Intervention

  She gave him an amused look. "Well, I'm sure your Uncle Roger will share the magazine with you tomorrow. And now I must go and eat. I'm dying for some real food after two days of freeze-dried trail rations. So nice to have met you both. "

  She wafted off, the very embodiment of aetheriality in spite of her heavy climbing boots and insulated jacket, leaving my mind full of voiceless music and my heart hopelessly lost.

  She was only a few minutes late for our rendezvous, and as she en­tered the crowded rathskeller-style bar, breathtaking in a clinging white floor-length gown with a single bare shoulder, I thanked God for the craftiness of my nephew, who had insisted that I wear black tie rather than the casual jacket and slacks I had thoughtlessly laid out.

  "She'll want you to take her to the dance, " Denis had said. I didn't bother to ask how he knew. He had nodded his approval when I finished dressing and said, "It's a good thing you're so tall. She likes tall men. And you look so nice in those clothes that it doesn't matter that you're not handsome. " I had told him: "Ferme ta boîte, ti-vaurien!" and left him giggling. But he had been right...

  Elaine and I drank cognac, and I studied the copy of Visitant she gave me while she expatiated on the authenticity of UFO visitations and the pigheadedness of the U. S. Air Force, which persisted in denying the "incontrovertible evidence" in favor of extraterrestrial encounters. Her organization, the Aetherians, was about what you would expect: a col­lection of quasi-mystical fanatics whose zeal outpaced critical judg­ment. My darling Elaine was as willing to accept the crackpottery of a Von Daniken as she was the serious studies of researchers such as Dr. J. Allen Hynek and Dr. Dennis Hauck. She and her friends were con­vinced that Earth was under intense surveillance by otherworldly in­telligences, entirely benignant, who would reveal themselves to hu­manity if we would only "have faith" and embrace a pacifistic "astromental" way of life.

  She leaned over the small table toward me, enveloped in the intoxi­cating fragrance of Bal à Versailles, and spoke with surprising coolness. "And you, Roger... What do you think of all this? Am I a credulous fool, as my ex-husband and my family have always said? Am I hope­lessly romantic and visionary and deluded by swamp gas and moon-shine?"

  My mind cried out: You are romantic and utterly captivating, and in a crazy backhanded way you're right!

  But that would never do. Not yet. A false note, and she'd be off. I found myself studying the situation with the detached cunning of a master seducer, my normal awkwardness with women having been somehow miraculously electrocauterized by the thunderbolt. I rolled up the UFO magazine and tapped it meditatively against my balloon glass. What would be the most judicious way of snaring her? Perhaps — the truth?

  "Elaine, what I'm about to confess to you I've never dared to tell another person. I was afraid to, afraid of ridicule. There have been so many jokes about spaceships and little green men... "

  Her face shone. "Roger! Not — an encounter? You've had one?"

  I let my eyes fall and made a deprecating gesture.

  "You have!" she whispered. "Oh, tell me. "

  I let it out with becoming hesitancy, well edited. "It was last summer. I was in the mountains, hiking, and a violent storm came up. I had hurt my leg. It was rather a serious situation. Night was coming on and I had no shelter. Suddenly there was a strange kind of light and the rain stopped in an unnatural way. And this voice — this inhuman voice —"

  "Did you see their spaceship? Did it land?"

  The crowded bar all around us had faded to an unfocused blur. Our faces were nearly touching. Her misty red hair was caught back in a smooth chignon and the only jewelry she wore was a pearl and diamond ring on her right little finger. Her deeply tanned skin with its touch of sunburn made a sensuous contrast to the white silk of her simple gown. In the fashion of the times, her breasts were free. The nipples had come alive with the intensity of her emotion.

  My composure threatened to disintegrate completely. I took a hasty gulp of cognac and resumed my tale.

  "I didn't see any ship. I didn't even see the — the being who spoke to me. Perhaps I was blinded by the light. But he healed my leg instantly. And he told me without equivocation that he came from another star. "

  And there it is. Dear Elaine, you want so much to believe in marvels. But I could show you marvels that would make flying saucers insignif­icant, marvels inside your own mind and mine, and within our bodies...

