Society of the Mind

by Eric L. Harry

  Everybody suddenly had to have one despite their hefty price tag.

  The best [garbled] twenty-foot screens with fifteen-speaker surround sound — were over fifty thousand dollars. People went crazy. High-def television systems were quickly becoming the third major consumer loan after home and auto. Everyone bought and bought. Even Laura, who didn't like television, had spent almost ten thousand dollars she didn't have one Saturday afternoon on a trip to the store to buy a scarf for her secretary. It was a lot of money, but fit over ten years it was only a couple of hundred bucks a month.

  All it had taken was a demonstration in the mall. She'd just been passing when she saw over the heads of the crowd one of the screens.

  Everyone within sight of the screen had been transfixed.

  Laura had stood in line for forty-five minutes to buy it, staring at the startlingly clear and bright images the entire time. Credit was instantaneous. The set was installed the same day by men in clean blue coveralls who were right on time and were gone in half an hour with everything in perfect working order. Gray made it all so easy.

  That night, Laura had friends over to watch. There was a demo program you could run from a menu that appeared in the setup routine.

  It was of a roller-coaster ride at an amusement park. First the sky — a deep blue with puffy clouds of incredible detail. You could stand close to the screen just as she was now — you could even press your nose to it, as the gradually more inebriated Jonathan had done and still not see jagged lines or fuzzy edges. And then, there was the awful pause at the top of the roller-coaster's ascent [garbled], plunge with clattering wheels and whistling wind and screaming passengers. It was only when they watched the demonstration a second time that Laura realized the screaming she heard was not from the soundtrack but from the audience.

  There was a knock at the door, bringing Laura back to the present. She went over and grasped the solid brass of the levered handle. It had to be Gray. She could feel his presence through the thick, dark-stained wood. Her heart raced as she pulled the door open.

  A man in a waistcoat stood before her. He was carrying a silver tray. An envelope lay in the tray's center.

  It was an invitation. "Mr. Joseph Gray requests the pleasure of your company at dinner at eight o'clock this evening. Attire is casual."

  8

  At eight, Laura followed the servant down the opulent circular stairway. She wore her one dress — a simple, sleeveless smock that was belted at the waist and a pair of blue pumps. A deep, calming breath was necessary to soothe her jittery nerves, and Laura grew annoyed that something as trivial as inappropriate dress should put her so on edge.

  She grew annoyed also that the only other things in her suitcase were jeans, T-shirts, and running clothes. At least she'd had time to shower and do something with her hair, which she normally kept pinned up and out of the way. It was down now around her shoulders, and it lent an air of formality to her appearance which contributed some small modicum of self-assurance. Laura straightened her back and entered with all the dignity she could muster.

  The dining room was empty. Two place settings lay across the long table from each other at the end closest to the window. The dining room was dimly lit by candles in the center of the table and by soft, indirect lighting around the ceiling's ornate crown molding.

  A mature flame glowed warmly from the fireplace. Airy chamber music emanated from some unseen speakers or, perhaps, from some unseen alcove into which Gray had crammed four musicians.

  Laura was drawn past the place settings to the wall of paned glass that overlooked the festival of lights from below. Sparkling lamps twinkled in the Workers' Paradise where people delighted, she imagined, at the carefree lives they led in Gray's feudal realm.

  Twin headlamps of cars moved down the highways and byways of the bustling kingdom.

  Beyond the Village, the enormous assembly building and the three launch pads were bathed in brilliant light. Gray had turned night into day in other small pockets and patches of earth here and there. One, she noticed, was a ball field on the outskirts of the Village, where a game of some sort was being played. The other patches of light — widely spaced across the darkness of the island below — had no discernible function.

  "Interesting perspective from here, isn't it?"

  Laura turned to see two blue eyes staring down at the twinkling lights. Gray had appeared out of nowhere just beside her. She felt her throat constrict, a feeling like a pinch just above her larynx.

