I stared a long time at my defective lower leg and ankle. The surgeons had straightened it out considerably, but it was still as ugly as a Sonoran desert toad, and it continued to pain me whenever I walked too long on it.
“Ay, caramba! You didn’t pay attention”, I murmured for the ten-thousandth time since that bad day in the arroyo. “You weren’t watching. One slip, one little slip, and you pay for it the rest of your life.”
In that state of mild despondency combined with fatigue, I had failed to notice that the other swimmer had come to the edge of the pool and was standing in the water less than ten feet away. His chest heaving from exertion, he had his arms folded on the tiles with his head on his forearms.
“That’s a lot of laps”, I said.
“I do hundred tonight. It was good”, he replied in a Slavic accent.
“Well done.”
Catching my eye, he stared at me intently, then gazed at the ceiling, and deliberately in every other direction. Then back to me.
“Dr. Hoyos,” he said loudly, “I am sorry you do not feel very well at this time.”
“I’m all right,” I shrugged.
“It is unfortunate you have—how do you say it? It is sad you feel delusion. I am sorry if my word is not okay, maybe not polite to you.”
“Don’t worry. The language barrier hits us all.”
“Or we hit it”, he said in a lowered voice.
I glanced at him. His eyes were communicating something. It was personal engagement of sort, not an indifferent examination of a poor deranged specimen of humanity.
“We have speak cover”, he murmured. “Now we speak under it.”
“What?”
“I am Pia’s friend.”
“Ah, you’re Paul.”
He nodded. “I have things to tell you, for good hope.”
“I certainly need a dose of that.”
He smiled and raised his voice: “Medication help you, Dr. Hoyos. Don’t worry.”
I raised my voice: “I hope it helps. Sometimes I think clearly, but then things go strange in my mind. Did you see the paper I handed out?”
“I hear about it. It is imagine, yes?”
“I . . . I think so. Yes, I suppose it was all in my mind. I feel badly about doing that. The missing guy, well, I wonder if he was real or if
“Yes, because is long flight. Maybe sometimes people hallucin . . . ate. It is problem. But medicine help.”
He lowered his voice: “Pia explain everything to me. Down the toilet, little bad pill.”
“Down the toilet, little bad pill. But I’m worried about the missing man. Did he go down the toilet too? Or is that another hallucination?”
“Dr. Hoyos”, Paul whispered. “Do not fear. I believe you. Some in flight crew believe you. I give your paper to many on KC. I give to Captain.”
I gazed at him with new attention.
He continued: “Captain can do nothing under KC level. He is Captain of Kosmos but not Captain of people. You understand?”
“I understand.”
“Loud now. Cover.”
“Okay, you first.”
Paul said loudly: “You should go to computer, Dr. Hoyos. See if man you say is gone was really there. I think it not. No man like him is in files. You will see it.”
“Yes, you’re probably right. It’s the sickness. It’s my condition. . .”
Quietly, he said: “The Captain has private communication access with Earth-base. Nobody can touch this, only Captain. He only has code. He send message yesterday. It is years to go there. Then, even if swift, it is more years for answer to come back to us.”
“What did he say to Earth-base?”
“I think everything. He does not like DSI. They try to boss him sometime. But he make them back down.”
Paul switched to loud mode: “Swimming is good for thinking. It will make you happy, Dr. Hoyos. Take medicine, swim, be happy.”
“Thanks for the advice. I don’t know if I can come often, but I’ll try. I feel pretty tired all the time.”
“Swim every day. Then you feel good. Like me.”
“Like you”, I smiled. “You are good.”
Loudly again: “Okay, now I do ten more laps. Then I go upstairs to sleep.”
“Yup, I should go get some sleep too. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you”, he said, then whispered: “Bog blagoslovit vas.”
Before I could ask for a translation, he flipped back into the water and launched himself toward the other end of the pool.
