?” 

            “Oh, no.  I think this is the only one of its kind.  The others are for other kinds of experiments.”

            “What kind of experiments?”

            “I have no idea.  I pay very little attention to them.”

            "Did your father help set up all of them?" 

            She nodded, blandly. 

            "When was this one set up?  Recently?" he asked.

            She shook her head.  "No, PSR is one of the oldest.  Dad worked here before it opened, over twenty years ago.”

            "Can we go inside?"

            His question startled her.  "What for?"

            "Because I'm interested in Life Experimental Stations, and clearly this is one," he said.

            "Well, clearly I am not at all interested!" she said, adding, "Unless they happen to have ladies’ room.  I need to ... brush my teeth.”

            Reinforced by 0802-LZ’s presence, Audley got out of the car and approached the guard station to ask Barrister,  "Is there a ladies’ room here that I can use?”

            The rehabilitated habitual criminal proved to be quite civil.  "Yes, there is, Ms. Blackstone.  And a men's room, too, for your friend, but you’ll have to sign the register."

            "Great!" she exclaimed, waving for 0802-LZ to “Come on!”  Feeling more kindly toward Barrister, she said,  “Where do we sign?” 

            As Barrister handed Audley a clipboard, 0802-LZ again considered his nomenclature.  Audley had three names but Barrister had only one.  He would compromise.  Audley scrawled her name on line 13 then handed the clipboard to her passenger.  Under 'last name' he wrote “Zenton”, the name of his Home Station.  Under 'first name' he wrote “Lanon” which, in the Zenton language, means Life.  He passed the clipboard back to Barrister through Audley who read line 14 with interest.

            "Rest rooms are over there in the Administrative Offices, and your bill comes to $46.76."  Barrister grinned.

            "Highway robbery," she declared, grinning back.  She handed him a fifty-dollar bill and took off toward the gate.  “Keep the change!”

            Lanon caught up with her to report, "If we're not out in 15 minutes they'll come in after us."  Somehow, it did not sit right with Audley that a prisoner, no matter how rehabilitated, was putting limits on her freedom, but inside the gate, the Administrative Offices were unlocked.  A rack of literature stood just inside the door.  Lanon was already perusing them as Audley instructed “Wait here!" and slipped inside the women’s room, where she secured the lock on the door and tossed her purse and camera case onto the counter. 

            Now that it was all over -- the flight, the power-failure, the break with Brad, and the night's perilous drive -- she could take a moment to celebrate her accomplishment.  Never again would she berate herself for not having the courage of her own convictions.  How perfectly adventurous it all was!   She would not want to have to relive any of it; however, now that it was over, she was glad to have had those experiences. 

            Over?  It was not over.  That was just the point!  It was only the beginning!  And it had something to do with Lanon Zenton, she was sure of it.  The sense of destiny she had felt in the airplane was alive in her, pulsing, making her feel weak.  There was something about him. 

            Hell, yes, he was gorgeous, but there was something else.  Something in the way he spoke to her.  Something she heard in him besides his voice.  Something intangible yet somehow more real than anything she had ever known.  Whatever it was, she loved it.

            He appreciated Penn State Reserve?  Fine.  He was interested in Life Experimental Stations?  Fine.  Great.  Whatever he wanted.  Meanwhile she would have a much-needed toilette and catch up on a few stray thoughts.

            After a thorough sponge bath with paper towels, to make certain she looked good and smelled good, she emptied the contents of her purse onto the counter.  She revitalized her make-up and lit the remaining marijuana cigarette. 

            "Do like they taught you in school, Audley," she advised herself.  "Get the emotionality out of the way and report the academics." On the commode then, with notebook and pen in hand, she put her thoughts into perspective and then on paper.  She inhaled and wrote:

            1. Cut out the Galliano drunks.  (“You’ll get bad circles under your eyes, and besides, you can’t afford it.”)         2. Get rid of the stash.  (“You don’t want to be fogged up and not be able to tell what’s real from what’s not real.  Get high on this new life that’s unfolding.”)

            3.  Observe.  Ask questions.  (“There's a story in here somewhere.  He knows something you don't.  Find out what it is.  Get involved in the mechanics of it.”)

            4.  Call Dad and tell him you're okay.

            5.  Draft the IOF article for Weinberger.  Spice it up with a first hand account of being in the air when it happened.  Praise the IOF for their foresight in knowing it was coming and trying to thwart it.  Make Brad the hero.  (“It is the least you can do.”) 

            6.  Get out of here.  Make tracks.  Get food in your stomach and get a good night's sleep.  (“Alone!”) 

            7.  Find out exactly who this Lanon Zenton fellow is.  Is he married, divorced or what?  And do it now, before he disappears!

            After a last minute appraisal of her appearance, she flushed the balance of the joint, repaired the contents of her purse and took a deep breath.  With luck, he would be finished with whatever he was doing and they could be on their way.

