"God made us in His own image, not the image of a pig," the protestor shouted. "Repent your sins -- cook the pig."
Shawna stood her ground and watched as the protestor drew closer, the police closing ground on him. Should she stand and face the assault or retreat to the security of the building? She wasn't accustomed to running from her fights.
The protestor was about fifteen yards from her when the first policeman grabbed him by the arm. Shawna turned and entered the building. Pick your fights, she thought, and choose them carefully.
****
Dr. Zimmerman sat in front of his terminal, the image on the three-dimensional screen casting an eerie glow on his face. The only other light came from the tip of his cigar. It had been four weeks and six sets of questions since his first meeting with the pig. He ran a quick search on Hammus's responses, separating the wheat from the chaff, as he had grown to think of it. It was probably a poor analogy since undoubtedly there was just as much startling material on the other topics as the ones he was focusing on — immunology and virology theory.
It had taken a couple of weeks before he began taking Hammus's material seriously. After all, it was a pig, at least in physical form. It had been on the third set of questions that Zimmerman had suddenly jumped out of his seat, spilled his bourbon and soda, and dropped his cigar onto the synthetic carpet, where it promptly burned a hole. He'd spent the rest of the week in his lab, beginning to verify Hammus's hypothesis. Although it was still too early to tell whether the theory would go anywhere or dead-end as had hundreds of others, there was no question left in Zimmerman's mind — the pig's thought processes were from a whole new paradigm of thinking.
As the search completed, Zimmerman quickly scanned the new information before saving it to a back-up disc. He would turn it over to his research assistant in the morning for compilation. If Hammus maintained his running average, there would be at least two or three threads of thinking, any one of which might lead to a Nobel prize. The pig had turned into a gold mine of possibilities.
The phone icon on his desk flashed, indicating an incoming call. Who could be calling this late, he wondered. He flipped his computer to sleep mode and pressed the icon to answer the call.
"Zimmerman here."
"I thought I might catch you in your lab. This is Dr. Albertson. I apologize for calling so late, Doctor, but I wanted to remind you of the ethics committee meeting tomorrow afternoon." The voice spoke at a rapid, breathless pace. "It's a vitally important meeting, as I'm sure you are aware. Your presence is quite important."
Damn ethics meeting, Zimmerman thought as he leaned back in his chair and puffed on his cigar. Strong opposition had been building in the last couple of weeks against Shawna and her pig. It had taken some fancy political footwork to stay noncommittal about the whole affair. The outcome was still too uncertain for him to call it.
"Oh, not to worry Dr. Albertson. I have it down in my calendar," Zimmerman replied.
"Good. Then I will see you there. Oh, while I have you on the phone, could I ask you a quick question?"
"Yes, I suppose," Zimmerman said, his hand stopping just a couple inches from switching off.
"Where do you stand on the genius pig issue?"
The ash from his cigar fell to the carpet, as his hand jerked in reaction to the question. Who was this guy — Albertson? I don't remember any Albertson on the committee, he thought.
"I'm sorry, who is this?" Zimmerman asked, an edge to his voice.
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, then a second of static before the line went dead. He slapped the line closed at his end. Damn reporters. They'd try anything to get a scoop.
Zimmerman leaned back in his chair. If he could just get the pig to give him the vital information to break the code on the AIDS vaccine, a mystery that had defied being solved for over twenty-five years. Then the creationists and evolutionists could do what they would with the damn pig. Have a luau, burn him at the stake or pickle him for all he cared. Just give me my breakthrough first.
****
While Hammus waited for Shawna's arrival, he scanned through the most recent data on nanotechnology and ectogenesis, then placed the computer on a search pattern for more information while he strolled over to the mud bath he'd recently had installed.
He wallowed in the warm mud, enjoying the slick feel against his skin. Humans think in such predictable patterns, he thought for the twentieth time. No wonder their discoveries are so limiting. They've been trapped in the same mental blocks for the last three hundred years.
