The Zooid Mission by Gerdean
Ch 5 THE MINDAL SCIENTIST
 
 

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 5

 

THE MINDAL SCIENTIST

Dr. Wilhelm “Doc Will” Blackstone

 

            Upstairs in Doc’s second floor guestroom, Brad shifted in his prone position and stared at the four-poster overhead.  Beside him the stack of IOF personnel dossiers lay untouched.  The distant sound of the phone ringing roused him; he sat up, reached for the dossiers and began to read. 

            “What am I even looking for?” he asked himself again and again.  “I am looking for the reason for the August 14th blackout.  I am looking for the reason for the failure of Operation Onyx.  I am looking for the information that Sam didn't have.”  Each page served to remind him how exhausted he was.  He had been under strain too long.  Audley was right.  No wonder she had been angry.  They hadn't been to the theater in months.  He had become so stiff and unbending and engrossed in the IOF he had become a total bore. 

            Discipline thwarted his self-pity.  What had he forgotten?  What had been overlooked?   He told them what to watch for!  Sam told them the power failure was on the way!  They told Lassater to be prepared!  It was not the IOF's fault.  "It's not my fault!"  Okay, so it happened anyway.  Who cares whose fault it was? They followed his advice and still it happened.  What went wrong?  Was it subterfuge?  It couldn't be.  Sam had denied the possibility.  Forget Sam.  Sam had failed.  Who or what was behind this power drain? And why did the IOF select me?  But, why not?

            Absently, he looked at his watch: 1:35.  Time to get a move on.  He stood and ran a tremulous hand through his thick sandy hair.  He hadn't had any rest, very little sleep.  How could he have slept with Audley out there somewhere?  And now how could he rest with her due to arrive soon?  Doc had told him she was coming, along with Sylvia and a new patient. 

            What was she doing with a patient?  She was a reporter, not a nurse or a psychiatrist.  Was the patient male or female?  He had the sick conviction it was male.  And Sylvia.  What was that all about?  Sylvia as a chaperon?  Ridiculous.  Yet that was the impression he'd gotten from Doc Will.  It didn't make any sense.  Nothing made any sense.  Nothing made sense since the night of August 14.

            The front doorbell rang.  He looked down at the driveway, fully expecting to see Audley arriving early with her new man in tow, but was surprised and irritated to see a government car.  He knew full well it would be one of Lassater's boys prodding him to get a move on.  As he descended the staircase, he was further surprised and irritated to see Oscar grinning up at him. Martha gave him over to Brad and disappeared.

            "Oscar!” he said tersely.  “What are you doing here?”  It was not a kind way to treat anyone, but Brad was in no mood for kindnesses.  

            "Your personal answering service told me you'd be here, Dr. Spencer," he said.  "We have to know where you are at all times, Sir, so I took the liberty of advising the IOF and General Lassater of your whereabouts."

            "So now that you're here, what do you want?"

            A large manila envelope appeared from Oscar's inside jacket pocket.  Brad recognized immediately that it was a "For Your Eyes Only" communiqué carrying the Presidential Seal.  Oscar handed it over with a crooked grin.

            "Thank you, Oscar,” he said, taking the envelope.  “Is there anything else?"

            "Yes, Sir.  I've been promoted to your Aide.  If you need anything, I'll be staying at the Sandpiper.  Room 217.”  

            "Right."  Brad let Oscar out, then broke the seal to the communiqué, appreciating that at least they hadn’t deserted him.  It was from the General. 

            “Brad,” it said.  “This may be of some help to you.  A call from Air Force told of peculiar variations in hemispheric conditions since night of August 14.  Photo Enclosed.  Note apparent Breakage.”  It was signed “Lassater”.

            Brad studied the photo, recognizing it as the wall of our solar system.  It was generally accepted that beyond our solar system was another similar system, which was very probably controlled by another constellation, and although that was speculated, there had never been any photographic data to support the theory.  Now it would be accepted as fact, for it appeared from the photo that a seam, or avenue, had cracked the wall dividing the solar systems, leaving a visible space -- a space large enough for easy access.

            A crack in the solar system wall!  What could that mean?  Influx of sufficient amounts of energy, or vacuum, to throw off the balance of the planet Urth?  If it did represent, as it seemed, an energy drain, why was the blackout over?  Why wasn't it still going on?  Or had the crack been resealed somehow?  Why didn't Operation Onyx spread to other countries?  Did it affect other planets?  Good God!  Who or what else was aware of this?  He re-inserted the materials into the envelope and went into Doc's study then waited, in deference to the old man.

            Doc Will sat at his desk, gazing out the window.  His body testified to his 76 years.  He was a little bent, a little stiff with the rheumatoid arthritis indigenous to a seaboard climate.  His shock of white hair radiated out from his head like an electric halo.  His eyes were wise and encouraging, but behind the disciplined face were traces of labor and despair.  He turned his kindly eyes to his surrogate son.

            "Brad!  Come in, my boy.  What's up?"  In spite of his age and his attitude, Doc was in many ways young.  He was still in awe of so many of life's mysteries.  He still took interest in life's situations.

            "Look at this, Doc," Brad said, handing over the confidential documents.  "What do you make of it?"  As Doc Will studied the photo and accompanying letter, Brad placed three calls, none of which gave him any satisfaction:

            (1) The major portion of the break had closed almost as soon as it had opened.  Total wide-open time was four minutes, three seconds Urth time.  Even so, the imbalance remained.  As Lassater pointed out, hemispheric conditions were still not normalized.

            (2) Other breaks had been recorded and photographed, one in 1932 and again in 1936 in a position 45 degrees SW of Orion, and a series of breaks in the 1970's due north of the Bermuda Triangle.  Nothing irregular occurred at those times.

            (3) Even with abnormal conditions, according to the Air Force, there was no reason to consider a second break.  No scar was evident in the wall.  Apparently it was a natural act and not hostile.  At any rate, it could not be discussed over the phone.  That Brad had a Presidential Assignment cut no ice with the Air Force.

            Brad felt unsettled.  Conditions had not returned to normal, as if the cosmos were holding its doors open in abeyance of something.  He asked for Doc's reactions but got very little.

            "I'm a doctor of Mindal Sciences, son.  The world of astronomy is far removed from my professional realm.”

            Brad nodded.  From his as well.

            "I wouldn't overlook it, though, Brad, if I were you," Doc advised.  "Put it in your portfolio of informational leads and see if it's supported by any leads you may get in the future.  Did you have a chance to look over those dossiers?"

            "Nothing there I can use," Brad scowled.  The furrows in his brow were becoming deep, permanent scars.

            "You need to get your mind off it, son.  Why don't you have a swim before the girls get here?"

            "Maybe I will," he said, taking his leave.  He hated to swim alone.  "I’ll see you later."  Brad left the old man to his own thoughts.  He didn't want to be there when Audley arrived and he didn't want Sylvia to see him defeated.  Remembering Oscar, Brad called a cab.

 

IN THE BACK OF HIS MIND Doc Will heard Brad leave.  He went deep into his work -- Martha would have called it snoozing -- and was roused by Sylvia's "yoo-hooing from Brad's Maxum in the front drive.  Audley's MG disappeared from view, continuing around the side of the house to the lab entrance.  On the intercom he instructed Martha to make Sylvia welcome in his study, then he unlocked the door to the lab in time to hear Audley's knock, quite inconsistent with her usual arrivals.

            His first glance at Lanon confirmed his suspicions that Audley's emotions, or at least her hormones, were involved.  When he embraced his wayward daughter, however, he could feel that she was different, calmer.  Either this man or the blackout experience, or both, had done something for her.