 

HE WAITED FOR HER AT THE CAR.  On the way past the guard station she smiled and waved to Barrister and, once on the freeway, let loose with an exaggerated sigh of relief.  "Boy, am I glad to be out of there!"

            "Why?"  He made a note of her altered Nucleus.

            "I just don't like the place, that's all.  It gives me the creeps to be around that ilk.  Criminals make me nervous."

            "You don't like anything about the JCP, do you?"

            It was, to her, an accusation.  She was immediately defensive.  "Why shouldn't I like them?"

            "I don’t know why, but I perceive that you don't."

            "Oh, you do, do you?  Anyway, what is it with your vocabulary?  'Perceive.'  Nobody says 'perceive'."

            "I didn't intend to alienate you."

            "'Alienate' now."  She gave concentrated attention to her driving, knowing she was not following her own advice to leave the emotionality out of it.  He fell silent.               After a while, she looked over to see that he was again sitting with his fingers pressed to his brow.  She worried that something was wrong.  He must have been hurt in the plane crash.  Perhaps not physically, certainly, but in the head, and if he did have a screw loose, she knew not to be afraid for herself because he had already proved himself harmless.  "Mr. Zenton?"

            With his fingers pressed tight to his brow, he did not respond.  She interpreted his silence as an indication of pain.  She determined that somehow she would arrange to have her father run some tests on him.  She drove for several miles before he withdrew his fingers. 

            "Are you in pain?" she asked, when he resumed his looking out the window.

            "Not at all.  I feel . . . ‘fine’!” he said, mimicking her.

            "Then, why do you do that?"

            "Do what?"

            "Put your fingers on your forehead like that.  Do you have a sinus headache or something?"

            "No.  It's a method of communicating with my Home Station."

            "Your what?"

            "My Home Station.  Zenton."

            "Oh.  Mr. Zenton from Zenton."

            "Zenton is in the Seventh Constellation.  I don't think your scientists have discovered it yet."

            "I see.  No, I don't think they have."  There was no doubt about it.  He had hurt himself in the crash.  Maybe it was some kind of delusion or selective amnesia.  "Well, excuse me for asking, but if you are from Zenton in the Seventh Constellation, how did you get to Pennsylvania?"

            "I was materialized."

            "Alright.”  Better to humor him than to abandon him in his obvious hour of need.

            "I perceive that you don't believe me and I understand."

            "Well, in this case I'm glad that you 'perceive' as you must admit it's an unusual claim."

            "I am an unusual mortal."

            Unwittingly, she remembered his laser beam eyes.  "You can say that again,” she allowed.

            "I am an unusual mortal,” he repeated.  “I would not have told you except that I am going to need your help."

            "Me?  Why me?"   Oh, God, why me?

            "You found me."

            "Correction.  You found me!  Anyway, what makes you think I can help?  I know nothing about men from other constellations."

            "No, but you know how to brush your teeth and I don't."

            A very weird kind of amnesia, she reflected, that would cause a man to forget a thing like that.  

            "A toothbrush,” she explained nevertheless, “is what you use to brush your teeth.  It has a long handle, at the end of which are many stiff little bristles that are designed to get to the tartar that accumulates on your teeth as a result of eating and drinking and so forth.  They cost a few bucks in drug stores or supermarkets."  She was astounded to find that he was paying close attention, as though what she was telling him was of utmost importance.  "A toothbrush is used in conjunction with toothpaste,” she continued, “which comes in a tube.  It is usually a white, sweet substance that, when brushed on the teeth -- you know what teeth are -- creates a foamy, pleasant-tasting cleanser.”  He acknowledged her counsel by nodding, so she added,  “You should always buy a toothpaste that has fluoride."

            "What is fluoride?"

            "I have no idea.  Just make sure it says 'fluoride' on the label." 

            "Alright.  Thank you."

            "You're welcome." This is insane, she thought.  He is serious!  She considered the immediate disadvantages: he would have no identification, no social security number, no military records, no driver's license, no credit cards, and no money.  No money!  Oh, no!  And him without so much as a toothbrush.  "I suppose this means you don't know how to drive?"

            "I don't know how, but I am willing to learn.  It cannot be that difficult,” he said.  “It’s a simple conveyance."

            No matter how she looked at it, they were a long way from home.  She pulled over to let him take the wheel and, sure enough, he caught on quickly.  "Please don't get us a speeding ticket,” she said, buckling up her seatbelt on the passenger side.  “You don't have a license to drive, so you must obey all the rules."

            “What are the rules?” he asked, adjusting the rear view mirrors.

            “I’ll let you know if and when you break any.”

            Assuming command of the vehicle, he pulled out onto the highway and they resumed their earlier thread of conversation.  “You understand that what I have told you about my materialization is highly confidential.  My safety depends on this remaining our secret."

            "Oh, you bet!  I will not tell anybody!  Otherwise you would soon find yourself in a loony bin."