  "All that activity seems individual when viewed from up close," he said, "but so communal when seen from afar." Gray looked over at her with an affable smile — the whites of his teeth and of his eyes contrasting starkly with the tan of his face and his dark hair. He looked so much younger than Laura had imagined that she found herself questioning whether it really was him. But the eyes… His smile was frozen on his face, no longer natural. He stared at her so intensely through squinted eyes that she was forced to look away — back at the Village below. But Laura remained keenly aware that she was the subject of his unwavering focus. The moment — Gray's stare — lasted too long, and Laura felt her face flush at their strangely awkward encounter.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he had held out his hand.

  "Joseph Gray," he said. The tone of his voice had changed. He sounded inquisitive, as if he now waited for what she would do or say next.

  She took a deep breath and looked straight at him. He wrapped his hand around hers gently, and she shook his hand firmly, just once. Businesslike. "Laura Aldridge."

  His gaze still lingered, but this time she didn't look away. She stared him down, and Gray broke eye contact first — a puzzled, distracted look on his face. "I'm, uh… I'm so glad you came, Dr. Aldridge," he said.

  She nodded, an oafish grin creeping onto her face. Chill out! she thought, scolding herself and clenching her jaw tightly.

  "Won't you have a seat," Gray said, ushering Laura to her chair, which he held for her. "I hope your trip was comfortable."

  "Thank you: It was," she said as Gray took the seat opposite Laura's. A waiter appeared and poured red wine into their glasses.

  "I had heard about those new planes — about the supersonic ones."

  "Oh, the… the Grumman-Sukhoi?" Laura realized to her embarrassment that he had no time for details like what plane they'd sent for her. "It's really a good idea. Time is such a valuable commodity, and the technology existed to speed up travel, [missing]." He shrugged, draping his napkin over his lap. "If they hadn't built such a good product, I would've had my people working on it."

  Laura took a sip of the wine to hide her smirk. "My people," she thought, the gentle serfs of the Village below. The tart bite of the wine settled quickly into a wonderful aftertaste, and Laura peered at the dark liquid and took another sip. It was fabulous.

  "So," Gray said, "where are you staying?"

  Laura's eyes shot up, and she almost choked on her wine and had to cough into her napkin. After clearing her throat, she asked, "Pardon me," in a still raspy voice — amused.

  "Where did they put you up?" Gray repeated in a tone more tentative than before.

  "I'm… upstairs. In your house." He seemed surprised, and his face noticeably reddened. "Is that all right?" Laura fumbled. "I mean, I didn't… I just…"

  "No, no, no! That's… it's…"

  "Because I could," Laura shrugged, "you know…"

  "No! Absolutely not." Gray cleared his throat. "So, do you have everything you need?"

  "No," she replied, then rushed to amend her confusing response. "No — no… I mean no, I don't need anything. So I guess… I guess 'yes,'" she said, managing a weak laugh. Laura took another, larger sip of wine.

  "Yes-s-s… what?" Gray asked, at a loss.

  She filled her lungs but paused. "I mean, yes — I have everything I need — thank you."

  An utter stillness descended upon the room. In the quiet, Laura's breathing assumed the proportions of a sigh of pro
found exasperation.

  She looked down to dab her white linen napkin at her lips, and she saw her plain dress. But she looked up and realized for the first time that Gray himself wore a casual jersey with sleeves rolled up his forearms. Blue jeans and a jersey. She thought that strange. When Laura had first seen Gray, she had in her mind's eye the picture of a man in a conservative business suit.

  Gray took a bite of the sautéed mushrooms that had been placed before them by two waiters serving in silent synchrony. He caught her studying him, and she lowered her eyes to her plate.

  "You have a beautiful home," Laura said, spearing one of the delicate morsels and popping it into her mouth. It was delicious.

  "Thank you," Gray replied. "I can't say I had much to do with the decor." He looked around as if to find something upon which to comment. "It looks, sort of," he mumbled as he chewed, "old English with a touch of science fiction." Her eyes roamed the crystal decanters, silver serving dishes, and ornamental plates that lined the shelves, but her gaze ended on the wall of glass. Seemingly suspended in the darkness were the glowing assembly building and launch pads. A quick check of Gray revealed a slight wrinkling around his eyes. He'd made a joke. Laura smiled belatedly.