  "Don't stop — go on!" she pleaded. "What happened next?"

  I lifted my shoulders. "I seemed to fall asleep. Perhaps I lost con­sciousness. It was very confusing. But when I awoke I was standing just outside a trail shelter, although I swear I'd been more than two miles away from it when I had my — my encounter. That's really all there is to it. A very improbable story. I probably dreamed the whole thing. "

  "Oh, no! It's quite plausible, even the part about your losing con­sciousness. The aliens may have taken you aboard their craft and ex­amined you. "

  I managed to look startled. "I don't remember any such thing. "

  "You wouldn't!" She was intense. "Try to put yourself in the aliens' place, Roger. To them, we're a primitive people — easily frightened, scientifically unsophisticated, possibly even dangerous. They'd want to study us but their activities would have to be discreet. They wouldn't want to disrupt our culture... Have you ever heard of the Cargo Cults in the South Pacific?"

  "Those deluded tribes in New Guinea who thought the military transport planes of World War Two were flown by gods?"

  "Exactly. Not only in New Guinea, but in the islands all around it; and the Cult started in the nineteenth century, when the first European traders arrived. The local people saw wonderful cargoes coming off the ships, and later off the aircraft. They wanted things like that for them­selves and began to believe that the gods would send miraculous cargoes if everyone prayed hard. Their ancient way of life was completely dis­rupted by the Cargo Cult. "

  "You think that extraterrestrials would want to be careful not to touch off a similar reaction among Earthlings?"

  "If they're intelligent and have our best interests at heart. "

  "But the aliens have already disrupted our culture to a certain extent with the flying-saucer flaps... "

  "Not really, Roger. They've shown their ships to us so that we'll get used to the idea of an interstellar civilization. To prepare us for the day they actually do land. "

  "Do you think it'll be soon?"

  She hesitated. "You may know that my group has been coming to these mountains for a number of years now, trying to make contact with the visitors. Mental contact. This year, for the first time, I think we may have been successful. "

  I did my best to hide my skepticism. Darling, if you want to believe it then let it be so! I made suitably encouraging comments while she described the experience, which struck me as a patent case of wishful thinking.

  "I intend to write it up for the magazine, of course, " she said in conclusion, "and I'd like to do an article on your encounter, too, Roger. " I registered bourgeois alarm. "I'd rather you didn't, Elaine. I've never told anyone about it — only you. And you're different from anyone I've ever met. "

  "So are you, Roger. " She smiled and extended her hand as she rose from her chair. God! Had the gambit failed after all? My coercive faculty seemed paralyzed. She said, "Of course I'll keep your story in confi­dence if you want me to. Do look over my little magazine, though. And if you change your mind —" "Must you go so soon?" I asked inanely.

  The silver eyes twinkled. "Well — we could go upstairs and dance if you like. The rest of the Aetherians were too tired after our mountain expedition, but I feel exhilarated. Would you like to take me dancing, Roger?"

  My mind gave a triumphant shout. I bowed over her hand, summon­ing suavity from God knows where. "Enchanté, chère Madame. "

  "You're French!" She was delighted.

  "Only a Franco-American, " I admitted. "Even Canadians make fun of our low accent, and our Yankee neig
hbors secretly envy our savior faire — while calling us frogs behind our backs. "

  "There are frogs who are princes in disguise. Are you one of those?"

  Elaine, my beloved, I am indeed! And if my courage doesn't fail me, you may see the fantasy's fulfillment this very night...

  So we laugh, and we mount the stairs, and we sweep arm in arm into the glittering ballroom while a hundred pairs of eyes watch. The orchestra of the famous old resort has instructions to intersperse contem­porary music with a generous leavening of romantic oldies, so we hold each other close as we dance to "Fly Me to the Moon" and "Where or When. " With her in my arms I am no longer a lowly Assistant Conven­tion Manager presuming above my station but a dark and debonair hero with a Mysterious Secret, squiring the most lovely woman in the room. The other dancers sense the psychomagnetism. We become the center of attention, the golden couple wrapped in uncanny glamour. Our hu­man race still does not recognize the existence of the higher mental faculties — but it can't help feeling them.