            "What is a loony bin?"

            "It's a place where they put crazy people."

            "I'm not crazy."

            I must be! she said to herself.  Why even pretend he is serious?  But aloud she asked him,  "Are you hungry?"

            "I don't know," he said.

            She shook her head.  "Pull over at the next truck stop." 

            In pursuing her line as a reporter, she had certainly stumbled onto a story, but if she didn’t believe it, how would she be able to sell it to someone else?  Never the less, she asked the requisite questions and was told that a superior form of life inhabited Zenton: three-brained non-air-breathers that did not eat, drink, sleep, or procreate.  Their population was fixed.  They partook of something called Nucleus for energy, or 'life sustenance' as Lanon called it.

            According to Lanon, the realm of Zenton was small by universe standards, comprising 106,000 students and 3,546,000 instructors.   The instructors came and went from sphere to sphere, similar to visiting lecturers, and they traveled without the aid of a space vehicle.

            "What about the students?" she asked, as if she believed him.  "Do they travel to other worlds on assignment, too?"  She was finally able to watch him, as he drove, and she gave him her total attention.  He appeared to be a blend of all Urth’s races, almost bronze colored.  He was such a pleasure to look at.  She felt giddy in his company.

            "Infrequently," he said, "and only with the strictest supervision.  My request to visit a planet of animal origin was not approved until long after the administrators met to discuss the merits of such a visit.  It took quite some time for them to make their decision -- probably two hundred years by your time.”

            Impulsively she asked, "How old are you?"

            "I was created over 2,000 years ago, reckoned by your time, but that is quite young by Zenton standards."

            Audley shuddered to think of it.  An hour ago, she was hot for this guy.  Now, she was so bemused by his matter-of-fact recitation of life on another planet, the prospect of having an affair with him was entirely ludicrous. Still, she asked, "Do you have a girlfriend?”

            “You are my girl friend.”

            “No, I mean, do you have a sweetheart? A mate?”  Why would he need a mate if they didn't have sex?

            "I have not yet had that experience."

            Not counting Brad, she hadn't either.  "Just how long do you plan to stay, Mr. Zenton?"

            "That will depend on the success of my assignment.”

            "Which is?"

            "I'm not authorized to tell you."

            "Oh.”  She felt rejected, somehow.  “That reminds me.  What happens when you put your fingers on your forehead?” 

            "That is a prearranged signal that lets my supervisors know I wish to communicate."

            "Mmm,” she wondered.  “That’s in the area of the third eye, the sixth chakra.  Are you a mystic, Mr. Zenton?"

            "That is not my intention.”

            She smiled.  “I can’t hear anything when they speak to you.  How does that work?”

            “You would not be able to hear them because they are working through my brain.  As you advance, you will also be able to access your supervisors through your brain.”

            She did not have the heart to tell him that she heard the voices of her father and Martha and Brad and Sylvia in her brain all the time!   "So what did you ask them?  If you could tell me who you are?"

            "Yes."

            "And what did they say?"

            "They permitted it so that I could learn from you the art of living."

            "The art of living!”  She laughed aloud.  “Oh, that's funny!”  It was utterly preposterous that he could think that she could teach him the art of living.

            He smiled.  "I am glad you are amused.”

            As they drove on, she could not stop listening to the sound of his voice, how it caressed her ears.  He could say anything to her and she would enjoy listening to him, even if she did not believe what he was saying.  Peculiarly enough, however, he was so believable!  And why shouldn't what he said be possible?  Anything's possible!  It would certainly explain why she had experienced such a poignant sense of destiny.  Think of the magnitude of her position if what he was saying were true!  Of course, Brad paled by comparison, and no wonder she had balked at making this trip.  If she had known that this was in store for her, she might have refused outright.  Except that he was so damned attractive. 

            She was busy studying his face, trying to fathom whether he was for real or not, when she noticed the Maxum was not moving.  He had pulled into a truck stop and let the car idle.  It took a few seconds for her to realize he was waiting for her to instruct him.

            "Turn off the ignition."  He did, removed the keys and handed them to her.  "Better lock up," she said.  "Push that button before you close your door.  In the restaurant, just do what I do. I'll take care of everything but, please, let's not talk about anything having to do with Zenton, okay?"

            "Okay."

            Inside the truck stop, Audley directed Lanon to a table in the far corner of the smoking section.  When the waitress arrived with the coffeepot, Audley ordered breakfast, adding, "He'll have the same."  Lanon sat quietly, observing Audley light up a cigarette.

            After the waitress left, he asked, "Why do you defile your lungs?"

            Audley glared at him, then inhaled purposefully.  "I like to."

            "It clouds your Nucleus," he offered.