            "Lanon, this is my father, Dr. Blackstone.  Dad, Lanon Zenton."  Doc Will extended his hand to the patient and Lanon took it firmly.  In spite of his misgivings, Doc Will was drawn to his new patient at once.

            "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Lanon said.

            "Come in.  Come in."  Leading them into the antiseptic rooms he said, "Audley tells me you might have some kind of amnesia."

            Audley elaborated.  "He knows his name and that's all.  He has no identification and the plane he says he was in disintegrated."

            Doc scowled, as if to say the patient could speak for himself.  Excluding Audley from their rapport, he asked Lanon, "Your plane disintegrated and you weren't hurt?"

            "I was thrown free."  Lanon grinned in such a way as to indicate to the doctor that he was either lying or hiding something.  All the more reason to delve deeper.

            Seeing that her father was sufficiently challenged, Audley said, "I'm leaving now, Lanon. I'll come back and see you later.  Dad?  Is Brad around?"  Might as well get that over with.

            Turning to preparing the new patient’s charts, he said, "No.  I heard him go out, but he should be back before dinner."

            She slipped out quietly, allowing the two their privacy.  Something in her wanted to giggle.  Assuming Lanon did have amnesia, she'd be fascinated to find out who he really was.  Assuming he didn't have amnesia, that he was who he said he was, she wished she could see the look on her father's face when he finally figured it out.  Audley found Sylvia and Martha in the kitchen.

            "I was just telling Martha I should be getting home," Sylvia said, helping herself to another pinch of cake batter.  Martha appealed to Audley for support, as if it would break her heart if Sylvia didn't stay for dinner.  Audley winked at Martha not to worry then hustled Sylvia out of Martha's domain.

            "You're not going anywhere," Audley said, leading Sylvia into her father's study.  "I need you here for moral support.  I don't want to be marooned in this house alone with Brad on the loose.  You and I can stay in Mom's old room, since Brad is in the guest room."

            "I don't get it," Sylvia objected.  "Shouldn't you and Brad be in the guest room together?"  She was clearly egging for information, but Audley wasn't giving out with any.

            "Certainly not!  I can’t do that in my father's house!"

            Sylvia made a derisive noise and settled herself into a chair near the window.  "Since when do you let your love life suffer because of propriety?"

            It was Audley's turn to make a noise.

            "It's that Lanon fellow," Sylvia concluded.  "You and he have got something going."

            "I told you, Sylvia, we have not."

            "Maybe not yet," she cut in, "but it isn't because you don't want to.  I know you too well, Audley."  Sylvia was right, of course.  Right on target with her calculated verbal efforts.  Audley had wanted Lanon since he first laid his laser beam eyes on her. 

            "Okay, I confess.  Can you blame me?"

            Sylvia rolled her eyes and grinned.  "God, no!  And, Brad aside, why not?"

            How much could she say without risk?  "He isn't ready."

            "Isn't ready!  What are you talking about?  I've never seen such a hunk!"

            "I'm not talking about physically.  I'm talking about emotionally."

            "Bull.  What's to be ready?"

            "This could be serious."

            "It better not be.  I just saw Brad coming up to the house." 

            Audley hissed.  "Brad knows I've brought a patient to my father but he does not know I've got the hots for the guy and he won't know, either, unless some blabber-mouth tells him, and if she does, I'll deny it to my dying breath!"

            "All right!  All right!  I get the hint!"  Sylvia stood up to leave as Brad's long stride was heard approaching on the terrazzo tile. 

            "I'll be upstairs doing my nails, Aud.  See you at dinner.”  Her departure was stopped by Brad’s arrival.  "Oh, hello, Brad!"  

            "Well, hello, Sylvia.  Long time no see."

            "Long time."  (What a catch.)

            "See you at dinner?"

            She nodded.  "See you then."

 

BRAD CLOSED THE DOOR to the study behind him and went directly to his fiancée and grabbed her, throwing her off balance.  She thought he was going to hit her but, instead, he kissed her, hard.  She felt no emotion at all, but waited for his ardor to subside then unloosed herself from his embrace and went to stand behind the protection of the bar. 

            "Well!" she exclaimed.  "What was that all about?"

            He shrugged.  "I just felt like it."

            "Since when do you do things because you feel like it?"

            "Since I saw you at the airport."  He sat loosely on a barstool.  "I've been doing a lot of thinking, Aud."

            "Bad for your health, thinking," she chided.  "I told you that you needed rest.  How long have you been here?"

            "I came out Sunday afternoon."

            "You still look beat.  Isn't Martha taking care of you?"

            He glowered.  "I don't need Martha to take care of me.  I need you!"

            "Me?  I'm not your mother, Brad.  Besides, when did you ever need me before?  How come this sudden kindled interest?"

            It appeared to be a repeat of the scene at the airport and Brad was not about to lose this round.  "Why don't we ease up?" he suggested.  "I brought your luggage."

            She shrugged.  "Thanks.  I brought your car."  She maintained her stance behind the bar.  "What's on your mind?"

            "Us."

            "What about us?"  She wasn't going to help him any.  She reached for the glasses.

            He stood and paced.  "I'm no psychologist, but I know enough to notice what you did the other night."

            "Oh?  Just what was it that I did?" 

            "You ... didn't just drive away from the black-out, from the power failure."

            "That's astute, Brad.  What did I drive away from?”  She poured each of them a drink.

            "Me.  Us.”  From across the room he faced her, “And I want to know why."

            “Because I’m not ready.”  She came around and sat firmly on a stool.  "You should know from the way I've been postponing the wedding, I've been avoiding the issue for months.  The black-out just gave me the impetus to act on it."

            "Okay,” he said, approaching. “You're being straight with me and I appreciate it.  What aren't you ready about?"

            "I can't explain it."

            "You won't hurt my feelings," he said, next to her.         

            "Brad, I'm just not sure it's the right thing for me to do.  I'm not sure I could make you happy."

            "You aren't the judge of that, Audley.  I am, and I think you would make me very happy."

            "I hate bridge."

            "Bridge?"

            "I'm not the kind of woman you're looking for, Brad.”  She walked away to pace.  “That ... bitch you saw at the airport is really who I am!  I'm not very proper.  I'm not even very nice!  Your darling mother wouldn't tolerate me for ten minutes because I'd have to let her know how much I detest her and her kind.  I'd get you fired from the Institute.  I'd make your life miserable because I'm not the girl you thought I was.  I'm sorry.  I should have been honest with myself and with you from the beginning."

            "Wait a minute,” he said, pursuing her.  “What you don't know is that I realize that about you.  I told you, I've been doing a lot of thinking."

            She had not expected this reaction. 

            "You are absolutely right!" he went on.  "You would probably shock my mother and it's precisely what she needs. And if you got me fired from the Institute I'd be entirely grateful!"

            "Brad, what are you talking about?  The IOF is your life!"

            "Not any more, it isn't.  You are my life, Audley, and it's taken me all this time to realize it.  If you hadn't driven away from me -- from us -- the other night, I probably would still be blundering around in the dark, playing some role and expecting you to play one with me.  I was wrong.  Not you."

            After a long moment she took a deep breath.  "Brad, if you would have said these things to me even a week ago it might have made a difference, but it's too late now."

            "How can it be too late?"

            "It just is."

            "Is there somebody else?" 

            She avoided looking into his piercing eyes, so full of love and concern.  "Not really."

            "Not really?  What kind of an answer is that?"

            "No, there isn't anybody else.  It's just me."

            "I don't get it."

            It was her turn to pace.  "The black-out ... changed me, Brad.  Flying around up there, not knowing if I would live to see tomorrow.  It got me to thinking."

            "Thinking what?  Live for today for tomorrow never comes?"

            "No.  Not that.  But that life means something.  There is a reason for living -- beyond personal happiness."

