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.
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