            "So what?"  As she poured cream and sugar into her coffee, he did the same, blowing and sipping on it like she did. When the food arrived, she snuffed out the cigarette, smeared jelly on her toast, and drenched her hash browns in ketchup.  Lanon followed her lead.  He used his fork and knife to cut the ham and used his paper napkin to wipe his mouth.  Unlike Audley, however, Lanon chewed each mouthful for what seemed to Audley an interminably long time.  She finished far before he did, then drank more coffee and smoked more cigarettes, watching him savor the experience of eating.  When he had finally finished, he wiped his mouth and fingers and laid his fork tine-side down on his plate.

            “You full?” she asked.  “You want some pie?”  She grinned, thinking of Starman.

            He shook his head and remarked, "When this breaks down to waste material, I will need to eliminate.  I don't know the art of elimination."

            “Good grief.”  She shivered and grabbed her purse.  "It's part of doing what comes naturally."  Leaving a twenty- dollar bill on the table, she sped him quickly to the car, advising him, "You will feel an unmistakable urge."  Lanon could not account for why such a natural function as elimination should elicit such modesty from her, when she had been so accommodating with the lesson on ingesting.  She added, "Please let me know in plenty of time to locate a facility."  She had no desire to toilet train a fully-grown adult, and the concept rather squelched her interest in him but, at the same time, it activated her maternal instincts. 

            “I’ll drive.”

            What an awesome responsibility parenting must be, she considered, the highway purring beneath them, with someone helplessly dependent on the whims of an adult to care for its every basic need.  Lanon may not be as helpless as an infant, but he was, in fact, naive about life -- if what he said about himself was true -- and many things about him supported his preposterous proposition that he was new to the human race.

            As they drove, he asked questions about everything.  He asked about the physical structures of buildings.  What was the purpose of a silo?  How were boards made out of trees, and why were some buildings red and some white?  How long did it take to go from here to there, from Pennsylvania to California, from New York to Meadowland, by car, by plane, by train?  What did Audley and her father talk about?  Who were her friends?  What did she and Sylvia talk about?  What were the reasons for the limitations in their communications?  Why didn't they ask questions?  Why didn't she ask more questions?  Was he asking too many questions?  

            Her mind worked.  She gave full attention to Lanon's inquiries and answered them as honestly as she could, but while he was thinking up a new question, her own mind was full of questions of her own.  Would Doc Will help her?  If she could get him to test Lanon, the tests would find out what was wrong with him, would they not?  And if he had amnesia, could they find a cure?  Had the plane crash caused it?  If not, what did?  Then, if he could be cured, and when he was cured, - (and if anyone could do it, her father could!) - who was he?  Where was he from?  What did he do for a living?  Was he married?  Did he have children?

            On the other hand, if he was who he claimed to be, if he was recently materialized from the Seventh Constellation, what was he doing here?  What was his assignment and what did she have to do with it?  How would it affect her? her father? the planet?  She questioned her own sanity that she would even consider that he might be telling the truth, but he was so believable!  He spoke of his Home Station like it was a suburb of Los Angeles!

            And, critically important, how would her father, who had been a proponent of such possibilities for as long as she could recall, how would he react if, indeed, Lanon was from another world?  For indeed, if Lanon Zenton was an other- world form of intelligent life, it was not likely that Doc Will would approve of her infatuation.  What father wants his daughter cavorting with other-terrestrials?  If it came right down to it, would Doc Will turn Lanon into higher authorities? For that matter, what higher authorities?

 

DUSK CAME ON and with it her eyes turned to sandpaper.  She could not keep alert, and she did not know if Lanon was sleepy, but she couldn't trust him to drive while she slept because he might be more exhausted than she was and not have the good sense to know it.

            A roadway inn sign appeared and she made a decision to check in for the night.  What kind of room should she ask for?  Two rooms adjoining would have been ideal, but the only room available was a large suite with two double beds.  She took it. 

            "I'm so tired I can't see straight," she said, unlocking the door, trying to act nonchalant.  At her bidding, Lanon obediently followed Audley into the motel room. "You take the bed near the door.  That way if someone breaks in, he'll get to you first."  She realized it was a bad joke.  She also realized she was a nervous wreck.  What would any normal male think of the situation? 

            Lanon, however, sat on his bed as she set up camp on the other.

            "You want to use the bathroom first?" she asked.

            "No.  You first," he said, observing the contents of the room with interest and bouncing slightly on his bed.

            She shut and locked the bathroom door quickly, her heart pounding.  My God, she thought, what am I doing?  Whoever he was, she was a fool to have put herself in this position.  Besides, he had no cash, and she did, and she had left it and her car keys out there on the dresser.  Then, in the shower, as the hot water poured over her, she remembered that morning by the stream.  She had been afraid of him then, too, afraid he would rape her or rob her, and he had not.  He had asked her for help, said he needed her, and regardless what he said about Zenton, he acted the perfect gentleman.  She knew he would not hurt her.  She just had to believe it.  

            "Damn!" she complained.  Why wasn't she prepared?  She at least ought to have a robe and pajamas!