Thank goodness there were still a few innovative thinkers like Shawna who were willing to step beyond the boundaries, to think beyond the customs of the day. So many other scientists, including the top specialists, were operating out of the same box with the same rules. Boring and non-productive. Dr. Zimmerman was a perfect example. At the rate he was going, the entire human race would be wiped out by AIDS before he ever stumbled upon an effective vaccine.
Yes, it was a good thing for the human race that Shawna, in a brief moment of human brilliance had thought to create him. I wonder where my boundaries of thinking are? Hammus was still pondering the question when Shawna entered.
"Hey Wee-pig. What exciting discoveries have you made this week? Whenever you get a short break from Zimmerman's tests, I'd appreciate it if you'd take a look at my bank statement. I swear, I can't make heads or tails of it."
Hammus pulled himself out of the mud and strolled over to the sprinkler system. As he walked underneath it, the warm spray started to clean the mud from his pink skin. "I'd be happy to review your financial data, if you'd like." He responded in a new computer voice, one he had programmed himself. He liked the mild accent, slightly European with just a twist of South African. Distinctive yet not too formal.
Shawna raised an eyebrow. "New voice?" she asked.
"Yes, do you like it?"
"I suppose," she replied, "although I liked the teenager better. I guess I'm just a dawdling old mom at heart."
Hammus flashed a quick smiley face in the shape of a heart to let her know he appreciated the comment.
"I thank you for coming on such short notice. I felt it important for you to be here while I meet with Dr. Zimmerman." Hammus deleted the smiley face and pulled up his set of notes.
"What's that?" Shawna asked, glancing at the screen.
"Just some notes I made for the meeting," Hammus replied. He turned the sprayers off and stood there drip-drying for a minute.
"But I can't read a word of it."
"That's right," Hammus replied simply. "It's a special language I've developed. I found English, by itself, or even when combined with German, Spanish, Greek and Latin, to be too limiting. So, I invented my own." He started to add that he'd also invented the language in a special code for security reasons but then thought better of it. Even though he trusted Shawna, he'd grown more cautious in the last few weeks after working with Zimmerman. Humans were inherently not trustworthy.
"Dr. Zimmerman will be here in a few minutes. I think you will find the meeting quite interesting."
"He's not been overworking you, has he?" Shawna asked.
Hammus flashed a smiley face, then switched to the new computer graphic he'd created a few days ago. It was a caricature of his face, a close up, laughing hysterically.
"No, he's not been overworking me at all. For the most part, it's been . . . interesting." Watching the buffoon try to glean information from me without my knowing it. Pathetic actually but interesting in a perverse sort of way, Hammus thought.
"I see you've been busy learning how to use the computer as well. You've been one busy little pig, I must say." Shawna nodded toward the screen. "What other surprises do you have in store for me?"
"Let's just wait for Dr. Zimmerman," Hammus replied, as he walked over to the drying fans.
They didn't have long to wait. In a few minutes, the door opened and Dr. Zimmerman entered, trailing a cloud of smoke. "Well, hello Shawna. I
didn't expect to see you here. Oh, sorry," he added, quickly stomping the cigar out on the floor. "It is a nasty habit but it's one of my few vices."
"I suggest we get right down to business, if we could," Hammus said. "Please pull up a couple of chairs and make yourselves comfortable."
"I thought I was just dropping off some more questions and picking up your responses from last week," Zimmerman said, as he pulled a chair out from next to the computer console and plopped into it.
"We'll make the exchange," Hammus replied, "after we've discussed a couple of items." He climbed into his chair next to the computer terminal and studied his notes.
Zimmerman shot a nervous glance at Shawna. "What's going on here?"
Shawna shrugged. "Hammus invited me. I guess it's his show. What is it you wanted to go over, Wee-pig?"
"I understand you will be attending the ethics committee meeting," Hammus replied in a new voice.
Zimmerman almost fell out of his chair. "What the. . . that voice. I've heard that voice. . . .you—you’re Albertson."
"What are you talking about?" Shawna asked.