            His face paled.  "Don't say that."

            "But I believe it!  You see, this is why it won't work with us.  You profess to need me for your own personal happiness.  That's fine, Brad, for you and for a million other people, but not for me."

            "Audley, Audley.  You're not making any sense!"

            "I'm sorry you think that."

            "What's wrong with wanting to be happy?"

            "Nothing, Brad!  Everybody has a right to happiness.  It's just that different people find it in different ways."

            "How do you propose to find yours?"

            "I'm not thinking about my happiness, Brad, and that's the point I'm trying to make!"

            "Then think about my happiness!  Marry me!"

            "Brad, I can't.  Don't you see that?  We don't belong together!  We have nothing in common!  We'll just get in each other's way and end up hating each other and ourselves."

            Brad shook his head.  Now, for certain, his entire world was shattered.  Nothing, but nothing, made sense.  He slumped onto the leather sofa.

            Audley took advantage of his defeat.  “Here.”  She removed her engagement ring from her finger and pressed it into his unwilling hand.   "I want you to take this."

            After a moment he said, “You know, "it's ironic.  All my life I've put the needs of others ahead of my own.  I've dedicated my life to science so that I could help make this a better world, and finally I recognize that I, too, have needs, that I, too, have a right to happiness.  And," he snapped his fingers, embittered, "Kaput!  The lady says, 'It's too late.'” He shook his head.  “It's too much, Audley.  Too much for a man to endure."

            She had never seen Brad like this.  Emotional.  Defeated.  It wasn't fair.  He didn't deserve what was happening to him.  She peered deep into his suffering and saw something more than a broken romance.  "What is it, Brad?”  She sat with him.  “Tell me.  Is it Sam?" 

            He needed her.  To talk to.  He had kept her shut out for so long.  It was his fault.  Maybe he could still win her.  He longed for her.  "Sam failed," he said, and it was as if he had failed, as if his reason for living had failed him.

            "Tell me."

            He began at the beginning, with the programming, with the statistics and the outside stimuli.  He related the memos to Lassater's boys in Scientific Defense and their lack of substantive response.  Then the blackout, during which even Sam shut down.  Then the meeting at the IOF, held in the dark, the "honor" of being selected, and his feelings of resentment in the face of Audley's behavior at the airport.  She listened to it all, hearing Brad's voice pull her in, bridge the gaps, merging the two of them into one whole, one united concern.  Then he told of the meeting with Lassater and the President and, finally, about the Presidential Assignment. 

            Brad’s fiancée was furious.  "How dare they!  How dare they pawn this off on you, Brad? What do they hope to prove?  What do they expect to gain?"

            "Lassater discovered me; he can destroy me.  They are out to make me the scapegoat for it, Audley.  Unless I can prove my and Sam's innocence, we're finished."

            "It wasn’t your fault!”

            "It was Sam's fault, and I'm Sam's master.  They can and they will ruin me -- not to mention the Future."

            "Oh, God."  The grandfather clock chimed 5:00 and ticked on.  "What are you going to do?"

            He took a deep breath.  "I don't know.  With you, I have options.  Without you, I have no idea."

            There it was again!  He had to have his own reason for living.  He couldn't live vicariously through her.  God.  "With me, what are your options?"

            "One, I could put you on governmental payroll and you could be my Investigative Assistant.  Maybe if the two of us put our heads together, we might come up with something."

            "Like what?  Espionage?  Subterfuge?  That's too deep for my investigative talents."

            "Something happened that night, Audley,” he confided.  “Something no one expected.  Some inter-galactic disturbance."

            Audley paled.  Lanon had arrived that night.  She could not betray him when he trusted her.  She could not encourage Brad.   If Brad knew ... oh, God.  "Don't be silly, Brad," she countered.  "That's science fiction!  UFO baloney!  You don't really believe that stuff, do you?"

            "No, but...."

            "Good.   Then, what's another option?"

            He turned to her, encouraged.  "Remember my telling you about the open offer to teach at UCLA?  I could tell Lassater to take a flying leap and go to UCLA.  I could teach.  Settle down.  We could get married, have kids, and start a new life for ourselves.”

            He was appealing to her.  If she accepted, she could keep him away from investigating the blackout.  But then somebody else would look into it.  Maybe somebody who was more qualified than Brad, someone who would find out!  How long would Lanon need to be here?  How long did she need to keep him safe?  How long could she be with him?

            "Well, Audley, what about it?"

            "I need more time."

            "How much time?"

            "Six months."

            He protested, "Six months!"

            "If in six months we ... still care for each other and if ... we still feel...."

            "You will marry me?"

            "Six months from today. Yes." There. A commitment.  But first, Lanon.

 

LANON ENJOYED THE STERILE laboratory.  It was easier on his senses, and it reminded him of the laboratories of Zenton.  As the afternoon wore on, he marveled at the mechanics involved in measuring the intricacies of the human body.  On Zenton, when he had looked at the mass of material he would inhabit following his materialization, he was fascinated; but now he was beside himself.  He laughed when the doctor checked his reflexes and his foot swung forward.  Doc Will noted every reaction of the patient and answered every question, no matter how simple or complex, and Lanon absorbed every answer.

            The preliminary examination alone was enough to convince Dr. Blackstone that Lanon Zenton was a very interesting case.  His new patient was 6' tall and weighed 195 pounds.  He did not know how old he was or when he was born.  He had never been to a medical doctor or to a dentist.  He knew nothing about his parents, but he knew almost as much as the doctor did about his physical structure.  He knew his pulse rate and his blood pressure and blood type.  He knew his temperature.  He knew he was in perfect health and had no compunctions about saying he was perfect in all respects.

            There was no indication of his having been in any plane crash, no matter how Lanon avowed that he had been.  He had not incurred any bruises, lacerations or abrasions in the plane that he could not describe.  His working memory seemed to have begun when he saw Audley sleeping near the stream in the woods.

            She had done the right thing in bringing him here, the doctor thought.  It would take several days of tests -- psychological and electro-chemical and whatever else he could come up with, to tap the root of this peculiar variety of amnesia.

            It was nearly dinnertime when he called Audley in to confer.  A professional courtesy.  She came at once.

            "What is it, Dad?  Have you found something?"

            Doc Will couldn't help but notice her sudden and unprecedented personal interest in his skill as a doctor.  He enjoyed her belated recognition.  He shook his head and seated himself behind his desk in the study, careful to close the door to the lab and lock it.  When he took on a patient, the patient was confined to the laboratory area for the duration, where a small, comfortable private room and bath were reserved for the exclusive use of the patient.

            "It's a case, that's certain.  Never seen anything like it."

            "What have you found?"

            "Nothing yet."  He waved to a chair and she sat, attentive to his every word and nuance.  "He's in good physical condition.  In fact, excellent.  But there are so many unanswered questions, I want to test him further."

            "His psyche?"

            He nodded.  "Among other things.  I'm going to have to keep him here for a few days, you understand."

            She nodded.  She had expected as much. “You might want to ask him about languages.  He said he spoke a whole lot of languages, I forget how many. 

            “Hmmm,” Doc said, making a note.

            "Can I see him?"

            "In a minute."  He put down his pen and studied his daughter very carefully.  "You know something about this man you're not telling me," he said, "and I want to know what it is."

            She defied him.  "I can't, Dad.  I'm sorry.  What I think might not be true, might do more harm than good.  That's why I need you to test him.  You're the best man in your field, and I want to know what can be determined about him on a purely scientific basis.  I want the facts."

            "You want me to invent a few?"

            "No, of course not."

            "Audley.  The man has no background whatsoever.  No family, no origin, no education.  Or at least he isn't owning up to any."

            "When you ask him, what does he say?"