  Elaine and I dance and smile and begin to open our minds to one another. Charily I lift the curtains hiding her emotions, using a gentle redactive probe, the type I instinctively developed when working with baby Denis. The floating thought-patterns are easily accessible. She has loved before and she has tasted ashes. The coolness is a symptom of unfulfillment and self-doubt. She is idealistic but retains a healthy sense of humor. She is really afraid that her pleasant and affluent world will end in a storm of radioactive fallout.

  The musical beat becomes more modern, more compelling, and frankly sexual. Our bodies move to the explicit, angular rhythms, no longer daring to touch. But our minds approach conjunction now and I cannot help communicating my heat to her. It is accepted.

  Finally, without a word, she leads me from the ballroom. We take the elevator to her luxurious suite overlooking the moonlit mountain range. We kiss at last and her mouth is velvety and cool, eager to receive my fire, pathetically hopeful of returning it. I hear my mindspeech shouting words of love and desire — and she gasps as her lips break away.

  "Roger... my dear, it's so strange, but —"

  I know. I know. Don't be afraid.

  Aloud, I whisper, "You heard a telepathic message from outer space and it didn't frighten you. Will you be frightened if I tell you why you were able to hear that alien message?"

  Subconsciously, she already knows.

  I hold her more tightly, kissing her brow, her cheeks, her upturned fragrant throat. My flooding passion is channeled into the ultraspeech and breaks through the barrier of her latency.

  Elaine! Don't be afraid. I love you and I'll help you. Your mind-powers have lain dormant all your life but they're coming alive now. And here's the funny thing, my darling — I've been dormant, too, in a different way, until you came.

  Roger?... Roger!

  See? It's all true. True and wonderful. Now I'll help you, and later you'll help me.

  She bespeaks me, tentatively at first, in clotted emotion-fuzzed ut­terances that gradually assume coherence. Then she becomes excited to the point of hysteria and I must constantly inject reassuring redactive impulses. When she calms I kiss her bare shoulder, her arms, the palms of her chilled hands. My PK finds the pins that hold her hair knotted. I release it and she cries out:

  Roger? ReallyTRUE? Really HAPPEN? GodGodGod! You&I minds communicate...

  Yes. Special minds. I love you.

  Slowly, I undress her. I close the blinds with my PK, leaving only a slender beam of moonlight to illuminate her body. The blood sings in me and I must restrain myself. I say to her:

  There are people who are born with extraordinary types of minds. I'm one. So are you. There are a few others that I know about. There must be many more. You've heard of extrasensory perception...

  She moans in mingled fear and ecstasy, holding out her arms to me. "Come, " she begs. "Don't tell me any more. I can't bear it. Just love me. "

  I am naked myself now, and — yes, a little afraid. I have had so many unfulfilled fantasies about the experience that lies ahead of us, so many dreams. I know what the perfection ought to be, and now I face the challenge of having to create it not only for myself, but also for her — because up until now, my poor Elaine has, like me, known only an empty release.

  But she must not be frightened. I say, "Please close your eyes, chérie. Trust me. "

  My brain and body burn, and I am ready. As in the familiar dream I feel myself hovering above her. I enfold her in my arms, lift her without effort, and enter. Her coolness is shocked by my fever and she cries out. Her eyes open but now we can see only each other. The motion is mutual and quite perfect, for we are suspended together in a bright rapture that endures and swells while our minds seem to fuse. I have ignited her at last. When fulfillment comes and my own brain seems to shatter I feel her faint for the joy of it. Turning in the air, I support her, then let myself descend. We rest together for a long time and I thank God for her. We will stay together forever like this, sharing mind and body, banishing all fear...

  She awoke with her head on my chest. I was stroking her hair.

  "I've never — never—" She was unable to continue.

  "Was it good?"

  "I wanted you very much, Roger. Now I know why. Does — does the extrasensory thing account for it?"