            Lanon, meanwhile, investigated the room thoroughly and found the mirror irresistible.  He stood in front of it and peered carefully at his reflection.  It was not as gross as he had expected.  In his mind's eye he relocated the various organs and observed their position according to where he knew them to be in the body.  “Stomach.” This is where food is stored, he thought.  “Heart.” This is the area of the heart, and the lungs.  “Lungs.”  Life.  “Zenton.”  He breathed deeply, watching his chest expand as he filled himself with air.

            Audley encountered him thus when she came into the room, again dressed in her traveling clothes.  She went to her own bed and turned down the covers.  She was very perfunctory.  "Your turn," she said.  "Do you think you can get yourself clean?"

            "Academically I know what to do," he replied. " If I have a problem, I'll let you know."  He entered the small tiled room and closed the door as she had done, but was unsure of what to do now that he had enclosed himself inside.  There was another mirror but he turned his attention instead to the three porcelain structures.

            He examined the fixtures in an effort to determine their usage.  At the curious one that resembled a chair, he pressed the lever and saw a gush of water swizzle and gurgle and empty.  That would be for elimination, he reasoned.  The large one, with the water splattered inside the plastic curtain, would be for cleansing.  The small scoop-shaped bowl also wet and directly under the mirror would be for grooming the face and hair, and for cleansing the teeth.

            Having identified these, he proceeded to use them, washing his eyes and mouth with soap before remembering Audley's lesson on toothpaste.  He would need those items since soap burned the eyes and left an unpleasant taste in the mouth.  Once finished with his toilette, he dressed fully, including his shoes, and returned to the main room.

            Audley was feigning sleep in her bed, naked, with the covers up to her chin and with her back to Lanon.  He did not disturb her, but went to his own bed and turned the covers and then lay down, pulling the blanket up to his chin as she had done.

            0802-Lanon Zenton assumed the prone position naturally.  In the woods last night, during the materialization and the activation, he had lain on the bare ground for hours, becoming aware of his extremities and accustomed to his senses.  He had thought he should never need to lie down again, but he had been wrong.  It felt good.  This body did tire.

            His muscles were like those of a newborn.  He had been supporting himself by sheer will power.  As he built muscles and gained strength, his will power would be free for other challenges, but for now his respiratory system was overworked and his senses were bursting with the barrage of sights and sounds of this new environment.  His reaction plasma reservoir was depleted and needed renewed.  Even though Urth’s density rendered life slow motion compared to Zenton, this deceleration was like a deformity he must learn to overcome.

            As he lay on the bed, tapping into his Nucleus, he could feel strength, energy, and calm come rushing into him, massaging his aching body and ministering his battered spirit.  It was critical that he gained strength quickly.  He must learn to function as fast and faster than these human beings, in order to accomplish his purpose, to fulfil his assignment.  He needed more food, a regular ingestion of a solid source of fuel energy.

            He felt the need for sleep but first he must record his observations.  With his fingers resting on his brow, he waited until the electro-chemical circuits had eased and the pattern for interstellar communication fell into place.

 

"0802-LZ here.

            "I am found in a material existence.  The limitations of the English language, with which I am encumbered, fail to provide me with the necessary avenues of expression with which to adequately describe my environs or my reactions to them.  My emotions, which I have recognized, are still quite new.  For example, I have experienced the animal-based emotion of fear, which, as you know, is not present on Zenton.  I do not recommend it to you, for it causes strange physical side effects.  I knew fear during that period of time when I actuated in the density of the forest, although I did not know of what I was afraid.  Perhaps it was the density itself.

            "I have also experienced awe, for the actual physical beauty of these terrestrial environs is great.  The splendor of the natural state of Urth is something I shall remember and treasure always.  The myriad greens in the forest, on which my newly awakened eyes feasted, dazzled me for an endless span of time.

            "All the while I was waiting for mobility to come into these limbs, my senses experienced themselves.  I became aware of my becoming part of the material world through the smell and texture of the forest: decomposing leaves; pine needles; fallen logs with their strange parasitic growths.  It was, and is, remarkable.  Sounds, too: the winds in the trees and the songs of the birds; although not comparable to the music of Zenton, are gentle and renewing.

            "One of the most peculiar things I felt, lying there in my mortal birthplace, was how distant the sky seemed.  It was visible overhead, seen vibrant beyond the overhead canopy of treetops and dotted with lively glowing heavenly bodies.  I knew my homeland was somewhere out there, but I did not know where, and my new eyes could not stretch so far into the universe.

            "There, likely, was the source of my fear: to be so far removed from the familiar embrace of you, my peers.  The fear of isolation!  Of being cut off from all that I have known, all that I am!  The knowledge that I have embarked willingly on this mission, and realizing I am now experiencing it, and am destined to fulfil it alone.  I admit I was and am still afraid.