            "Nothing!  He either grins or tells he me he doesn't know what to say.  I get the feeling he's a game player but I can't seem to trip him up in his game."

            "Do you think he can answer the questions?  Or won't?"

            "He knows who he is.  I think you know who he is, and for some unknown reason you want me to play some kind of hide and seek with you both."

            "No, I don't, Dad.  This is really very serious."

            "Then why don't you tell me what you know?  Or what you think you know and let me take it from there?"

            "Because I really don't know anything!  That's my point!  I want you to tell me who he is.  And tell him, too, if you can."

            "Why?  Because he doesn't know? Or because he won't tell me?"

            "Whichever."

            Doc Will stood up.  The professional courtesy was over.  He ran his hand through his hair in the familiar gesture and headed back toward the lab.

            "You did say, though, that you wanted to keep him for a few days.  Why?  If you think he's a game player."

            "I found a couple of irregularities I want to double-check."

            "Such as?"

            "I'll let you know once I've ascertained for certain.  It's nothing serious."  He was lying and she knew it.  Already he had found something he wasn't telling her.  Maybe Lanon would.

            "I want to see him now," she ordered.  She would not be put off.  "Alone."

            Doc nodded and let her into the lab.  He would give her five minutes and no more.

            Lanon, dressed in white, blended in so well with the fixtures in the lab, Audley had to look for him.  He was transfixed by a slide in a microscope.  She approached him slowly, so as not to disrupt him.

            "Audley!" he whispered.  "This is incredible!  Look at this."

            "What is it?"  She bent over to examine the slide.

            "A hair!  One of my hairs!"

            "Big deal!" she replied, amused.  "Everybody has hair.  What's so special about yours?"

            "It's incredible.  It's just ... incredible."

            She grinned at him.  He was such an innocent.  "Yes.  It really is.  But besides the fact that you have human hair, how's it going?"

            "I don't really know.  Doc Will mutters a lot.  I can't always hear what he's saying."

            "I would suggest that you ignore the muttering and play close attention to anything he might say out loud, or if he asks you specific questions, pay attention.  You haven't mentioned anything to him about Zenton, have you?"

            "No.  Have you?"

            "Of course not."

            "What do you think he will find out?"

            "I don't know.  Something, perhaps, that will either prove or disprove what you've said about your origin."

            "He won't find it in my body.  I watched them make it.  If they can create a hair, they can create a body."

            "Yes, I suppose so” she acknowledged.  Did he do an EEG?"

            "What's that?"

            "I think it measures brain waves."

            "I'm a human being, Audley!  With a human being's brain waves!"

            "Right.  Who just arrived this week from another solar system."

            "Another constellation, actually."

            "Okay, neighbor.  I’ll tell you what.  Dad wants to do some psychological tests on you but it might take several days.  Will you cooperate?"

            "I'll trust your judgment."

            Doc Will entered the lab to hear Lanon's comment about trusting her judgment.  No wonder she wanted to know if his brain was scrambled!  "Have you seen Brad, Audley?" he asked rather brusquely.

            She faced him with her eyebrows arched.  "Yes, I have, Dad.  Matter of fact, we had a nice long chat."  There was nothing self-conscious in her attitude when she turned to Lanon.  "You remember my telling you about Dr. Brad Spencer?  He's here as my father's houseguest for a few days. You needn't worry, however, that he will know about your being here.  Daddy is very conscientious about his doctor-patient relationships."  She smiled at Lanon and then her father.  "See you at dinner, Daddy."

            Before the door closed behind her, she heard Lanon's voice hasten across the room and nestle in her ears.  "Sleep well," he said.  She was glad her father couldn't see her lop-sided grin, reminiscing: Did you sleep well with your clothes on?  Did you sleep well without yours?

            Doc Will didn't like it.  He didn't like it at all.

 

MARTHA WAS IN HER GLORY.  She loved to cook and to know that her food was appreciated. If there was one thing she missed it was having a big family to cook for, and although four hardly constituted 'big', it was more than one.   The day’s efforts preparing the meal were not wasted.  From Martha's vantage point, the dinner was a total success.

            Sylvia was the first to come down, precisely at six, and she looked as enticing as Martha's table.  She had found a dress which had belonged to Mrs. Blackstone, a sheer black voile with massive blue, yellow and red flowers, the neck of which was cut deep into the cleavage, where Sylvia had inserted a large, silk, purple flower.  It suited her taste and fit her perfectly.

            To Sylvia's surprise, Audley came into the dining room on Brad's arm.  They were both formally dressed and they looked the perfect pair.  They behaved graciously with each other, but it didn't take Sylvia long to notice that the engagement ring was missing from Audley's finger.  She could hardly wait to hear the details.

            "I hope Dr. Blackstone won't mind my wearing this dress," she said with some concern.

            Audley scowled.  She hadn't remembered her mother being so voluptuous as to fill out that dress, or to wear such bold colors, but she said, "Why should he mind?  It looks lovely on you."

            Seating the women, Brad added, "And you know the Doctor, Sylvia.  He has an eye for an attractive woman."  He meant the compliment sincerely.

            "Thank you, Brad."  She blushed.

            "I wonder what's keeping him," Audley remarked, then bit her tongue, regretting her words.

            Sylvia reminded them, "He's with his new patient."

            "Yes," Brad said.  "I heard about that.  Where did you find him, Audley?"

            She tensed.  "What leads you to believe it's a 'him'?"

            He shrugged.  "Just a hunch."

            Sylvia, taking detailed mental notes of their interplay, said, "Oh, no, Brad.  You've got it all wrong.  He found her!  Audley had some trouble on the road."

            "No trouble,” Audley objected.  “Just a flat tire."  Why couldn't they change the subject?

            "I'm sorry to hear that," Brad said.  "I guess I'll need to get a spare."

            Sylvia wondered if he could use a spare mistress.  He was really such a fine catch.

            "What does he need to see the doctor about?" Brad pressed.

            "He has amnesia," Audley said, again regretting saying anything.

            Brad said, "Oh."

            "So you see, Brad," Sylvia chattered, "he probably forgot that he has a wife and several children somewhere."

            Audley kicked her friend squarely on the shin.   

            Sylvia gasped, more out of fury than pain.  Brad stood up as Sylvia flew out of her chair, exclaiming,  "Excuse me, Brad.  I must have a pin sticking me somewhere.  I wonder if you would help me, Audley?"  She fled into the kitchen and a rather contrite Audley followed. 

            "What the hell are you attacking me for, Audley Claudine?  I'll be a mass of black and blue marks!"

            "I told you not to talk about Lanon!  It's delicate enough between Brad and me right now without your making matters worse!"

            "My, God, you are paranoid.  Brad is used to my teasing.  If I don't tease he'll be suspicious."

            "Alright," she glowered, "but find another subject about which to make insipid jokes.  Please try and remember my father's relationship to his patient."

            "Okay, but where's your engagement ring?  Are you and Brad an issue or aren't you?"

            "We are an issue, but....  I don't know.  I gave him back the ring.  Come on.  Now is not the time to discuss this."

            Audley left Sylvia with her mouth open.  Not only had Audley kicked her, but also she had been rude and snotty and she was throwing away a perfectly decent man over an infatuation with a weirdo.  None of it sat well with Sylvia.  Not at all.

            When Sylvia returned, Brad was most solicitous.  He lingered over her when he helped her with her chair.  "I hope your dress will treat you kindlier, Sylvia."

            "I hope so, too, Brad.  Thank you."  What a fine fellow.  Audley wasn't making any sense at all.  She pouted until Doc Will joined them, rolling down his shirt sleeves from his work in the lab.  He was in a jovial mood and Sylvia, for one, would take advantage of it.