  "That, and my being something of a frog prince. "

  She laughed giddily and began moving her body in gentle rhythm, without urgency. "You amazing man. I actually felt as though we were floating— doing it in midair. "

  I was coming alive again slowly. "I had to wait so long. And then, when I finally found you, I wasn't sure I could... the way I had dreamed it. But it happened. At last. "

  She lifted her head and regarded me with astonished eyes. My mental sight caressed every plane of her face. Before she could ask the question I closed her lips with mine.

  "You couldn't be!" she whispered when she finally broke free.

  It was my turn to laugh. "I warned you I had been dormant, waiting patiently on my lily pad for a complaisant princess. A veritable virgin frog. "

  "I don't believe you. Is it some religious thing, then? No normal man —"

  My coercion silenced her. I opened my mind and showed her the truth. To my amazement, she began to weep.

  "My poor, darling Roger. Oh, my dear. And if we hadn't found each other—?"

  "I don't know. As you saw, my first experience with love ended rather badly. I was mistaken about the depth of her feeling because she was unable to open her mind to me. I couldn't risk that again. Do you understand?"

  "And you're sure about me. " It was a statement.

  "You went to the heart of the matter when you started to tell me that I wasn't normal. Of course I'm not. Luckily for me, neither are you. That's why you're going to marry me. " I was grinning at her in the moonlight and my fingers traced tickling pathways up and down the luscious curve of her spine.

  She said, "Oh, no!"

  "You won't marry me?"

  "Of course I will, fool. " She clung to me. "I meant — perhaps we shouldn't do it again quite so soon. You destroyed me. Do you realize that?"

  I gave a sinister chuckle. "The prince is not to be denied. He has princely prerogatives — et un boute-joie princier!"

  "But I don't know whether I can live through it a second time to­night!" Even as she made false protest, she was encouraging my renais­sance. "If they find my poor little dead body in here tomorrow, you'll be the prime suspect. Think of your embarrassment when the prosecutor demands that you produce the weapon in court! Think of the vulgar sensationalism, the requests for autographs — aah!"

  Shush.

  Oh my darling oh Roger.

  Have no fear. If you're really concerned, this time we'll do it on the bed.

  Elaine rented a house in Bretton Woods and transferred the one-woman editorial office of her little magazine to its front bedroom. We made good use of the other one all throughout that enchanted summer and pl
anned to marry in November, when her divorce action would be finalized. In those years the Catholic Church was ambivalent in its recognition of such marriages, and sexual liaisons such as ours were considered to be sinful; but I was ready to defy a regiment of archangels for Elaine's sake, and the guilt that must accompany the violation of one's principles was banished to the deepest part of my unconscious. Only those of you, reading this, who are yourselves operant metapsychics can understand the inevitability of our sexual merging, our excitement at the increasingly profound bonding that we experienced — the soul-mating that lovers have sought and celebrated throughout all the ages. Even though Elaine never attained full operancy in relation to other minds, she did become fully consonant with me. We spoke to each other without words, knew each other's moods and needs through telepathic interchange, shared sensations, even reinforced each other's ecstatic submersion. You lovers in the Unity would no doubt think our efforts pitifully naive and maladroit; but we thought ourselves in wonderland. Elaine's previous partners, most especially her insensitive husband, had failed to arouse her; her inhibitions had restrained her from any attempt at remedy. But when she was with me there was no need for any crass éclaircissement. I knew her from the very beginning. It was the most amazing part of our love, and it also precipitated the ending because I was not wise enough to know the hazards of entering another's most private place while utterly disarmed.

  The four short months with Elaine were the happiest time of my life. Without her I would become a hollow thing — a mere spectator when I was not a puppet. Looking back, I can see that our separation helped bring the great scheme to fruition; but whether the Lylmik engineered it deliberately or whether they simply took advantage of our little trag­edy must remain an unanswered question. The Ghost surely knows, but it is silent, just as heaven was silent when I prayed for the strength of character that might have carried me beyond fury and pride to the forgiveness that would be so easy to give now, nearly 140 years too late...

  But let me tell the story quickly. First, the happy memories: