by Barry Klemm
“Sounds like the same thing that happens when the effect goes away,” Lorna said quietly.
“Indeed it does, but we’ll come to that in a moment.”
“So why here, in that paddock in the middle of nowhere?” Brian Carrick wanted to know.
Thyssen had a chart for that one too—this time encompassing all of Australasia.
“That was much easier to figure out. In fact I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t work it out for yourselves. Your paddock in the middle of nowhere is in fact the exact midpoint between Perth and Wellington. Indeed, precisely between Wellington Hospital where Mr Wagner has been residing and Mr Solomon’s convalescent home at Fairhaven. All of the rest of you were closer to the midpoint than those two and therefore, apparently, irrelevant.”
“Hey, man. I was way up in Queensland,” Andromeda Starlight protested.
“True, but nevertheless closer to the midpoint than either Mr Wagner or Mr Solomon.”
“Only those people furtherest away count,” Wagner considered.
“So it seems. Now, this is interesting. In the second instance, Mr Carrick and Miss Starlight report heading off in a different direction and then suddenly reverting back to the original one. I believe that is because the midpoint then lay between Wellington and the Canary Islands, somewhere in the middle of the Bay of Bengal. But when the Canary Island victims—the so-called lemmings—all died, Mr Solomon once more became the westward limit and the midpoint reverted back here.”
“So we can expect to do this every three months?” Lorna was saying. “I’m sorry. My funds aren’t up to it.”
Thyssen smiled warmly. “This project has a substantial budget. You can expect all further costs to be met by us. You may also make application for compensation for your past costs. We may even extend to providing Mr Carrick with a hire car to curb his disposition toward vehicle larceny.”
There were smiles all around, but Andromeda Starlight knew that nothing was for nothing. “Okay, so where’s the catch, Smooth Man?” she asked lightly.
Thyssen smiled evilly. “No free lunches, in science nor anywhere else, hmm? To begin with, your co-operation. Most of what we know is unsubstantiated but if made public the danger of unnecessary panic would be very great. Therefore, for as long as possible, discretion. Obviously, if this situation is escalating—and I believe it is—then it won’t stay under wraps for long. But we would like to be as sure of our information as we can before placing it before the public.”
“Wadda ya mean by escalating?” Kevin Wagner demanded.
“We don’t have enough data to be sure, but indications are that the events are increasing in strength, the zone of influence is widening thus threatening increasing numbers of people. And the time span between events appears to be shortening, by about eleven days, per instance. This thing has the potential to get a lot worse.”
“How do we keep this from our wives and families?” Brian wanted to know.
“I said discretion, not secrecy. I have neither the desire nor the capacity to coerce you. You must use your own judgement.”
“And is that all?” Wagner asked.
Thyssen now settled back on his table—he was getting to the point.
“No. We can assume that in sixty-four days from today—if our calculations are meaningful—which means around the 19th of May, the next event will occur. Therefore, one week prior to the event, on Wednesday the 12th of May, we would like to gather you together and keep you under close observation before and during the period of the event.”
“Observation how?” Andromeda asked suspiciously.
“We are unsure at this stage,” Thyssen said. “But probably we will locate in Melbourne. I understand that government policy has caused the closure of a number of wards in the public hospitals and we will seek to take over one of those. Hopefully at the one best equipped for our purposes.”
“You mean guinea pigs,” Chrissie Rice muttered.
Thyssen rocked his head in feigned reaction to the attack. “You are already guinea pigs, but no. We will not be experimenting on you in any way. We will not want to exert any influence on the effect. We will only want to monitor your physiological condition and try to determine the exact nature of the effect on you. It is in your own interest as much as ours.”
“Can’t do it,” Joe Solomon said. “I have a law practice to run, you know.”
“By the 17th, if we are correct, you’ll be on the move anyway. If there are survivors in Mongolia, you’ll be heading for some point in the sea off the Philippines. We can help.”
“What if we refuse?” Brian demanded.
Thyssen’s mighty shoulders raised a shrug. “Then you refuse. I have no way of forcing you and if I had such power I would not use it. But the more you assist us, the sooner we will know how to deal with and perhaps cure the effect, in yourselves and in others. But it is up to you.”