Day 2410:
The gendarmes roused me at 9 A.M. to conduct me to the clinic. Along the way, I dragged my feet more than usual and yawned a lot. I said things like, “When does the sun come up?” and “I don’t remember this street.” They did not respond. Dutifully, they deposited me in front of Pia and stood aside as she handed me my cup with the imitation little bad pill. I knocked it back, and then said, “I sure feel sleepy lately.”
“That’s to be expected, Dr. Hoyos. The medication will help your body rest more easily, which will enable your mind to recover more quickly.”
“Oh. That’s good. Is it all right if I keep swimming?”
“Yes, swimming will help you relax and take your mind off things. I encourage you to spend a moderate amount of time in the pool each day. But don’t overexert yourself.”
“I won’t. Uh, Doctor, do you know what time the sun comes up?”
She frowned and said, “On the ship, we have regulated periods of light and darkness. Do you realize you’re in a space craft, Dr. Hoyos?”
“Oh, yes, that’s right. I forgot.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then. These gentlemen will bring you.”
“Thanks, Dr. Sidotra. These are good boys.”
“I can see they are, Dr. Hoyos.”
The good boys departed. I lingered a minute, long enough to accept an ironic smile from Pia. She handed me a small slip of paper, which I pocketed.
“Have a nice day”, she called after me as I left.
Back in my room, I read the paper, on which she had written:
Feeling hungry? Munch at 2100 hrs tonight.
This evening we met again beneath the Scream.
“I shouldn’t stay long”, she said. “There’s a risk of it being noted that you and I meet outside the clinic.” She glanced out of the alcove. “Anyone could walk along.”
“Paul’s a fine guy”, I said.
Involuntarily, her face lit up. However, the blush and flutter were quickly displaced by the studied demeanor of the accomplished physician.
“He’s the best, Neil. He’s a real man—a true and honest man with more courage than a brigade of DSI agents. We really love each other. We want to be married. But I can’t talk about that now. I just wanted to ask you if you have any private notes in your room that DSI shouldn’t see. It might dawn on them to have a look around your room.”
“I do have notes—a private journal.”
“Any names in it? Anything that would tell them they’re being hoodwinked?”
“Actually, quite a lot of that sort of thing.”
“I’m glad I asked. Listen, Neil, your room is the worst place to store records like that.”
“I have it hidden in my mattress.”
“That’s terribly naïve. Do you think they wouldn’t look under your mattress? I suggest that you bring what you don’t want them to see to your swim tonight. Paul will be at the pool. If you wish, you could let him keep it in a place they can’t touch.”
“Are you sure it would be safe?”
“Absolutely. For one thing, he’s personally reliable. His word is his life. For another, DSI has no overarching control of flight staff, and no investigative powers on KC deck. Paul says the Captain will barely allow them upstairs, and then only under strictest circumstances. Sometimes territorialism works to the good, and this is one such case.”
“All right, Pia. If you trust him, I trust him too.”
Back in
my room, I took stock of my mattress. After stripping the sheets and blanket off, I upended the foam and had a look at the discreet cut in its side. It wouldn’t be easy to spot. One would have to lie down on the mattress to detect anything inside that didn’t belong there. Even so, I removed the papers that I had secreted, the ones that I had separated out from my written journal because they either pointed the finger at my fellow conspirators or referred to my other various deceptions and collaborations. Then I read through the bulk of my written journal, which I keep in my book cabinet. I found a few more pages where I had penned things that shouldn’t become known, ruing that I had so carelessly left them exposed to searching eyes. These I added to the other secret pages and wrapped the thin stack in my swim towel.
This afternoon, I tracked down Xue and asked him to join me in an alcove. There, we discussed everything that has happened during the past three days. He told me that he and Stron had been called in for chats with Elf, who explained to them in kindly, patient terms, how very ill I was, that I had been diagnosed with CDS and associated problems that indicated the potential for schizophrenia. Savvy guys, they told him they had gone along with the hand-out project only because they had believed in my delusion. He let them go. No mind-warping for them, for which I am truly grateful.