  "Well," Gray said as he placed his fork on his plate and wiped his lips with the napkin, "as for business, I've wired your fee into a Chase Manhattan checking account we opened for you in Boston. That's one million dollars, less taxes."

  Laura felt her face redden on his mention of the obscene sum.

  "Thank you," she said instantly deciding it was a woefully inadequate response. Gray seemed not to notice.

  A million dollars, she found herself thinking, then guiltily forced the subject from her mind. She still had no plans for the money. It hadn't really even sunk in that the money would be there when she got home. But she imagined now for the first time opening her bank statement and seeing her balance.

  When Laura looked up, she realized Gray had finished his appetizer. She quickly stabbed at the remaining mushrooms on the small dish. They tasted so extraordinary she was unwilling to let them go back to the kitchen.

  "By my timekeeping," Gray said, "your week's service began when you boarded your flight, and will end…" His pause drew her gaze."… well, upon your return to Boston on Sunday, I guess, although I'm not sure your work will take the entire week."

  The first course was whisked away and a second — tournedos of beef, assorted vegetables, and creamed potatoes molded into the shape of a seashell was laid in its place.

  "You see," Gray said, carving unceremoniously into his tournedos, "we have a bit of a time crunch. We're a twenty-four-hour operation, although, of course, you're expected only to work at whatever pace you can handle."

  A waiter appeared with a new bottle of red wine. "Oh. I'd like some more of that," Laura said, indicating the still half-full bottle on the table. Gray poured it for her, and the waiter disappeared.

  "What is this?" Laura asked, taking another small sip. "It's wonderful."

  Gray turned the bottle to read the label. He clearly had no idea. "It's a Merlot California, 1978." He poured himself another glass, showing no further interest in the subject.

  They ate now in total silence, the only sound the faint clinking of silverware on plates. Laura feigned interest in the tapestry on the wall behind Gray as she chewed. In the carved stone mantel. In the flowers of the large centerpiece that adorned the long table. Each time she caught glimpses of Gray. He was slender, but his shoulders were broad. His jaw was square, but not so square as to spoil the oval of his face. There was hair on his forearms and at the bottom of the V of his collar, but his neck and hands were smooth.

  The next time she looked his way, he lowered his head quickly.

  He'd been looking at the bare skin of her upper arms. Laura stole a glance not at Gray but at herself. At her arms.

  They were too skinny. Too pale. He was tanned, and compared to him she looked sickly.

  This is going well, Laura thought — the quiet of the room suddenly stifling. There might as well have been a metronome, ticking off the rhythm of their silence — tolling the passage of time during which Laura had nothing to say. The stillness suddenly seemed to weigh on her, to make her want to squirm under the growing pressure of it.

  "What is it…?" she began, just as Gray said, "You arrived on…" There was a momentary confusion, but Laura eventually won the battle of insisting that Gray proceed with his comment first.

  "You arrived on a good night for a show," Gray said, holding his wristwatch up to check the time. "We have a shuttle landing in about five minutes."

  "You mean right over there?" Laura asked, nodding at the three brightly lit pools of light suspended in the mirrored darkness of the window.

  She turned to catch him looking at her again. Gray lowered his head and nodded, preoccupied suddenly by the mechanics of consuming his food. The uncomfortable silence again descended on the table. Once again, Gray finished the course before Laura was even half through.

  "We have about two launches and recoveries a week," he said out of the blue, dropping his napkin on the table and resuming a conversation she thought had died long before. "Mainly just maintenance on the satellites these days. A few new markets, though. A satellite to complete the coverage over Indonesia went up today."

  "Yes, I saw it," Laura said as she ate in a single bite a slice of beef easily twice the portion she normally consumed.