            "Even so, I am most appreciative of the mortal associate you provided for me.  I was, of course, familiar with my own physical structure.  I knew it intimately from its construction.  But I had not known how comfortable it would be until I witnessed the female counterpart.  She is a lovely work of creation, this Woman.  I lost much of my own fear when I saw her there, asleep, so vulnerable in the forest and yet so trusting.  I watched her supine for quite a time, absorbing her natural essence in sleeping, in being.  But when she awoke, how alert!  How wondrous to see her life manifested in animation, in her eyes, in her quick agile movements.

            "There is a paucity of Nucleus here.  The woman's Nucleus is in evidence, but her mind is underdeveloped.  It saddens me to realize this, for I know that this is a reflection also of my own limited abilities now that I, too, am as a creature of animal origin. 

            “In that regard, I am going to undertake to know the emotional dimension of the mortal existence.  Such a sentient perspective might help me understand their state of mind better, so that I can present them hospitably in my report.   Can you imagine what a challenge this existence must be to the human?   To strive mindally to overcome the dense barrier that sets it apart from its own Nucleus?        

            "My gratitude is lavished on you supernals, you teachers and guides who helped to bring this experience and this assignment about.  I feel very natural and calm now.  I will do my utmost, within limitations you cannot realize, to fulfil this mission.  I will record my observations with you again and, although I know that you are with me, that you hear me and see me, it grieves me deeply that I cannot hear, see and be with you."

 

AUDLEY WOKE ABRUPTLY.  What had awakened her?  It was a dream, yes, but what was it about?  It lay on the brink of her consciousness, threatening to break through.            She sat up and lit a cigarette.  It had been a good dream, she knew.  A beautiful dream.  She had been in a garden.  No, not a garden -- the whole world was a garden.  Trees and flowers were everywhere.  Urth was a Garden of Eden, idyllic and unspoiled, created exclusively for her.  The dream remained hazy as she smoked her cigarette in the dark, lovely and hazy, but the flowers jumped out at her in living, vibrant color.

There were daffodils of the most cheery yellow; Sweet William of the softest, gentlest lavender; vivid violets; and multi-colored cosmos, waving in the breeze; and coleus.  Coleus!  That's what woke her!  Her plants!  Good grief, they would die of thirst left alone for days like this.  She would not be home until ... God only knew when. 

            Her eyes had adjusted to the dark; she could see that Lanon was asleep.  She reached for the telephone and dialed Sylvia's number, knowing that it would take time for Sylvia to answer.  Roger wouldn't hear it.  According to Sylvia, Roger died as soon as he entered a bedroom.  She counted; the phone rang nineteen times before Sylvia, sultry with sleep, answered, "Hello?"

            Audley whispered:  "Hello."

            Sylvia was instantly wide awake, demanding, "Is this an obscene phone call?"

            Audley grinned into the receiver and lit another cigarette.  "It's Audley," she whispered loudly.

            "Audley?"

            "Yes, Audley Blackstone.  We went to school together?"

            "I know we went to school together, for Christ's sake!  You called me in the middle of the night to remind me?”

            "No, I called to tell you I survived the black-out."

            "Well, I'm glad, but you could have waited until morning to tell me."

            "I didn't want you to lose any sleep over it."

            "And you're making damned sure I don't, right?"

            "Right."

            "Did you get my dress?"

            "Of course.”

            "Good.  When are you coming home?"

            "That's what I'm calling about."

            "Well, I’m glad to hear you have a valid reason for waking me up in the middle of the night,” she said.  “Where are you?”   

            "I'm in Illinois.  I think."

            "What are you doing in Illinois?  Where's Brad?"

            "As far as I know he's at the Institute, but that's none of my concern.  My concern is for my coleus."

            "Your what?"

            "My coleus.  It's on the front deck in the sun and I'm afraid it will die of thirst before I can get back to Malibu."

            "You called me long distance in the middle of the night to tell me your plant is thirsty?"

            Audley sought the ashtray, spilled it over onto the floor and cursed into the receiver.

            "What the hell is the matter with you?" Sylvia demanded.

            "Now, Sylvia," she purred, picking up the ashtray, "that's no way to talk to your best friend."

            "What best friend?"

            "Go back to sleep, Sylvia.   You know how much you need your beauty rest."

            "You go to hell.  When are you coming back?  How did you get to Illinois?  Where’s Brad?"

            "Good night, Sylvia," she purred.  She hung up the telephone, turned on the lamp, picked up two stray cigarette butts and heaved them into the wastebasket.   With all her fussing around, Lanon still slept, his bedspread tucked under his chin.

            "Damn!" she said loudly.  "I'm wide awake!"  She looked around the floor and could not locate his shoes.  Cautiously she reached across to his foot and felt that he still wore them.  "Lanon," she said firmly.  "Wake up."

            He opened his eyes immediately and looked at her, wrapped curiously in her bedspread.  He smiled and said, "Hello."

            "Hello, yourself, you idiot.  You're sleeping with your shoes on."

            "Oh," In pursuit of the items in question, he tossed off the bedding, exposing his entire wardrobe.

            "I'll bet you don't even know how to tie your own shoe laces," she said derisively.

            "What are shoe laces?"

            "Never mind."  She took his foot in hand, struggling to keep herself within the confines of the bedspread, and pulled off one shoe then the other.  "Now the socks," she ordered, indicating them.

            He pulled them off and smiled to see his toes.  She took a deep breath.  "Now your jersey."  He was not sure what she meant until she said, "Pull it over your head." 

            She involuntarily gasped as she beheld his naked chest.  "You can take your pants off by yourself, I hope?"  She stood up and turned away, dragging the bedspread with her, fully aware that he was struggling with the catch of his trousers.  "I don't believe you," she said in feigned exasperation.

            "I know you don't.  I don't expect you to.  I just want you to help me get adjusted and not tell anybody."

            "You may be assured I will not tell anybody.”  She settled into her bed and readjusted her covers.  The whiz of his zipper reverberated in the quiet room, then she heard the trousers fall to the floor.  She could hardly contain herself, but she managed to keep her back to him.  After a long silence, she heard him pull the bedclothes loose.  Wrapping himself in his bedspread, he went towards the bathroom, explaining, "I feel the urge to eliminate."  She laughed aloud.  "Good!"  No one would ever believe her if she did tell.  It was all too incredible.

            When he returned, still fully draped in his bedspread, he sat in the chair adjacent Audley.

            "It isn't time to get up yet," she said, fully awake.

            "How long should we sleep?"

            "Normally a person should sleep for eight hours.  Did you sleep well with your clothes on?"

            "Yes.  Did you sleep well without yours?"  Her gray traveling suit and green-gray scarf rested at the foot of her bed with her underwear tucked in her purse.

            "No, I didn't."

            "No?"

            "No.  I was constantly afraid ...  Never mind."

            "What were you afraid of?  Mortals fear too much."

            "Well, listen to you!  You aren't afraid of anything, then, I guess."

            "I have experienced fear. I don't like it.  But what were you afraid of?"

            She fluffed her pillow and sat upright, holding the bedspread up over her shoulders.   "I had the ridiculous notion that you might take me by force.  I don't know you very well, after all."

            "Take you by force?  Where would I take you? You have the automobile.  You are taking me!"

            She snickered.  "Never mind.  It was silly of me.  I haven't a thing to worry about."

            "No, you haven't," he affirmed.  "I have already told you that I won't harm you."

            She leaned back into the pillow.

            "May I look at you?" he asked in all innocence.  "I have never seen a woman's body."

            Her adrenaline pumped.  If he was from Zenton, he was probably telling the truth, but if he was not, it was the most original approach to a roll in the hay she had ever heard.  She retorted, "So what?"

            He pondered.  "When I saw my mortal form being designed in the Zenton laboratories, I thought it was ugly.  But now that I am in it, I appreciate it."

            "What has that got to do with my body?"           "Woman's body is a perfect compliment to man's, as far as I can tell.  I just wanted to see to what extent."

            She was fascinated.  Could he really be so naive?  As naturally as possible, she allowed the bedspread to fall.  "I don't see how it can help," she said conversationally.  "What you don't understand is that there is much more to the bodies' complimenting each other than meets the eye!"

            He did not exactly stare at her breasts, she noticed, but he was definitely giving them his focused attention.              "Those are mammary glands," he stated, without removing his eyes from them.

            "Close enough," she chuckled.

            "May I …?" but before Lanon could finish the question, his hand reached out. 

            Suddenly Audley found herself observing his finger on her nipple as if she were watching a movie on television.  She remembered imagining this exact moment when his fingers had touched the protruding bolts on her tire this morning, but she was not sure if she had the courage – or the right – now, to follow through.

            "That's enough!" she cried, pulling up the bedspread.

            "What's the matter?" he asked, recoiling.  "Did I hurt you?"

            Her groin throbbed unmercifully.  "No, you didn't hurt me.  It's just that ... now is not the time to be checking out body parts."  She was not some mass of protoplasm in a laboratory to be studied and poked and probed.  She was a woman.  Physically she did want him.  She had a healthy amount of lust in her make-up, but she did not want him under these circumstances.  It was not right.  It would not be good.  Not for her and not for him, either.   "Please," she urged, "go back to bed."

            Reluctantly he stood up and as he did so, his bedspread stuck out specifically in front of him. Over her trepidation, she giggled. 

            "What is humorous?" he asked.  She pointed.  When he noticed the protrusion in the bedspread, he was curious, so he held the cover away from him enough to discover his erection.  "What happened?" he asked.  It was all she could do to keep from laughing at the expression on his face. 

            "It's what I was trying to tell you before, Lanon.  Looking is just a preamble."     