            "Well!" Doc bellowed as he settled in at the fine table where everything and everyone looked so festive.  "Isn't this an occasion!"  He surveyed the guests and the spread with infinite satisfaction.  Brad poured the wine and Doc Will proposed a toast:  "To this family gathering."  Since no one but Doc was feeling familial, they drank the wine and gave themselves over to the roast leg of lamb. 

            Doc Will carved and served, and lavished compliments on Sylvia when she helped him to recognize Sarah’s dress.  "I know Mrs. Blackstone would have wanted you to wear it, my dear,” adding, “she would have liked you, I think."

            "Really, Doctor?"  Sylvia purred under his attentions.  "Why do you think so?"

            "You and she are very much alike."

            "Really?"

            He nodded.  "Very much."

            "In what way?"  She wondered for the umpteenth time what kind of lover Doc Will had once been.

            "Well, you know what George Bernard Shaw said."

            "No, what did he say?" she asked, giggling.

            "He said that a good woman was a lady in the parlor, a cook in the kitchen, and a..." he mouthed the word 'whore' ... "in bed."  Doc, of course, knew of Sylvia's seven-year celibacy.  He also knew she enjoyed pretending she hadn't been.

            Sylvia howled, enjoying the interplay.  "Oh, Doctor, you're such a card!"

            Audley was uncommonly quiet.  She thought Sylvia was behaving like a real tart.

            "How's it going with your new patient, Doc?" Brad asked point blank.

            Doc looked curiously at Audley who threw the blame on Sylvia. 

            Sylvia rallied. "Why are you glaring at me like that, Audley?"      

            Brad studied the overhead light fixture. 

            "I know, Doc," Sylvia went on indignantly, "that your work is confidential and that your work, Brad, is confidential and, for God's sake, I know that my husband's work is confidential, but I do want to say that with all this confidentiality, a woman has got to learn to think on her feet if she ever expects to know what's going on!"

            "What, exactly, IS going on, Sylvia?" Brad asked.

            She looked hard at Audley, daring her, then answered, "Nothing, Brad.  Absolutely nothing."

            "That's not quite true, Sylvia," Audley corrected, speaking now to her father.  "Brad and I have set a date for our wedding."

            Sylvia blinked and Doc Will beamed.

            "That's wonderful news, son!" he said to Brad.  "Let's have a toast."  Doc poured the wine and rang for Martha to bring another bottle.  After they drank he asked, "When?"

            "In six months," she volunteered.

            Brad was dumbfounded by her announcement.  He had thought she said “if” in six months.  Evidently she had changed her mind.  Then why didn't she say so in the first place?  Why the time lapse if she meant to do it in the end anyway?  Something was fishy.  Why the theatrics?

            "Oh, that is happy news!” Doc exclaimed.  “Maybe I'll live to see my grandson after all.”  He beamed at Audley, “I'm very pleased with your decision, my dear."

            "Yes, of course."  Of course he would be.  Brad was his choice, not hers.  But she had to do something to get them all off being suspicious about her and Lanon.

            Her tactic didn't work.  Besides alienating Sylvia, Brad was irked.  He had believed they were being honest with each other but now he felt she was deceiving him, using him, and toying with his emotions.  And he distinctly felt that Doc Will's new patient had something to do with it.  He suspected she wanted to have an affair with him.  One last fling before she settled down to, he gathered, a dull and inevitable routine of married life.  Well, two could play that game.

            Doc Will virtually ignored the women in his elation.  "Well, son," he said, "what are your plans?  Are you going to teach?"

            "No," Brad offered.  "I think I'll go ahead with the assignment."

            "What assignment, Brad?"  Sylvia asked, feeling a special camaraderie with him.

            "You might as well know."

            "Yes, I might as well."

            "I've been given a special assignment by the President to determine the cause of the August 14th black-out."

            "The President of the United States?"

            He nodded.  "That's right."

            "Oh, Brad!  I'm impressed!" 

            She did have a way of making a man feel good, but he demurred.  "It might sound impressive, Sylvia, but it's a political dead end street."

            "I don't understand."

            "The possibility of my coming up with the reason for the power failure is incredibly slim.  I have absolutely no experience in that field."

            "Then why did they give you the job, for Heaven's sake?  They must have faith in you, that you can do it, Brad.  I certainly do."

            "You do?"  Any support was welcome at this point and Sylvia obviously intended to do just that. 

            It was unforgivable of Audley to treat him so shabbily.  "Of course I do!  You're intelligent and capable.  And you have a tremendous background to draw upon.  Your work at Cape Kennedy, your family ties, the IOF, us.”

            "Us?"  He warmed to Sylvia's emotional support and it didn't go unnoticed by the good doctor.

            "Of course!  Dr. Blackstone, Audley and me."

            "No," Audley interrupted.  "I'm afraid I can't be of much help here.  I'm already backlogged on work assignments."

            Sylvia fairly snarled at her.  "Well, anyway, Doc and I can help."

            Doc Will, master of Mindal Sciences, observed Sylvia's attitude with fear and fascination. She was giving herself to the man.  Not playfully, as she did with him, but in earnest.  Not sexually, not yet, but he noted with dismay that it was his future son-in-law towards whom she was directing her gestalt.

            "I have a suggestion, Brad," Audley put in.  "You spoke to me a while ago about being your Investigative Assistant.  Why don't you consider Sylvia for the job?  As you can see, she can be very persuasive."

            Sylvia sat bolt upright.  Not only was Audley throwing him away, she was throwing him in her direction!

            Brad seriously considered the idea.  Obviously Audley was going to use this six months for her own ends.  Why shouldn't he as well?  Sylvia was bright, rich, asexual, and she might provide him with some pleasant female company. "Is that something that might interest you, Sylvia?"

Doc, observing the interplay, was aghast.  He could see it all.  What now would Sylvia say and how far would she go?

            Sylvia mused.  A job!  Literally dropped in her lap.  If anyone had suggested such a thing as recently as a week ago, she would have been insulted, but the reflective days alone in Audley's apartment had made her think about a lot of things.  She realized she envied Audley's independence and involvements, but Audley was wrong to discard Brad for a total stranger.  Obviously, Brad would need some looking after until Audley came to her senses and Sylvia was the one to do it.  She would be loyal to Brad even if Audley wouldn't.  "I'd be very interested, Brad."

            Doc Will recognized Sylvia's psycho-dynamics.  The die was cast.  He would not interfere with the out-workings of their decisions, but his good humor had been put on hold.

            "You won't even have to pay me."

            "Whoops!  Wait a minute, young woman," Doc interjected.  He might not interfere with their decisions, but on her path to emotional recovery, Sylvia needed to maintain her self-respect.  "You must never let your services go financially unrewarded.  It matters little whether you need the money or not.  Brad needs to pay you.  Whether he wants to or not is another matter, but you get paid for a job well done and that's the way that game is played."

            Brad nodded.

            "Alright then,” she shrugged. “Pay me whatever the going rate is for an Investigative Assistant to a Presidential Assignment."  She extended her hand to Brad and he shook it.  His hand was ice cold.  "When do I start?"

            "What about Roger?" Brad asked.

            Doc Will nearly spilled his wine.  Mindal Science could be so raw sometimes.  It was like seeing people with their clothes off or their souls exposed.

            "What about him?  Roger doesn't care what I do as long as it doesn't interfere with his career."

            Doc Will sighed on that one.  People must care, he thought.  Not about careers and appearances, but about each other's feelings.  This was a primary factor in good mental health.

            "Okay.  You're hired.  You start at once."

            "Good," she said, getting right down to business.  "I'll tell you what I'd like to investigate first."

            It was Brad's turn to be impressed.  He approved of her enthusiasm and her readiness.

