by Robin Cook
“Absolutely,” Arak said. “The finest Saranta can muster.”
“Then I’ll skip seconds on my dessert,” Richard said. He tossed his spoon onto the table, stood up, stretched, and belched loudly.
Suzanne glared at him. “Richard, have some respect for the rest of us even if you don’t have it for yourself.”
“But I do,” Richard said with a sly smile. “I restrained myself from farting in this mixed company.”
Arak laughed. “Richard, you are going to be a big hit. You’re delightfully primitive.”
“Are you yanking my chain?” Richard asked.
“Not at all,” Arak said. “You’ll be in great demand, I assure you. Come on! Let’s show you off!” With a wave, Arak started toward the open end of the room.
“All right!” Richard said, giving Michael an enthusiastic thumbs-up sign. Michael returned it with equal exuberance.
“Let’s party!” Michael cried. The two divers eagerly followed Arak.
Suzanne looked at Perry, who shrugged and said, “This is crazy, going to a celebration under these circumstances, but we might as well take it all in stride.”
Then she glanced at Donald. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Donald said gloomily. “But if you two want to fraternize, be my guests.”
“I’m going because I might learn some more,” Suzanne said. “Not to fraternize, as you put it.”
“Come on!” Perry called from the far end of the room.
“We’ll see you later,” Suzanne said. She hurried after Perry and the others, who were already on their way across the lawn.
Donald mulled over what Arak had said. All he knew for sure was that he didn’t trust him. From Donald’s point of view the man was too ingratiating. All this fantastic hospitality had to be some kind of trap. Yet Donald had no idea for what purpose other than to get them off their guard.
Donald turned and looked out the end of the room. The group was halfway to the columned pavilion and silhouetted against its illuminated exterior. Redirecting his eyes, Donald stared at the two worker clones, who were standing motionless to the side against the wall. They appeared so human it was hard for Donald to believe they were part machine as Arak had said. Maybe it was just another lie, Donald thought.
“Worker, I want some more drink,” Donald said.
The female worker clone immediately picked up the pitcher on the sideboard and stepped over to the table. Her shoulder-length hair was sorrel colored. She had pale, translucent skin. Leaning over she began to fill Donald’s cup.
Donald suddenly grabbed her wrist without warning. Her skin felt cold beneath his fingers. She did not jump or even appreciably respond. Instead she kept on pouring.
Donald tightened his grip to get a reaction, but it was to no avail. The woman finished filling the glass then righted the pitcher despite Donald’s grasp. Donald was taken aback. The woman was shockingly strong.
Tilting his head back Donald looked up into the woman’s frozen face. She did not try to detach herself from his grasp but rather blankly returned his stare. Donald let go of the woman’s arm.
“What is your name?” he asked.
She did not respond verbally or in any other fashion. Other than rhythmical breathing there was no other movement. She didn’t even blink.
“Worker clone, speak!” Donald ordered.
Silence persisted. Donald looked over at the male worker clone, but there was no response from him either.
“How come you people work and the others don’t?” Donald asked.
There was no response from either clone.
“All right,” Donald said. “Workers, leave!”
Instantly the two workers went to the door from which they’d come and disappeared. Donald got up and opened the door. Beyond it, a stairway descended into darkness.
Closing the door, Donald walked over to the open end of the room. He looked out at the scene. The light, which had been so bright earlier, had faded, as if the nonexistent sun had nearly set. Donald could just make out Arak and the others approaching the pavilion. He shook his head. He wondered again if he was dreaming. Everything seemed so bizarre yet disturbingly real. He felt his arms and his face. He felt normal to his touch.
Donald took a deep breath. Intuitively he knew that he was facing the most demanding mission of his career. He hoped that his training wouldn’t fail him, particularly his training regarding being a prisoner of war.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
In their own scatological vernacular, Richard and Michael were “scared shitless,” but their unspoken credo was to deny it. Just like their reaction to the perils of saturation diving they responded with a distorted macho bravado designed to conceal their true feelings.
“Do you think those girls we saw earlier will be here at the party?” Richard asked Michael. They had lagged a few steps behind the others en route to the celebration in the pavilion.
“We can always hope,” Michael responded.
They walked in silence for a few steps. They could hear Arak talking with Suzanne and Perry, but they didn’t care to listen.
“Do you really think we were asleep for over a month?” Michael asked.
Richard stopped short. “You’re not going soft on me, are you?”
“No!” Michael insisted. “I was just asking.” Sleep had never been the solace for Michael that it was for others. As a child he used to be plagued with nightmares. After he’d gone to sleep, his father would come home drunk and beat up his mother. When he woke up, he tried to intervene, but the result was always the same: he, too, was beaten. Unfortunately, the process of sleep got inextricably associated with these episodes, so for Michael the idea of being asleep for a month was a source of enormous anxiety.
“Hello!” Richard said while giving Michael a series of slaps on the face. “Anybody home?”
Michael deflected Richard’s irritating jabs. “Cut it out!”
“Remember, we’re not worrying about all this horseshit,” Richard said. “There’s something screwy going on here sure as shooting, but who cares. We’re going to enjoy ourselves, not like that jerk, Fuller. God! Just listening to him talk makes me glad we were tossed out of the freakin’ Navy. Otherwise we’d be taking orders from guys like him.”