  Gray looked out the window — not at the ground, but at the sky. He checked his watch again. "Our antennas are so small," he continued, catching Laura again by surprise, "that the satellites need to transmit at a very high power. We explored the traditional method of collocating our satellites in geosynchronous orbit so they could cover fixed, wide areas, but at thirty-six thousand miles out they couldn't give us the narrow bands we needed for five hundred channels and a one-meter antenna. So, we put up a few hundred low-earth-orbit satellites instead. They pass by fairly rapidly, but there's always at least one over every market we service. It's an enormously complicated matter, actually, to schedule the overflights so that they seamlessly hand off the broadcasting duties. A satellite will transmit for a couple of minutes on an east-west orbit over the U.S., then cross the Atlantic and begin broadcasting to the U.K. Then it switches to French, German, Hungarian, Ukrainian, Russian. I don't think we've done a deal with the Kazakhs yet. Then Chinese and back around the world on a more southerly orbit. It might not pass back over the States for another hundred orbits. Since we only have one uplink from earth, those satellites also handle the continuous, real-time transmission of signals from satellite to satellite. It's a highly complex ballet up there round the clock, but the computer handles it all beautifully."

  Gray seemed to have quit talking, a fact that Laura confirmed with a quick glance up from her plate. "That's amazing," she said before gulping down the last of her potatoes.

  "Oh, take your time," Gray said graciously just before their empty plates were whisked away and he looked at his watch again.

  Type A personality, she guessed. Motor's in high gear around the clock just like his business. He sat back as a sorbet was placed in front of him, and then ate it in three spoonfuls. He was as oblivious to the aesthetics of dinner as he was to the extravagance of his home.

  "Here it comes," he said, and stood up.

  She cleaved a ledge of the sorbet onto her spoon, shoveled it into her mouth, and jumped up to follow him to the windows. High in the sky above she saw fire. A long pencil of flame fell lower and lower from the starry night, its rate of descent slowing almost imperceptibly.

  "It's a single-stage rocket," Gray said, continuing his lecture.

  She looked at him, and he looked at the stars. From what Paulus and Petry had told her of the young Joe Gray, she had expected a taciturn, almost morose man who had little time for talk. He must have changed, she decided. "Everything is reusable," he went on. "We use liquid fuel, and it only takes three days to relaunch in a norma
l cycle. We could do it in hours, theoretically."

  "I read that you plan a manned space station some time soon," Laura said, vaguely remembering an article from the library the day before.

  He looked at her and smiled, arching his eyebrows conspiratorially. His first obvious deception, she thought. Laura looked back up at the descending spacecraft. It rode its jet of fire ever lower.

  "It's just like in the old movies," Laura said. "You know, the silly ones from the fifties. 'Retro rockets' and things like that. Spaceships with little legs that take off on earth and land on the moon or Mars or wherever."

  "It's the most cost-effective way, in the long run," he said, and Laura felt relieved they'd finally found something to talk about. His work, she thought. How typical! "We just use ultra-light composites of epoxy and graphite fiber to reduce the weight of the launch vehicle," he continued, and Laura nodded knowingly. "Exclusive of the payload, ninety-eight percent of the weight of a fully fueled vehicle is its propellant. For a given cubic foot of volume, that spacecraft empty is lighter than Styrofoam."

  "And it's so quiet, too," Laura commented. The rocket was slowing to a stop — suspended in air and hovering out over the ocean.

  "Not really," Gray said, thumping the glass with his fingernails. "Triple pane, one pocket vacuum-sealed, the other filled with argon."

  He went over to the wall and pulled a barely noticeable handle up from the paneling. A roaring sound poured into the room when he opened the door.

  Laura followed him out into the brisk night, eyeing the doorframe as she passed. It had been aligned so well with the wall paneling that the seam was practically invisible.

  The howl from the rocket's engines rattled the air even at their distance. The landing gear had lowered into place around the fiery exhaust, and as they watched, the rocket slowly began to slide sideways toward the leftmost pad.

  "The lateral translation maneuver is the loudest!" Gray said in a voice roused over the violence. "We put sound insulation in all the island's homes and buildings so we can run twenty-four-hour space operations!"