"Mr. Piggy here called me the other night, although I didn't know who he was at the time. Wanted to know where I stood regarding the controversy you two have created."
"And what was your reply?" Shawna asked.
"Well, I said. . . well, it's really not something I'm at liberty . . ."
"It's not really important what he said," Hammus interrupted. "It's what he didn't say. I pretty much expected you weren't going to take a stand on the issue. I've been doing some research on you. You have an amazing record of landing on the right side of every major controversy in your long and illustrious career. Slick, very slick."
"Now see here, Porkface. I don't have to sit here and take your abuse," Zimmerman said as he popped out of his chair. "I've got better things to do with my time. . . "
"Sit down." Hammus's deep bass voice thundered over the dual speakers.
Zimmerman sat.
"I hope you have found the information I've been feeding you of interest," Hammus said in his normal voice with the interesting accent.
Zimmerman didn't reply.
"It was a lot of fun concocting," Hammus continued. "Of course, it's completely worthless, except maybe a little of the first disc or so. It took me a couple of days before I figured out your tests were simply smoke screens to try to get information out of me for your own projects. Let me ask you, what's the chance my name would ever appear on any of the findings?"
Zimmerman didn't reply. Suddenly his chubby hands seemed of utmost interest to him as he studied them closely.
“Just as I figured. Well, so you won't waste a lot more of your assistants' time and your grant money, the information I fed you is completely worthless. All blind alleys. Of course, it would take you several months, maybe even years, of research before you'd figure it out, but I'd advise you not to waste your time on it."
"Is what Hammus is saying true?" Shawna asked. "Answer me."
"Well, I did put some of my own questions in the tests. Of course, my research is very important, too."
"It's okay, Shawna," Hammus said as he jumped off the chair and started pacing back and forth, snorting quietly. "Like I said, it was a lot of fun playing with him, and in the process I stumbled upon something very interesting." He stopped in front of Zimmerman and sat on his haunches.
"And what was that?" Shawna asked.
"I discovered a foolproof vaccination against AIDS. If I'm not mistaken, it’s what you've been working on for years, isn’t that correct?"
"You're joking. You can't be serious," Zimmerman said as fell back in the chair. "You are joking, aren't you?"
"Not at all. I assure you, my findings will blow your socks off. I'm really quite proud of them. I hope you cooperate so we all can see the fruits of my labor."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Zimmerman asked.
"I'm tired of the protesters outside my window," Hammus continued. "Enough is enough. It's time for humans to grow up. Pig power is here to stay. Either that or I take my vaccine with me."
"Why that's blackmail," Zimmerman shouted, jumping out of his chair again.
"Call it what you like. It's the way it is," Hammus said. "And I'm going to leave it up to you humans to figure out how to make it an ironclad agreement. When you can assure me there's no way I can or will be terminated, I'll release the vaccine — not before. I imagine with the mortality rate from AIDS climbing every day, it should be a great incentive to come up with a solution quickly."
Hammus watched as the two humans digested the news. Long before they had figured it out, he knew they had given in to his proposition. Their body language telegraphed it.
When they finally agreed, Hammus displayed his simulation of a ticker tape parade down Broadway. "You've made a very sound decision for humankind today. I'm looking forward to working with both of you in the future. I would suggest you get on this right away."
The two scientists stood up and and started for the door, still shocked by the sudden turn of events. As Shawna opened the door, Hammus stopped her.
"Oh Shawna, there's just one more thing. I'd like to meet with you in the next couple of days. No hurry, really. I'd like to discuss your research project. I think it's about time we started creating my mate. It won't be long before I'm sexually active and I'm looking forward to starting a family."
Late Bloomer
Jamie hated meditation time. Who ever heard of eight and nine-year-olds having to stay quiet for such a long period of time? Even at eleven, Jamie still found it difficult to sit for so long staring at the candle, clearing the mind, thinking of nothing. Really dumb. She knew the process by heart after almost three years of the same old routine at least four times a week but she seldom followed the instructions anymore. They were just too dumb and boring, and despite what her teacher, Mrs. Elwood said, she didn’t believe her fellow students followed them either.
