The bugbats soared higher than P. T. had ever seen a pair fly. For a split second he wondered if they were going to ruin the show by flying off through the clouds but then their ascent slowed and P. T. knew the moment was at hand.
The first explosion sent fragments of the bugbats in hundreds of different directions, a spray of primary colors that rivaled the most exquisite fireworks. With the second explosion, the hundred pieces burst into thousands, each a brilliant spray of pastels, many of which had perhaps never been seen on Earth. On the third explosion, the sky was momentarily filled with a million shooting stars cascading to Earth to be doused by the ocean's waters.
"Damn good show,” P. T. shouted as he flung his fist defiantly in the air. But as he watched the last remains of the bugbats slowly descend to the ocean's surface, he noticed the small boats for the first time.
"Hey, what the hell?" He raised his binoculars to his eyes and studied the six small craft one by one. Each boat contained at least four or five people, each one waving a large butterfly net into the air.
Claudia, you're crazy as a loon, but even as he had the thought, he knew it wasn't true. The head of the oceanographic institute that had been his neighbor for the last fifteen years was known to be a bit on the eccentric side, but she also had the reputation of being one of the most resourceful scientists left on the planet. What were they doing collecting samples of the bugbats, especially along his waters?
As P. T. swung his binoculars back to the crowd on the observation deck, searching for Claudia, the sun broke through the clouds for the first time that day. He finally found Claudia, standing next to his daughter near the end of the deck, her arm comfortably draped over Maura's shoulder. He studied first Claudia's face then Maura's as the two of them talked. As he did so, he was surprised to see a tiny sparkle of sunlight reflected off of a tear as it ran down his daughter's cheek.
Women! P. T. thought as he lowered the glasses from his eyes and tried stuffing them back into the already full case. What a bother. But the vision of his daughter's face and Claudia's arm around her shoulder lingered far longer in his mind than did the brilliant display of colors from a few moments before.
* * *
P. T. remained on the observation deck, watching without really seeing the setting sun being slowly swallowed by the horizon. Maura was inside the cabin, packing her few belongings. No doubt, Claudia was helping her pack.
P. T. leaned heavily against the concrete wall of the deck, much of his weight supported by his arms and left leg. His cane hung over the railing next to him. The bullhorn, binoculars and case filled with money were heaped in a pile at his feet. Normally, by this time of the day of a show, he'd be inside counting the final take, but tonight none of that seemed to matter. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the bottle of pills and popped three of them in his mouth, dry swallowing them as he often did.
Will she come out and say good-bye, he wondered. Had Evelyn ever said good-bye? He couldn't remember. All that remained of those times, they seemed like life times ago now, were the arguments. Maura had been four but already looked like a miniature Evelyn. The State Department had refused to let Evelyn take her daughter on the trip. The mission was far too dangerous, the time schedule too uncertain. Had she ever said good-bye? P. T. squeezed his eyes closed, trying to remember. Suddenly, after so many years, it seemed important to remember. He could not.
"Father." P. T. jumped slightly at the soft sound of his daughter's voice. "I'm leaving now." He didn't turn around immediately but waited until he was certain he had braced himself. Only then did he open his eyes and turn towards her.
The two women stood side by side, their shoulders touching. He stared awkwardly at them, a wave of déjà vu sweeping over him. Claudia had been there the day they'd taken Evelyn. Hadn't she gone with Evelyn to the spaceport? Would she remember if Evelyn had said good-bye?
The silence grew louder, distancing the three even further. Finally, P. T. coughed into his hand. "Well, do you have everything you need?"
"Yes, Father,” Maura replied.
"And how about you, Claudia? Did you get everything you came for today?"
Claudia didn't reply but only continued to stare at P. T., her face frozen in a condescending smile.
"What were your boats doing in my waters?" P. T. picked up his cane and took a couple steps towards her.
Claudia turned to Maura. "Didn't you tell him?"
Maura shook her head. "There wasn't time.”
"Tell me what?"
"About the aliens."
"What about the goddamn aliens?" P. T. shouted. He felt his pulse quicken in his neck. It suddenly dawned on him what Claudia was saying. He turned to Maura, the muscles along each side of his neck bulging like ropes swollen from being left in the water too long.
"You're going away to study the damn aliens, aren't you? Those fuckers are taking you away as well."
"Don't yell at her, you old coot," Claudia said as she stepped between him and his daughter.
"You stay out of this, you hear? This is a family matter."
"Not this time, I won't. I kept my mouth shut before; not this time." Claudia crossed her arms in a defiant gesture and glared back at him.
"I won't let them take her, do you hear? I won't. They took Evelyn but they can't have Maura." His speech slurred slightly as the painkillers kicked in.
"What are you talking about?" Claudia asked. "No one took Evelyn. She went of her own free will."
"No she didn't. She didn't want to go. She didn't want to leave me. They made her."
"How would you know what she wanted? You never asked her."
Claudia's words sliced through the frozen memories of P. T.'s mind like an icebreaker along the Alaskan shores, shattering the walls he'd spent so many years constructing. He'd never asked her to stay. He felt the warm tears flow down his cheeks. With a violent wave of his hand, he brushed them away. How could he have been such a fool?
Maura stood before him now, her hand gently resting on his shoulder. "These aren't the same times, Father, or the same aliens. This race has come to settle the Earth, not destroy it."
"What are you talking about?" He brushed at his eyes to clear the tears.
"The Show." She waved her hand towards the sky. "What do you think it is?"
"It's a pair of crazy aliens at the end of their lives, running to the sea like lemmings to kill themselves. They've just added a little extra pyrotechnics for effect."
Maura shook her head. "It's not just for effect, Father. It's true the bugbats return to the ocean but it's not just to scatter their ashes. They come from the ocean. Oh, not the Pacific, another ocean on a distant planet—a planet destroyed by the aliens you remember.
"The pyrotechnics are their lovemaking,” Maura continued. "Their final act before dying. The continuation of their species."
P. T. shook his head in an effort to clear it.
"She's right, P. T." Claudia said. "We've been collecting data for months. The phytoplankton count in these waters is 300 times higher than anywhere else. We found an organism that we haven't been able to identify, but based on what the bugbats told Maura today, we're certain it's their offspring."
"It's time to bury your dead, P. T." Claudia said, the edge gone from her voice. "These are new times, wonderful times for Earth. We've all made mistakes along the way. The question is, will we learn from them?"
P. T. turned. He limped over to the wall of the deck and stared across the dark waters of the Pacific as the final sliver of sun dipped below the horizon. No one spoke for several minutes.
So many years, he thought -- so much hatred for the aliens. How could he give it up? It had become . . . if not a friend, at least a companion, something familiar -- something to hold on to. If he let it go, what would he have left? Through the haze of his mind, a thought, a possible answer to the question, lingered just out of reach. It was time to stop living his past.
Finally, he turned back to the two women, who waited pat
iently. He straightened his stance and taking a deep breath, gazed into Maura’s and Evelyn's eyes in the same moment. Then Evelyn's image faded away, leaving only Maura. He asked the question.
"Will you stay?"
Pork Futures
Hammus enjoyed watching the new visitors' facial expressions as they tried to conceal their mixture of shock, disbelief and humor at meeting the world's smartest pig. It usually took visitors a couple of meetings before they realized Hammus was not only the smartest pig ever born, he was the smartest anything ever born, including humans — including themselves. But then, Hammus didn't consider this reaction human arrogance, just human behavior — one of his favorite studies. After all, humans had thousands of years of experience at being the most intelligent species on the planet, or at least convincing themselves of that fallacy, so Hammus's presence disrupted a longstanding way of thinking.
Hammus found Dr. Zimmerman's facial expression particularly interesting to watch as he stood next to Dr. Shawna Fogle while she made the introductions. Shawna had prepared Hammus the day before, as was her habit before introducing anyone new to her pet project.
"Dr. Zimmerman could be very important to us, Wee-pig," she had said, using her favorite nickname for him. "He's very influential in the scientific community, having distinguished himself as one of the top immunologists and front-runners in the race to discover an effective AIDS vaccine. And although he can be a bit difficult at times, it would be to our advantage to have him on our side."
Now, as the two scientists stood before him, Dr. Zimmerman chewed on an unlit cigar while Shawna twirled a lock of her short curly hair, looking cool and confident except for that one small mannerism that told Hammus how she really felt. Dr. Zimmerman's gaze flitted first to Hammus, then to the computer screen he sat in front of, then around the room, momentarily stopping at the pool and sprinkler system, then to the sleeping palette, then to one of the outside windows. Shawna had opened the window earlier so Hammus could enjoy the beautiful spring day. Unfortunately, despite being on the second floor, the distant murmur of the picket line distracted from the otherwise pleasant weather.
Dr. Zimmerman's attention returned to Hammus as Shawna finished the introductions. His gaze traced Hammus's wiring from its cerebral implant up the multi-colored line to the overhanging arm and finally down to the computer.
Zimmerman turned to Shawna. Parking his cigar in one corner of his mouth, he asked, "What do I do, just talk? Can he hear me like this?"
Shawna nodded. “Early on, I found it's easier if you just pretend you're talking to a cartoon character. The only difference is Hammus can talk back and he's quite smart, in a childlike way."
Zimmerman opened his mouth. False start. Tried again. "Hello, huh, Hammus." He stole a quick glance to Shawna. "I'm Dr. Zimmerman, but of course, Shawna just said that. This is damn difficult." The cigar worked its way to the other side of his mouth.
"Pleased to meet you, Dr. Zimmerman," Hammus voiced through the computer. He'd chosen his favorite voice to speak in, the one Shawna had said sounded like a male teenager's voice. It seemed to put new visitors at ease the quickest. He also liked the way they often underestimated his abilities. After all, most humans didn't take teenagers seriously. "I understand you will be helping Shawna, I mean Dr. Fogle, by administering some tests to me."
Zimmerman dug one hand deep into his pants pocket, brought out a chrome lighter and was about to light his cigar when Shawna coughed lightly.
"Sorry," Zimmerman said, returning the lighter to his pocket. "Habits are hard to break." He took the cigar out of his mouth and flicked it nervously as though it had been lit for some time. "Yes," he replied, returning his attention to Hammus. "In fact, I brought a disk with my first assignment for you. I know you've undergone extensive testing over the past several months. You might consider the work I'll be doing with you as a short externship. The questions I'll be posing to you aren't conceptual. They have real life implications. Dr. Fogle seems to feel it would help your public image if we could clearly demonstrate your usefulness to society."
Hammus jumped off the chair, snorted, then walked over to Dr. Zimmerman, the computer cabling automatically lengthening behind him. "If you'd like to leave the disk with me, I'd be happy to review it tonight. It sounds like fun. I hope you've given me some challenging puzzles."
Zimmerman reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a thumb drive and held it in his hand, as though uncertain whether to hand it to Shawna or the pig. "I think you will find you'll be aptly challenged. These questions were prepared by a number of distinguished doctors in several different disciplines. They were instructed to not pull any punches."
"Let's see what the pig is made of, is that it?" Hammus asked as he walked over to the sprayer. Turning it on with his snout, he laid down in the warm mist.
"Well yes, I guess. No offense intended. It's just, well . . ." Zimmerman sputtered to a stop.
"Relax, Doctor," Shawna said, pointing to the smiley face on the computer screen. "Many people find it difficult to tell when Hammus is joking so we installed in the communication package a way he can let us know where he is coming from. He's not offended at all."
Zimmerman nodded, his face turning even redder by the misunderstanding. "Well of course he was joking. Yes, we want to see what the porker is made of, brains or bacon."
The happy face quickly disappeared from the screen.
"I'll have my response ready for you by tomorrow afternoon," Hammus replied, flipping onto his back and spraying water in all directions.
"Well, that's very nice of you but I think you should know we figured it would take you at least three or four days to respond."
"Tomorrow, 3 p.m. I'll have my replies ready," Hammus repeated, then turned his back to the two scientists. The interview was over.