“Of course we’re going to enjoy ourselves,” Michael insisted. “But I was just thinking, like, you know, it’s a long time to be zonked.”
“Well, don’t think!” Richard said. “You’ll get yourself all screwed up.”
“All right!” Michael said.
Suzanne called out for them to catch up; she and the others were waiting.
“And to top it all off, we got to deal with old mother hen,” Richard added.
The two divers caught up to the rest of the group, who’d stopped at the base of the steps leading up to the pavilion entrance.
“Is everything okay?” Suzanne asked them.
“Peachy,” Richard said, forcing a smile.
“Arak just told us something you two might find interesting,” Suzanne said. “I assume you’ve noticed how it is getting dark as if the sun had set.”
“We noticed,” Richard said testily.
“They have night and day down here,” Suzanne said. “And we learned the light comes from bioluminescence.”
The two divers tilted their heads back to look straight up.
“I see stars,” Michael said.
“Those are relatively small pinpoints of blue-white bioluminescence,” Arak said. “It was our intent to re-create the world as we knew it, which certainly included the circadian cycle. The difference from your world is that our days and nights are longer, and they are the same length year-round. Of course our years are longer as well.”
“So you lived in the external world before you moved down here,” Suzanne said.
“Absolutely,” Arak answered.
“When did you make the move?” Suzanne asked.
Arak held up his ha
nds defensively. He laughed. “We are getting ahead of ourselves. I’m not supposed to be encouraging you to ask questions this evening. Remember, that’s to be tomorrow.”
“Just one more,” Perry pleaded. “It’s an easy one, I’m sure. Where do you get all your energy down here?”
Arak sighed with exasperation.
“It’s the last question, I promise,” Perry said. “At least for tonight.”
“And you are a man of your word?” Arak questioned.
“For sure,” Perry said.
“Our energy comes from two main sources,” Arak said. “First is geothermal by tapping the earth’s core. But that creates the problem of getting rid of excess heat, which we do in two ways. One by allowing magma to well up along what you people call the mid-oceanic ridge, and two by cooling with circulated seawater. The seawater heat exchange requires a large volume, which does provide us an opportunity to filter out plankton. The downside is that the process creates oceanic currents, but you people have learned to live with them, particularly the one you call the Gulf Stream.
“The second source of energy is from fusion. We split water into oxygen, which we breath, and hydrogen, which we fuse. But this is the kind of discussion we’ll be having tomorrow. Tonight I want you to experience and enjoy, mostly enjoy.”
“And we aim to do just that,” Richard said. “But tell me, is this going to be a wet or dry party?”
“I’m afraid that is a term I’m not familiar with,” Arak said.
“It refers generally to alcohol,” Richard said. “Do you people have any on hand?”
“But of course,” Arak said. “Wine, beer, and a particularly pure spirit we call crystal. The wine and the beer are similar to what you are used to. But the crystal is different, and I advise you to go easy until you are accustomed to it.”
“No need to worry, bro,” Richard said. “Michael and I are professionals.”
“Let’s party!” Michael said enthusiastically.
Perry and Suzanne had to be nudged forward. Both had been bowled over by Arak’s explanations, particularly Suzanne. All at once she had answers to two of the mysteries of oceanography, namely, why magma wells up at the mid-oceanic ridges and why there are oceanic currents, particularly the Gulf Stream. The answers to both questions had completely eluded scientists.
The group climbed the stairs with Arak in the lead. As they passed between two of the massive columns supporting the domed roof, Suzanne caught sight of Richard’s overeager expression. Worried what his conduct might be under the influence, she leaned toward him and whispered, “Remember to behave yourself.”
Richard glanced at her. His expression was one of scornful disbelief.
“I’m serious, Richard,” Suzanne added. “We have no idea what we are up against, and we don’t want to put ourselves in any more jeopardy than we already are. If you have to drink, do it sparingly.”
“Drop dead!” Richard said. He quickened his pace and caught up to Arak just as two oversized bronze doors swung open.
The first thing that greeted the visitors was the murmur of thousands of excited voices as they reverberated around the pavilion’s vast, white marbled interior. The level they’d entered formed a ballustraded balcony that ran around the circular hall. Together the group moved to the top of a grand staircase and looked down.
“Talk about a party!” Richard cried. “My god! There must be a thousand people here.”
“We could have had ten thousand if we’d had the room,” Arak told them.
In the center of the huge domed ballroom was a round pool illuminated in such a way as to make it appear like an enormous aquamarine cabochon jewel. Surrounding the pool was a foot-high, ten-foot-wide lip. Numerous stairways connected the balcony to the level below.
The floor of the pavilion was packed with people. Everyone was dressed in the same simple white satin outfits except for an occasional worker clone in their usual black. The worker clones were carrying large trays loaded with golden goblets and food. Each guest sported a velvet ribbon tied around his or her neck just like the one Arak had on. Only the color varied, not the size, the shape, or the way it was tied. And as before, everyone was strikingly beautiful or handsome.