Nevertheless, Xue is very angry—not at me, but at the manipulation / suppression.
I told him about the button recording of my last meeting with Elf and played it for him there in the alcove. He listened to it somberly, his eyes cold with a look that Genghis Khan would have envied. When he had heard enough, he pulled a tiny metallic wafer out of his suit pocket, pressed it to my lapel button for five seconds, and then replaced it in his pocket. He smiled humorlessly.
“I have made a copy, Neil. I will have my unnamed friend print a transcript, and get it back to you early this evening. I suggest that you give it to the man on KC deck who will guard your records. I will keep a copy for myself.”
“Thank you, Ao-li.” I paused. To demonstrate that I wasn’t entirely self-obsessed, I asked, “How is the Shui-mo going?”
“My skills are developing. Soon I will present you with a gift.”
At 0100 hours I went for another swim. Paul was there doing laps, along with three other aquatic types who were also doing laps. After they left, I paddled about for a while, until Paul had completed his daily hundred. As on the night before, we conversed on two levels. Our towels sat side by side on the tiles throughout. He said goodnight and went off for a well-earned sleep with my towel under his arm.
I went back to my room feeling that now there was some hope.
Day 2411:
This morning a max message from Dariush. He inquired about my health, and said encouraging things, urged me to take my medicine regularly, and expressed some regret that he had played a minor role in contributing to the “embarrassing situation”. He invited me to be his guest for lunch in the European restaurant on deck A.
I arrived there at noon to find Dariush waiting for me by the entrance.
He took my arm in hand and said, “I think we will eat Asian food, not the European, with which we have become overfamiliar.”
“I don’t know, Dariush. They probably have bugs everywhere. A touch of a button, and they go to Asia.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. It may be that we will have a little time before we are located.”
We walked a roundabout route to the Asian restaurant, and to my surprise, Dariush led me past the entrance and toward a staircase. We went down to Concourse C and walked quietly side by side toward the African restaurant in the forward section of the ship.
As the music of drums, flutes, and high atonal chanting grew louder, he said into my ear: “The max message will alert them to our meeting. It is my supposition, one that is not without basis, that they will activate listening devices in the European restaurant in order to assess our conversation, and if my words about the Asian restaurant were overheard, it too will be surveilled.”
We found a table in a shadowed corner beneath zebra-hide wall hangings and black masks. The music was stimulating and loud, which suited us fine. Dariush had a lot to tell me as we consumed our plates of jollof rice with onions and peppers, spicy fufu, and peanut stew with soy-chicken.
“You have endured much agitation,” he began, “in the pursuit of justice for the young man, David Ayne.”
“It’s nothing more than what any reasonable person would do”, I answered.
“In past ages, this would have been true”, he said. “It is a consolation to know that these noble instincts remain within human nature.”
“Thanks for the compliment. Or maybe the insult.”
“I refer to the power of the contemporary social matrix—the psychological cosmos.”
“I know, I know. Anyway, you’ve been part of the revolt too, Dariush. I hope it hasn’t made problems for you.”
“Only a little. Somehow I was identified as one of the people who handed out the papers. Perhaps there were cameras along our route. Dr. Larson requested that I come to his office for an explanatory interview.”
“Did he send someone to guide you?”
“No, I found the offices by my own volition.”
“And what did he say to you?”
“He explained your supposed mental condition. He was very understanding, shall we say, both in manner and content. It did not demand more than a moment’s reflection on my part to see how they are dealing with the crisis. I listened attentively to his explanation, and expressed regret over this lamentable situation. I said that I hoped it would not happen again. I believe he misinterpreted my response as repentance.”
“He was pleased by your attitude?”
Dariush smiled. “Oh, yes, very pleased.”
“Well, I’m sorry for the bother.”