****
"Let's go out the back way," Shawna said as the two of them walked down the hall after leaving Hammus. "The rear picket line is generally easier to get through."
"You've caused quite a stir with your genius pig, my dear," Zimmerman said as he lit his cigar despite the No Smoking signs placed throughout the hall. "Are you sure it's worth it? After all, maybe there are some areas better left unexplored."
Shawna stopped and turned towards him. "Are you taking the creationists' point of view, that I'm a she-devil with the mark of the beast on my forehead or the evolutionists' and ecologists' view that I'm fiddling with nature and it's all going to come crashing down around us?”
Zimmerman puffed on the cigar until he was partially lost in the thick cloud of noxious smoke. "Neither, Shawna. I'm simply questioning, that's all. I only have your best interest at heart. That little pig in there has two completely different schools of thought on the same side of the picket line — against you." He nodded in the direction of the sound mounting in the background as they neared the rear of the building.
"How old are you, Shawna? Thirty-two, thirty-three?"
"Close enough."
"Whatever. My point is you have a brilliant future ahead of you. Why jeopardize it for . . . a smart pig?" They had arrived at the rear door. Outside, the chanting — "Barbecue the pig"— grew in volume, making it difficult for Shawna to concentrate on what Zimmerman was saying.
"My work isn't simply about creating a smart pig. It just so happens pigs have ten times more brain cells per cubic centimeter than humans. What makes us more intelligent than other animals is our interconnecting neurons. My research was to find a way to stimulate a pig's embryonic brain to develop a comparable number of interconnecting neural connections as exists in the human brain. I didn't do it just for the fun of it, as some people have implied." The irritation in Shawna's voice mounted. Zimmerman took a step to one side to get away from her waving hands.
"In case you hadn't noticed, the world is in a mess," Shawna continued. "To paraphrase Einstein, 'Our current problems cannot be solved at the same level of thinking that has created them.' We need a new way of thinking.
That's what I'm looking for, that's all. It's purely coincidental that my search has taken the direction it has. It has nothing to do with going against God or against nature. I'm doing this for the benefit of humankind just as you are in searching for an AIDS vaccine."
Zimmerman plucked first one hand then the other out of the air and held them in his own. "You're a feisty woman, Shawna. It's one of the things I like most about you. I'm glad to help. I just wanted to be sure you knew what you're up against. The scientific community can ill afford any more mistakes right now."
"Please, Dr. Zimmerman, you needn't tell me about our wonderful scientific community and their ultraconservative mentality. Just help me to convince them that Hammus can be a valuable asset to all of us. I don't care if he isn't accepted as a colleague. They never have to invite him to an awards banquet or anything. Just give him a chance to prove himself." She pulled her hands out of Zimmerman's sweaty grasp. "Will you do that? Will you help us?"
"Why, certainly my dear. I told you I would. That's why I’m here."
"A public statement of support from such an eminent scientist as yourself would help as well," Shawna said, pushing a little further.
"All in good time. Let's just see how Hammus responds to the questions. I'll stay in touch," Zimmerman said as they reached the exit.
Shawna nodded at the guard who held the door open for the two of them. As they stepped outside, the shouts of the protestors grew in volume. "We've got the sauce — give us the pig!”
"Good," Shawna replied, ignoring the crowd. "Then I'll hear from you in the next couple of days after you've had a chance to review Hammus's responses."
Zimmerman nodded as he took the cigar from his mouth and flicked his ashes on the sidewalk. He glanced at the thick crowd of protesters and police. "You have raised a ruckus," he said as he turned and walked off.
Shawna studied his broad back for a moment. There are pigs and then there are pigs, she thought. Give me Hammus any day. She started to turn back to the lab when a cry from the crowd drew her attention. One of the protestors, apparently a creationists judging by the gaudy cross hanging from his neck and the large placard in the same shape that read, “Crucify the Pig”, had broken through the line and was running in her direction, two policemen in close pursuit behind him.
Hunt Along the Iron River and Other Timeless Tales Page 8