Word that the visitors had arrived spread like wildfire through the crowd. Conversations stopped and faces tilted up. It was a dramatic sight to look down on so many silently expectant people.
Arak raised his hands over his head with his palms toward the audience. “Greetings to everyone! I am pleased to announce that all our visitors, save one, have graciously deigned to come to our celebration of their arrival to Saranta.”
A general cheer erupted from the audience as everyone lifted their arms, mirroring Arak’s gesture.
“Come!” Arak said. He motioned for the group to follow him as he started down the broad flight of stairs.
Richard and Michael scampered forward eagerly, followed by a more hesitant Suzanne and Perry.
“This is too much!” Richard whispered in excitement. “Look at the women! It looks like a Victoria’s Secret slumber party.”
“Every one of them could be a centerfold,” Michael responded.
“It’s hard to keep this all in perspective,” Suzanne whispered to Perry. “I feel like we’re in a 1950’s Cecil B. DeMille movie spectacular.”
“I know what you mean,” Perry answered. “It also gives me an idea what it’s like to be a rock star. These people are really happy to see us. And look how young everybody is. Most of these people appear as if they’re in their early twenties.”
“True, but there’s a significant number of children,” Suzanne said. “I can see a few that can’t be any more than three or four.”
“Not very many senior citizens,” Perry commented.
At the base of the stairs the people shrank back as the group descended, but as soon as they reached the floor, the crowd surged forward with their hands held up, palms forward.
Suzanne and Perry instinctively retreated a few steps back despite the obvious warmth of the crowd. In contrast Richard and Michael allowed themselves to be engulfed. The two divers soon realized that the crowd wanted physical contact with their hands, and the divers happily reached out to touch the palms that sought theirs. It was a greeting similar to the one Arak had employed when he’d first welcomed Suzanne earlier.
“I love you all,” Richard cried out, to the pleasure of the Interterrans in his immediate vicinity, but he selectively chose the palms of young, beautiful women as he worked his way through the crowd. In his enthusiasm he even grabbed a few and kissed them—which brought the festivity to a sudden, screeching halt.
Richard eyed the women he’d kissed and wondered for a fleeting moment if he should retreat up the stairs. The stunned women proceeded to touch their lips, then examine their fingers as if they expected to see blood. Clearly kissing was not part of the Interterrans’ normal salutational repertoire. Richard glanced guiltily at Michael, who was equally tense at the precipitous change in the mood of the crowd. “I couldn’t help myself,” Richard explained.
Three women he’d kissed looked at each other and burst out laughing. Then all three launched themselves simultaneously at Richard to return the gesture. The crowd cheered with delight and pressed in around the two divers even more. After several fumbled attempts at kissing, the three women graciously moved away to make room for others.
A sly smile spread across Richard’s face. “Looks like we’re going to be teaching these chicks a thing or two,” he said beaming. He felt encouraged enough to be even more demonstrative. Michael, seeing Richard’s successes, quickly followed suit. But soon their activities were interrupted by a worker clone who had responded to a suggestion of Arak’s to give their guests something to drink. The clones arrived and pressed golden goblets into their hands.
Even Suzanne and Perry’s reserve began to erode in the face of the infectious conviviality. They were surrounded by friendly, beautiful people eager to press palms with them. Som
e of the welcomes were the very young children Suzanne had seen when they’d first arrived. Suzanne asked one of them her age after being impressed by her flawless English and apparent intelligence.
“How old are you?” the child asked without answering Suzanne’s question.
Suzanne was about to respond when a man who could have played a Greek god in the Cecil B. DeMille movie she’d imagined asked her if she lived with a mate. Before Suzanne could answer this curious question an older man, no less attractive, asked her if she knew her parents.
“Just a moment here,” Arak said, coming between Suzanne and her admirers. “As you all know, we have specifically told our guests that their questions must wait until tomorrow. It is only fair that ours wait as well. Tonight is to celebrate this wonderful event for Saranta and to enjoy.”
“Hey, Arak!” Richard yelled from the center of a group of fans. He was holding up his golden goblet. “Is this the crystal liquor you were talking about?”
“It is indeed,” Arak called out.
“It’s fantastic!” Richard yelled back. “I really dig it.”
“I’m glad,” Arak said.
“One other thing,” Richard yelled. “Don’t you guys have any music? I mean, what’s a party without music?”
“Right on,” Michael yelled.
“Workers, music!” Arak shouted over the din. Within moments background music miraculously could be heard over the babble. It was as soothing as the music in the decon living quarters.
Michael let out a contemptuous laugh.
“I’m not talking about elevator music,” Richard shouted back at Arak. “I mean something with some base and a beat. Something we can dance to.”
Arak barked another order to the worker clones and soon the music changed.
Richard and Michael exchanged bewildered glances. The music had more base and a beat, but with its strange syncopation it was not like any music they had ever heard.
“What the hell is this?” Michael asked. He cocked his head to the side to listen better.
“Beats me,” Richard said. He closed his eyes and moved his head in an undulating fashion. At the same time he took a few unsteady steps and swiveled his hips. His movements brought some giggles from the girls he’d amassed around him.