            "It's a little article I saw in my father's newspaper the morning after the black-out.  It said: 'Private citizen spots UFO at exact time of black-out' and it was in the vicinity of Central Pennsylvania."

            Doc Will was the only one who saw Audley turn pale.

            Brad's mind went at once to the "For Your Eyes Only" communiqué and the Air Force's comments.  Sylvia had given him more support than he could have hoped.  It was obvious which direction he must take.  He poured more wine.

            "Audley, dear," Doc interjected.  "You look tired."  Had she seen the interplay between Brad and Sylvia?  He hoped so.  It would do her good to be a little jealous.

            "Yes, Dad.  I am tired.  It must be the let-down from the trip and all."

            "And the excitement of your engagement, certainly,” he added.  “Why don't you go up and rest?  I'll send Martha up with some brandy."

            She helped herself away from the table.  "That won’t be necessary, Dad, but thank you." 

            Audley was glad to be away from the table, away from the charade of Brad and Sylvia's drivel.  Why couldn't Sylvia just keep her mouth shut?  Lanon did materialize in Central Pennsylvania.  Maybe he did cause the blackout.  If so, the less said about UFO's the better. Sylvia was not a stupid woman.  People liked to think she was, but they were mistaken.  Sylvia was shrewd.  When she set out to do something, she did it.  She had connections and money and unbelievable powers of persuasion.  It would not do to discourage her from her investigations, for such would only spur her on. 

            Sadly, Audley didn't dare confide in her friend.  Lanon's secret was sacred.  She didn't have to guess what might happen to him if he were found out.  He would be taken from her.  He might get hurt.  If only she could take him away somewhere and hide him.  Keep him to herself.  But Lanon would not allow that.  He was here with a mission; he had his work to do.  Witness how he had barged into Penn State Reserve!  No, the best thing was to have him tested. Find out the truth of the matter and go from there.  Maybe, please God, he just had a screw loose.

            But each day, each moment, his reality grew in her and she became more and more assured that he was telling her the truth.  It was preposterous, yes, but she was part of it!  She had to believe it!  His safety depended on her.  And, perhaps soon her father would know.  She had to trust that he, too, would recognize the significance of this stranger. 

            It had nothing to do with her relationship with Brad.  Lanon was simply more important, that's all.

 

IN SPITE OF THE RAPPORT Sylvia and Brad had established at dinner last evening, both were unusually quiet at breakfast.  They were each aware that something had changed.  Neither was sure what it was that was different, but they both felt it had to do with Audley.  Her behavior was disturbing.  

            They had been thrown together as conspirators almost against their wills.  And now, without Audley as an intermediary to instill them with fury or gaiety, they were left to their own devices.  A new process of getting-to-know-you was called for, but neither was sure on what level that should be.  The subconscious physical attraction could not surface, for neither Sylvia nor Brad would know how to deal with it.  For Brad, Sylvia had to be reappraised.  She was emerging as her own entity, no longer just Roger's wife or Audley's friend.

            "You're awfully quiet this morning, Sylvia. Are you having second thoughts about your new job?"

            "Oh, no, Brad," she responded quickly.  "I just have a lot on my mind."

            It had been much easier for him to think of her as a nice-looking woman.  Now he had to think of her as having intelligence.  Assuming she did, he said, "A penny for your thoughts."

            She laughed.  "Not worth it."  She had been stewing about Audley's throwing Brad away.  She had been mulling over Lanon's significance in Audley's life, then in her own -- the peculiar 'accident' of his stumbling onto the subject of Jennifer.  And she had been rather frightened by the dream she had last night.  She hadn't thought of Brad sexually until that terribly vivid dream.  It all conspired to leave her feeling very unsure about herself.  "In the cold light of day," she said, "that UFO idea sounds a bit far-fetched, doesn't it?"

            "Any time of the day or night it sounds far-fetched, but what choice do either of us have?"

            She felt encouraged.  "You find some merit to it then?"

            "Oh, yes, Sylvia.  I hate to admit it, but I do."

            She felt smug about introducing the idea.  Obviously investigative reporting was just following your hunches.   She smiled, asking, “What are your plans now? Are you going back to Sam?"

            "Yes," he said.  "As far as I'm concerned, Sam is the only reliable thing left.  I won't believe that Sam let me down.  The way I figure it, I let Sam down by not giving her all the information she needed."

            "So what information will you give her now?"

            "UFO baloney."

            "My God, Brad.  That could take years!"

            "It could, but maybe your private citizen can give me the information I need." 

            “Maybe I could get an interview,” she suggested.

            He shrugged.  “If you feel like it.”  A moment later he said, “You met that fellow, Sylvia.  Doc's new patient.  What's he like?"

            Oh, she didn't want this.  But what could she do?  Maybe the best approach was an honest one.  She settled into it.  "Well, first off,” she sighed, “he's very attractive."  Might as well get that settled.  "Physically, that is.  I won’t lie, but there is something peculiar about him."

            He seemed piqued.  "What?"

            She crossed her legs, shifting slightly, and was pleased to see Brad's eyes drawn to her.  She shrugged.  "I don't know."  She sipped her coffee.  Brad leaned in, pursuing the subject.  "Women's intuition?" She shook her head slightly.  “There’s more to him than meets the eye.”

            "Was he pursuing her?  I mean, was he on the make?  Is he a con man?"

            "Oh, no.  Nothing like that.  I'm sure he's a nice guy, and as Audley said, he helped her out quite a bit during that awful experience she had.  Changed her flat tire, helped her drive.  It would be only natural that she would appreciate him."

            "You didn't like him, though, and that interests me."

            She thought about Lanon's probing questions about Jennifer and how the subject had been cropping up more and more lately.  Maybe it was time something was done about it.  She calculated that Brad knew about her miserable situation.  She couldn't expect Audley not to have told him.

            "I don't know how to put this, Brad.  He seemed to have ESP or something.  Some sixth sense that honed in on my ... on my peculiar situation with ... Jennifer.  Audley told you about her, didn't she?"

            Brad sat on the edge of his seat.  "She did, but you don't think Audley told him about it, do you?"

            "No, I'm sure she didn't.  He just seemed to know.  Like he was clairvoyant or something, and I wasn't prepared to deal with some of the questions he asked."

            "Like what?"

            "Like why was she alive.  Why wasn't she 'eliminated'."

            "Eliminated?!?"  Brad reacted angrily.  "What a crude, god-awful thing to say!"

            She was quick to clarify.  "Oh, but he didn't say that to me.  To me he was very polite, really.  Very kind.  But I overheard Audley talking to him about it.  She scolded him for asking personal questions and he told her that people like Jennifer should be eliminated.  When Audley told him our laws prevented it, he said the laws should be changed."

            "It's hardly any of his business."

            "That's what I thought, too, but in all fairness, he was just thinking about me, being concerned about my problem.  And he did make sense, Brad, saying the laws ought to be changed, and Roger being in law and politics and all.”  She chuckled.  “It was a bit of an attack on Roger's credibility."

            Brad didn't know what to say.  He didn't know Roger Watergate very well, but at any rate, he couldn't find serious fault with the man Lanon Zenton.  "And Audley thought he might have some kind of amnesia?"

            "That's what she said.  Said she wanted her father to help him.  As a favor for what he'd done for her."

            "I see," he said, but wondered, Then why did she want to postpone the engagement?  He frowned, went over to the window, rested his eyes on the surf.

            Sylvia applied one of her calculated verbal efforts to ease Brad out of his slump.  "I'm organizing a rather large party, Brad."  This was in keeping.  Brad would expect it of her.  "I put on this party every year to raise funds for the clinic in Colorado.  I was wondering if you might be able to come?"

            "When is it?" he asked.  What difference did it make?

            "Next week-end.  The whole week-end."  She joined him at the window.

            He grinned at her.  "Hell of a party you throw."

            "I get a better turn-out that way.  More people come in from the East Coast if they have an excuse to stay for a few days rather than just one evening.  Some of the guests stay at the house and some others stay at the downtown hotels.  I'd like for you to be my guest.” She almost batted her eyelashes.  “Dr. Blackstone always attends."

            “We’ll see,” he said, looking away.  Was he mistaken or was Sylvia giving off deliberately seductive body language? 

            “And Oscar, of course.”  Another chaperone.

            "God, yes.” Brad said.  “I keep trying to forget him, but it seems he's become a permanent fixture in my life."

            "A temporary permanent fixture, I’m sure.  What, exactly," she asked, "is his capacity?"

            "Oscar's?  He’s my Aide.  A high-ranking gopher."

            "Can I use him?  As your Investigative Assistant, am I entitled to use the services of your Aide?"

            "Oh, you bet.  Anything at all you need, just let me know."  He liked the fact that she took her job seriously.  More seriously, in fact, that he took it.  "What do you have in mind?"

            "I thought I’d go into Central Pennsylvania, after the party, to interview that person who saw the UFO and I might need some help.  I don’t think I’m up to prowling around the countryside alone, looking for it.  I don’t know if I can even handle a four-wheel drive."

            "What do you need one of those things for?"

            "To investigate the area where the UFO was supposed to have been sited!" she insisted.

            "But what would you look for?"  He couldn't picture Sylvia on such an excursion.

            "Soil samples of the area.  Maybe signs of a crash.  Trees damaged.  I'll know it when I see it, I guess.  But, anyway, thank you for letting me use Oscar.  He can arrange to get us a jeep or whatever?"

            "Sure.  You bet.  Anything you need."

            She wished he would quit saying that.  Some day she might have to let him know what it was she really needed.

            Brad waved Oscar up from the driveway and introduced him to his Investigative Assistant Sylvia Watergate and in this official capacity Brad informed Oscar they would all be working together.  As they exchanged phone numbers and addresses where they might be reached, Sylvia, as a professional courtesy, gave Oscar her itinerary:

            Next weekend there was the party, to which they were both invited, and after that she and Oscar would go into Central Pennsylvania where she would talk to the private citizen and scout out the area for signs of a UFO landing.  Then they would return their information to Brad at his apartment in Manhattan as there was no reason for Brad to stay on at the IOF Headquarters since the IOF was virtually dead until the mystery of the blackout could be solved.  Brad could get Sam moved from Headquarters and set up in his Manhattan penthouse apartment. 

            That arranged, Brad offered, “We’ll drive you back to Audley’s so you can get your car.”             

            “How thoughtful of you, Brad.  Give me a minute?” 

            The men waited for her in the driveway.  On the way to the government car, Oscar noted, “You don't waste any time, do you, Dr. Spencer?"

            "What do you mean?"  It occurred to him that he didn't know a thing about his Aide. 

            "She's a real beauty.  Any more where she came from?"

            Not knowing whether to be angry at Oscar's impertinence or grateful for enabling him to save face, Brad opted for the latter and, as Sylvia came bouncing out to join him, he slapped his Aide on the back.  "Come on, old man," he said.  "Work now, play later."

            Through the rear-view mirror of the Maxum, Brad watched Oscar watching him.  No longer was Oscar relegated to the Chevy.  The sleek government car tailed Brad and Sylvia with expertise.  No longer was Oscar the IOF's familiar and affable messenger boy.  The uniformed young man was 'on the way up' and Brad realized that Oscar could work for or against him, depending on how he was treated.  If he didn't play his cards right, Brad concluded, Oscar could be dangerous.

 

AUDLEY WOKE LATE, having slept for over twelve hours.  When Martha took coffee up to her, she learned that Sylvia and Brad had each gotten up early, breakfasted together, and left at the same time.  "Where did they go?" she asked, accepting the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach as jealousy.

            "I don't know the details, dear.  Sylvia will probably  go home, and Brad said something about being tied up for the next six months."

            "Damn!"  With them away, she couldn't keep an eye on them.  Maybe it was better this way.  She should be away from them both for awhile, since Sylvia's investigating would make her a nervous wreck and Brad would make her feel guilty.  She was determined to consider the whole thing a fabrication, designed to enliven dinner table conversation: Sylvia was on her way back to her satin sheets in Beverly Hills and Brad was returning to Sam and the IOF.  At least, she fervently hoped so.

            She found Doc Will in his study.

            Startled, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

            "I live here, daughter.  I'm working."  He turned off a video machine.

            "Why aren't you with Lanon?"

            The doctor remained composed and controlled so  she could not detect from his professional demeanor that he resented her intrusion.  He closed the door on the video machine and locked it.  He then went to his desk and absently located the key to the file room, deposited notes therein, and returned to the desk where he sat and removed his glasses, spending a long moment massaging his eyes.  All this while Audley attitudinally demanded an answer.  When he finally looked up, he acted surprised to see her still standing there. 

            "Well?" she said.

            "Well, what?  The patient is being monitored.  I need to see his normal behavior patterns before I know what tests I’ll need to administer."

            "You will find out," she averred.  "You will find out who he is."

            "I'll try, Audley.  That's all I can guarantee." 

            His detachment unnerved her.  "He wants your help.  Doesn't he?"

            "I doubt it.  He's physically healthy and he's bright, but he doesn't seem to be bothered by his ‘amnesia’."

            "Well, you've got to help him!"

            Doc Will studied her.  "Help him what?  He isn't sick!"

            "But he can't remember his past.” she insisted.  “He doesn't know who he is!"

            Dr. Blackstone eyed his client.  "He will remember when he chooses to.  No one can force him.  I can't just give him a pill and Presto!”  He snapped his fingers.  “This kind of thing takes time, Audley.  You seem to think I can 'cure' him before lunch!"

            "You can do it, Dad.  You're the best in your field."  He was astounded by her intensity. "I'll pay you," she added.

            She was behaving as if she were obsessed!  "Why is it so important to you?" he asked, realizing with horror that she was in love with him!  He scowled and poured himself a cup of coffee.

            "I don't know.  It doesn't matter.  Me, too, please?"

            She was in love, he concluded, and didn’t even know it.  "He could just be hiding a shady past!" he suggested in a father-daughter tone of voice.  "Besides, you and Brad are scheduled to be married in a matter of months."

            "I know."  She sat at the bar, stirring cream and sugar into her cup.  "I was going to call it off altogether, but....  He was so sweet, Dad.  He was genuinely tender."

            "Of course he was!  Brad loves you."  He stifled his anxieties about Brad and Sylvia.

            "He hasn't shown it lately."

            "He's been under a lot of strain, my dear.  The IOF has been working him very hard on this Operation Onyx."

            "Yeah, yeah.  I know, I know."

            "For all your talk about liberation, Audley, I don't think you realize what it means to be devoted to a career, to be committed to a cause that's bigger than yourself."

            "Mffff."

            "Culturally, you are a submissive, subservient female wanting to be coddled and protected by a male.  And there is there's nothing wrong with that! -- provided you realize that this male … Brad, your fiancé … is devoted to his career, without which he would not be able to coddle and protect you the way you want to be coddled and protected."

            "I agree.  Lecture 1,982 recorded."

            "What?  No smart retort?"

            "I'm inclined to agree with you.”  To emphasize, she announced, “I'm quitting my job."

            "You're quitting your job?"

            "Yes."

            "You’re being ridiculous!"

            "I don't think so.  Weinberger rubs me the wrong way."

            "So what?"

            "So I don't feel like being a prostitute."