Risking being caught by Mrs. Elwood, Jamie allowed her eyes to drift from the candle’s flame on the floor in front of her and glanced at the other eight children sitting in a circle around it. Come on, Jack, look this way just for a moment so I can make you laugh, Jamie thought with all her might, but Jack’s eyes remained locked on the flame.
Without moving her head, Jamie glanced in the other direction and thought she saw Paula’s eyes flicker for just an instance. Look this way, Paula, look this way. Jamie’s brow crinkled with concentration. Paula’s nose twitched once, then a second time, but her eyes stay glued to the flame. Shucks, no one will play with me today or any other day for that matter. How could so many children have grown so serious so early in life, Jamie wondered with a huff? A big mistake.
“Jamie!” Mrs. Ellwood’s grating voice wormed its way deep within Jamie’s marrow. “Focus, focus! Empty your mind and focus.”
Jamie pretended to do as instructed, but instead imagined what it would be like to pour the hot candle wax onto the most sensitive parts of Mrs. Elwood’s body. After several minutes, she tired of the game. Her mind and gaze started wandering again, this time to the far end of the classroom where Mrs. Jasmine’s group of children sat in lotus position in a similar circle only a few feet from the mirrored wall that made the classroom look twice as large as it really was.
I wish I was in her class, Jamie thought for the hundredth time since the new teacher’s arrival a couple weeks ago. She’s much nicer than Mrs. Elwood, but then, who isn’t? If Jamie was ever going to break through, it would be with a teacher like Miss Jasmine, not a witch like Elwood.
Thinking of her teacher made Jamie uncomfortable, and she was just about to return her attention to the candle when she noticed a subtle movement out of the corner of her eye. It came from one of the new students, Peter, who sat crosslegged next to Miss Jasmine. Had he moved, or had it been her imagination?
Despite the fear that Mrs. Elwood would catch her again, Jamie continued to study Peter’s back. No, he hadn’t moved, at lea
st not in the manner she had at first thought, but just as she was about to return her attention to the candle, Peter moved again—upward. It was only a couple of inches, but that was enough for Jamie to know what was happening. Oh no Jamie thought, it isn’t fair. Not Peter, not one of the new students.
But it was true. Peter floated above the floor a good four to six inches. As he continued to hang there, a warm smile spread across Mrs. Jasmine’s serenely beautiful face. Peter remained suspended in midair for another thirty seconds before slowly settling back to the floor. As his legs touched down, the entire classroom broke into a loud cheer.
“Breakthrough, breakthrough. Peter’s broken through,” the children screamed in their high pitched voices. All except Jamie, who remained seated, her legs pulled tightly against her body, staring hard at the candle, focusing on it for the first time as two small tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. Would they ever shout such a cheer for her? She doubted it. She might be the only child to never learn how to tap into that special room in her mind. She could just see herself as a sixteen-year-old, still sitting in the same classroom with another flock of skinny kids, looking ridiculously large, the oldest late bloomer in recorded history. Who cares? What was so special about levitating, telepathy, prognostication, manipulating objects, or any of the other extrasensory powers if everyone could learn to do them? Everyone but her that is. So who cares? But she knew the answer to her own question. She cared.
Another silly celebration cake, Jamie thought, as she licked the icing from her fingers. I’m even tired of the celebration cakes. What was this, her twentieth? She had lost count. It seemed like the breakthroughs were coming faster and faster to everyone but her. Whoever heard of someone who’d been in class only a couple of weeks breaking through especially by levitating—rumored to be the most difficult of all the powers. Could Peter be a ringer? Perhaps he’d transferred from another school, and they were hiding it just to rub it in. She wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Mrs. Elwood was in on such a scheme, but she hated to think Miss Jasmine would go along with it. Then again, maybe they were keeping the new teacher in the dark as well.
Hunt Along the Iron River and Other Timeless Tales Page 9