“It is no bother, Neil. I know that his mind and his mouth are full of lies. Perhaps this poor soul even believes his own lies. And I have not ceased to worry about David Ayne. Yet it strikes me that under the present circumstances we must look for another method of finding him. At the same time, we must not do anything that would prejudice your own position.”
“Dariush, would you be interested in meeting the real Elif Larson?”
He gazed at me quizzically as I undid the button from my lapel and slid it across the table to him. I said, “Play.” He got the point and put the button to his right ear and leaned his cheek on his hand as if he were resting his weary head. When he had heard the whole recording, he returned the button to me with a look of consternation.
“This is most revealing”, he said.
I nodded.
He sat back and turned inward, thinking intensely. At last he looked up and said quietly, “It is interesting, this problem of man’s tools. Each tool reshapes the one who is apparently the master of the tool. I ask myself this: At what point does the tool, the servant, become the real master?”
“I’m not sure I know, Dariush.”
He pointed to the button: “We are resisting the technological corruption of our humanity with technology.”
“We’re also resisting with our thinking, our perseverance, our friendships.”
“Yes, this is so. In the end, we will find that even the best of tools can do no more than assist us. Certainly they cannot save us.”
He lapsed into silence again, staring at the tabletop. Finally, he heaved a great sigh and said, “Neil, I believe the first step, at least in my relationship with yourself, is to resume our studies of Kashmiri—in public.”
“If you wish. It would reassure them that things are back to normal, other than my degenerating mental condition.”
“Then we will do it.”
“Whenever we meet, I’ll have to pretend I can’t focus for long, and I’ll look very tired, more so as time goes on. I may act out a few moderately wild things, just to create an effect. But it’s all a ruse. I’m supposed to be on a strong medication that’s designed to make me look real crazy, even as
it claims to heal my craziness.”
“Yes, Pia explained it.”
“Pia? You know Pia?”
“That fine young woman introduced herself to me shortly after your talk five months ago. She saw me on the stage with you that night. Since then, we occasionally meet for discussions about . . . reality.”
“In an artistic environment?”
“Exactly so.”
“She has been busy.”
“Indeed, busy and sagacious. I also have come to admire Paul Yusupov.”
“Ah, yes.”
“So, Neil, how many Kashmiri words do you now master?”
“I’m ashamed to say I haven’t added any new ones in recent weeks, and have lost a few that I did know.”
“Then we must return to our studious practices.”
“Agreed. What about tonight in the Mexican food bistro? Do you like very hot food?”
“I am extremely enamored of very hot food.”
Day 2444:
I have felt little inclination to make further entries in this written journal. Doubtless this is because my life is now generally more absorbing than it has been during certain periods of the voyage when I drifted into boredom. I spend a lot of time acting the part of the addled, medicated scientist, causing a certain amount of amusement among my intimate friends. I take care not to overdo it. They play the part (in public) of compassionate caregivers. Privately, I am the victim of a good deal of humorous tormenting. I think this comic element is primarily a pressure release for the underlying tensions we live with.
DSI has again become invisible. After a month of conducting me to my daily pill, the gendarmes have disappeared. I go to the clinic on my own, and Pia files a report to this effect every day. She is compelled to immediately alert the director of the Department of Medicine if I fail to meet my appointment, and he in turn will then inform DSI. So far, this has not been necessary. No major crises mar the passage of days, nothing much changes except our view of the planet toward which we are ever moving.
The panorama images and the specific scientific presentations are gripping. We now know that Planet 7’s seas are very deep, at least three kilometers deeper than the utmost depths of Earth’s oceans. The mountain ranges on some of the continents are a kilometer higher than Mount Everest. The green zones are indeed vegetation. The small ice caps are not as thick as Earth’s. The deserts are not barren sand but are wide grasslands, similar to the African veldt. Their color changes from tan to pale green during the wet periods—autumn through spring. The seasons appear to be consistently mild. Everywhere there are rivers. Large storm patterns are sometimes visible on the oceans, and they occasionally brush the coastal regions, but no hurricanes have yet been spotted.