            He sat on the edge of his bed, confused and uncomfortable.

            Needing to do something, Audley talked.  "You know about the reproduction process?  About making babies?"

            "Yes.  Academically, I know, but not experientially."

            "Well, you have just encountered a couple of factors that are involved in the process of reproduction."

            He appeared dejected.  "I am not encouraged to reproduce."

            "Don't worry about it.  I'm not encouraged to reproduce either."

            He seemed surprised.  "You aren't?"

            "No,” she explained.  “I'm not married, and our social customs encourage parents to be married before having children.”  He seemed resigned to a sexless existence so she added, "But, Lanon, for future reference, you don't have to be married or intend to reproduce to simply make love."

            "Make love," he repeated, laying back on his bed and adjusting his covers and his pillow.  Like Audley, he stared at the ceiling.  Neither of them considered turning out the light.   At length he said, "I think my circuits are stopping."             "What makes you say that?"

            "I feel ... disconnected."

            “I know the feeling.”

            "Then why don’t we make love?" he suggested.

            She bit the inside of her lip.  Such a plaintive note!  Such genuine innocence!  She smiled.  "Someday we will, perhaps, but not now."

            After a while he ventured, "Then what shall we do now?"  Obviously, the man from Zenton was not sleepy either. 

            She sat up, discarded the bedspread and lit a cigarette, saying, "We drive."  As she stood and gathered up her clothes, Lanon's eyes were riveted upon her.  She strode to the bathroom and slammed the door, calling back, “Get dressed!”

            "But we haven't slept eight hours," he called after her.  He felt as though something were unfinished.  His groin was still sensitive.  As he dressed, he couldn't put aside the impression of the warmth and softness of her body, the fleeting glimpse of her breasts, the firm white buttocks framed by her suntan, the mysteriously appealing patch of dark curling pubic hairs, the gentle lines of her torso and the length of her silky tresses.   Woman was created differently.

            His fingers were pressed to his brow in search of an explanation from his peers when Audley came into the room.             

"You're going to have to stop doing that," she ordered.  "It looks like you have a headache when you do that.  It calls attention to yourself.  Is that what you want?"  She was brusque as she pulled on her boots then ran the brush through her hair.  Lanon watched and waited.  She grabbed up her purse and keys and opened the door.

 

            As they pulled away from the roadside inn, the sky was beginning to turn gray in the East.  The change of environment lifted them both.  Behind the wheel, Lanon was more his old self but Audley felt, regretfully, that she would never be the same. 

            "I've made some decisions," she announced when they were again comfortably on the highway.

            "Good," he said.  “What are they?”

            "One:  I am going to act on the assumption that what you have told me is true.  I'm going to try to believe that you really are from Zenton, wherever that might be."

            "Good," he responded.  "That will enable you to apply yourself more conscientiously to teaching me the art of living."

            "I have no choice."

            "Oh, but you do!" he countered.  "All mortals have free will choice."

            "Alright then.  This mortal freely wills to help you, okay?"

            "Yes.  Okay.  I am glad it will be you.”  He added, “You have made other decisions?"

            "Yes.  In the event … It's not that I don't believe you, you understand, but in the event you -- hurt yourself in the plane crash and you are not from Zenton, which we must consider a remote possibility, I would like my father to run some tests on you."

            "What kind of tests?"

            "I don't know.  All kinds.  But he will be able to determine if what you say is true or not."

            He shook his head.  "Then I cannot risk it.  I must be discrete about my origin.  My safety and the success of my mission depends on this remaining a secret."

            "He's my father!" she insisted. "He won't tell anybody.  He is a doctor, and doctors abide by the Hippocratic Oath.  They are sworn to confidentiality by the very nature of their profession.  Anyway, he will be on your side.  Trust me."

            He said simply, "Alright.  I will trust you," and Audley blinked.  That was a new one!  Nobody, including herself, trusted Audley's judgment.

            "Anything else?" he asked.

            "Yes.  We must spend time together -- as much time as possible! -- So I can teach you about everyday things like toothpaste and shoelaces and idioms and swear words, but you're going to have to work hard, Lanon!  I'm going to give you a crash course in being human, okay?"

            "Okay!"  He was infinitely pleased.

            "You're going to have to read a lot.  Do you know how to read?"

            "I can read and write in fourteen human languages."

            “Wow!” she allowed.  That might be a way for Dr. Blackstone to test his validity but it would not be her way.  “I want you to have a working knowledge of music and art and the movies and movie stars and politics and politicians and history and all sorts of things. You have to know these things before you can master the art of living.”

            "Whatever you think I should know, I will learn."

            "Good."  She snuggled into the rich Maxum upholstery and smiled at the possibilities.





Return to Last Chapter  Ani-Blue-E-Mail  Next Chapter

Ani Rainbow Bullet LeftPurchase this Book at AmazonAni Rainbow Bullet Right