            "I don't get it.  I thought you loved your job!"

            "I love being a reporter.  I like the independence of it.  I like to see my name in print, and I like the pay, but the Silent Majority is not my cup of tea."

            "You don't say.  What is?"

            "I don't know.  Maybe I'll write a book."

            "Audley, be serious!"  He poured them both a second cup of coffee, glad for the father-daughter talk and glad to be off the subject of her infatuation.  "You haven't got anything to write a book about.  Secondly, how do you propose to support yourself while you get this unlikely book written?"

            "Unemployment?"

            Doc Will made a rude sound.  "Hardly sufficient to keep you in panty hose, my dear.  No, I know you better than that."

            "Well, I only have six months to worry about it, haven't I?  Then Brad and I will be married and he can coddle and protect me."

            "Six months can be a long time without funds."

            "As long as I can be near Lanon Zenton, six months is hardly enough," she said, deliberately provoked him. "Why don't you approve?  You said yourself there's nothing wrong with him!"

            "You're acting like a two-timing harlot, Audley!  You think I don't recognize that look in your eye?  You can't wait for me to finish the tests so that you can jump into the sack with him.  I just hope you have the decency to wait until he's out from under my roof!"  His face turned purple.  "I've made my share of mistakes in this life, but the worst one was with you.  I should have let Martha raise you.  A disciplinarian should have reared you, not a behaviorist.  Your behavior is ...."  He sought his most vile curse. "... primitive!"

            She snuggled up to him.  "Grrrrr," she purred, and as usual her father succumbed to her charms. “I assure you, Dad, my relationship with Mr. Zenton is as pure as the driven snow.  We have never so much as exchanged a kiss."

            He held her back and scrutinized her.  "I would like to believe that."

            "Believe it.  Mr. Zenton is a virgin."

            "Highly unlikely, my dear, highly unlikely."  He freed himself from her embrace.  "Now you really must excuse me.  I have a patient that needs monitoring."

 

DOC WILL MONITORED his patient for 24 hours.  The room in which Lanon was confined recorded his pulse rate and temperature by the minute.  Without his being aware, his emotional reactions were photographed, dissected and analyzed.  His every move was studied.

            It was amazing and noteworthy to the good doctor that anyone could be so easily entertained.  The patient was exceptionally sensitive to stimuli.  He seemed to find the mere act of elimination a wonderful experience.  He studied a Brussels sprout for a full minute before spending five minutes ingesting it.  The patient manifested infinite patience.  It didn't seem to bother him that he was confined a full day and night without human contact.  He paid little attention to the mirror in the room and only after 17 hours of isolation did he take an interest in the dials conspicuously placed to be used.

            Once Lanon learned the significance of the dials, the music buttons did little to hold his attention but, after finding the sound effects dial, he listened to Wind in the Trees for an hour and a half.  Doc Will was tempted during this time to interrupt the monitoring because the patient's electro-chemical levels dropped to a shocking low.  Obviously, the patient had gone into some sort of delta meditation.

            The doctor was relieved when the patient sat up and began again to examine the dials.  He was clocked as listening to the all-talk program, the country-western channel, a rock and roll station and classical music for exactly four minutes each. 

            Lanon appeared to have never seen a television set before.  He studied the visual device for a long time before realizing it was intended to communicate and entertain.  He turned the channel often and at odd times, seeming to enjoy the commercials more than the feature.  He paid particularly close attention to a toothpaste commercial and the only word the patient uttered aloud during the 24-hour period was 'fluoride'.

            In all, the patient slept for two hours.  At the end of the 24 hours, Doc Will unlocked the door and Lanon said, "Good morning."

            Lanon liked Dr. Blackstone who had a large, bright Nucleus.  And Doc Will enjoyed his patient, who did not smoke and did not object to the food that was brought to him.  The patient was a happy man with a cheerful attitude.

            The 24-hour monitoring concluded, the real testing now began.  The first series of tests were of a physical nature and, as was his custom, Dr. Blackstone would have called in a medical examiner but Lanon flatly refused to have any contact with anyone but Doc Will.  Doc explained to him that a medical doctor was better suited to administer the medical exams but, yes, he had to admit that he did have the necessary equipment and, yes, he knew how, so in the end Lanon won and Doc Will, having no alternative, began.

            It was all very interesting to Lanon, watching the mechanical devices determine his blood type, his heart rate, his brain waves, his chemical composition, the intricacies of the human body and the myriad peculiarities of the flesh.

            The doctor didn’t overtly verbalize his findings but he mumbled constantly; Lanon soon learned to decipher the mumbling and learned that his teeth and bones were disarmingly perfect, his vision was a healthy 20/20, he had no impurities nor infections, his senses were somewhat exceptional.

            All x-rays were clear.  He had no broken bones, no fractures, sprains or bruises, no indication whatsoever of having been in an accident, much less having been ‘thrown free’ of an airplane that had crashed and disintegrated.  His urinalysis was clear of drugs but showed minuscule traces of alcohol, which, if he had been around Audley, was understandable.

            In short, Lanon Zenton was an exceptional physical specimen of manhood with one exception.  The exception lay in the Priority Chemistry-Glucose: Random Examination. In the Electrolyte portion, Sodium was normal at 140; CO2 was normal at 29; Chloride was normal at 100; but Potassium, which normally should range between 3.5 and 5.0, registered 42.3!  The doctor ran the Priority Chemistry-Glucose: Random Exam a second time and then a third time, unable to accept the results.  Perhaps the equipment was faulty.  But everything else on the chemistry test was fine!  Calcium: 4.8; Phosphorous: 1.9; Magnesium: 2.2.  All the entries were within the range of normalcy except Potassium.  He ran the test a fourth time.  42.3.

            Yet, through it all, Doc Will remained the scientist, taking notes and applying new gadgets, giving the EEG, the EKG, the EMG, the x-rays, reserving his comments until the entire barrage of medical testing was completed and the results were all in.

            Another peculiarity arose when Doc Will, motivated by his paternal interests, thought to ascertain the man’s sperm count and Lanon would not cooperate.  The patient endured all the other tests having to do with his sexual aspects – he had no communicable diseases – but he seemed to have no experience with masturbation.  “Why would anyone want to do that?” he asked, when the doctor asked him to ejaculate into a jar.

            “So I can determine your sperm count.”

            “What does that have to do with my identity?”

Doc Will flushed bright red, admitting  “It has to do with the identity of your children!”

            “You needn’t worry that I will father any children, doctor.  I have no sperm count.”

            “How do you know that?

            “I just know.  I am not authorized to reproduce.”

            Doc Will asked, “Not authorized by whom?”

            But Lanon replied, “I am not at liberty to say,” almost apologetically.

            Doc Will knew that Lanon had voluntarily divulged something very personal about himself.  He let it go.  When the physical testing was completed, with the exception of the Potassium count, which test must be repeated at another later time, and the sperm count, which he would accept at face value, Doc Will folded his coat and put it away with quiet resolution.

            “I’m not a medical doctor by inclination,” he said, his first conversational words in two days.  “I find it hard work.”  He tapped himself on the temple.  “My forte is here!”

            Lanon observed the doctor sterilize and put away his equipment and responded, “Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Blackstone.”

            Doc Will accepted the compliment but filed the inconsistency as a strange statement for an amnesiac to make, unless Audley’s testimony counted for “reputation.”

            The psychiatric exams on this patient, scheduled to begin the following day, promised to be interesting, for when the testing changed from physical to mindal, Doc Will’s attitude changed also.  He would open himself fully to the patient’s mental circuits and peer as deeply into the mind of the patient as the patient would allow.  Compared to any of Doc Will’s previous patients, Lanon Zenton had already taken on new and unprecedented dimensions.




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