“No pressure, hmmm?” Solomon said coldly.
“Not from me.”
“I don’t believe it.”
Thyssen eyed him sadly. “Tell me, then, Mr Solomon. What do you believe?”
“I can recognise a cover-up when I see one,” Solomon said pointedly.
“I thought I was being completely open with you,” Thyssen said with an innocent look and a spread of his hands.
“Except for all those other things you are being... discreet about.”
“I assure you there are none. But please. I am interested in your impressions.”
“I want to know why the American government is involved in this? It happened in New Zealand. Other places, none of them US territory. But here you are, moving in and taking over.”
Thyssen gazed at him sadly. “A fair point, Mr Solomon. Given the prior performance of the United States in global matters, you are very wise to be circumspect. In the first place, an American researcher was present at Ruapehu and originally observed the effect. Jami Shastri, for whom the effect is tentatively named, is one of my students and her on-going research is centred in my department at MIT. Right now, she’s headed for Mongolia, trying to find out as much as she can about the vulcanism of the effect. It is her project—I am merely her head of department. Secondly, I am not an American citizen. I am Norwegian, to which my passport will attest.”
“Sure. But who is footing the bill for all this?” Solomon demanded.
“MIT. So yes, US money. But no government agency is involved at this stage.”
“Why should we believe you?”
“I have no answer for you,” Thyssen sighed. “But I assure you I am a vulcanologist, not a CIA agent. And anyhow, Dr Campbell will be in charge of the medical aspects of the matter, not myself. There will be no direct American involvement.”
“But we only have your word for that.”
“Indeed. But you mentioned a cover-up. What on earth do you imagine is being covered up?”
“Rest assured, Professor Thyssen, that I will be making every effort to find out.”
“Feel at liberty to do so, Mr Solomon,” Thyssen said. “Should you find out anything interesting, I’ll be as fascinated to hear it as you are.”
The impasse brought them to silence, and Felicity Campbell felt she needed to contribute then. “I don’t think there is any chemical or other ecological factor at work here, Joe,” she said to Solomon. “I’ve been able to monitor Kevin’s condition closely and there is no indication of any viral or other physiological condition involved. I think we are dealing with something altogether new.”
“Perhaps some new sort of virus. Brain wave virus, maybe,” Wagner offered with a grin.
Felicity frowned at the idea. “I doubt such a thing could exist.”
Thyssen took over seamlessly. “Still, we have to keep an open mind about this, and it is that sort of area we will want to explore. We will try to arrange as expert a group of specialists as we can, covering as wide a range as possible, and for the benefit of you, Joe, I’ll make sure that none of them are American.”
“You approve of this, then, Felicity?” Wagner asked.
“I think it is essential that this research be done, yes. To the best of our ability, yes. As soon as possible, yes.”
There was another pause, this time broken by Thyssen.
“Fine. Well, before we go our separate ways, since we are taking opinions, I’d like each of you to express your own views on what you think is happening.”
“What does it matter what we think?” Brian asked.
“You are the ones who experienced this,” Thyssen said lightly. “You’re thoughts on the matter are the best information available. And there’s no telling, at this stage, what might or might not be important. So, we have Mr Solomon’s view, and Dr Campbell’s. Miss Rice, you’re very quiet. What are your thoughts?”
“I think we should not interfere,” Chrissie replied, carefully examining her fingernails. “I think we should accept and have faith.”
“Faith in what?” Felicity wondered.
“I believe we are being guided by the hand of God,” Chrissie said, and she finally looked up shyly.
“To what end, Chrissie?” Felicity asked.
“To His divine purpose,” Chrissie said with sudden emotion. “We must let what happens happen.”
“But surely we must try to understand...” Felicity tried.
“To try to understand is itself a failure of faith.”
Brian Carrick sat with his arms folded before him. “I don’t believe in God but I think I know what she means. We are being guided—like the songlines, for instance.”
“The songlines?” Thyssen asked.
“Yeah. The paths the aborigines followed through the Dreamtime. Something like that.”
“Oh yes,” Thyssen nodded as if impressed, “I have heard something of this. Various original North American groups employ similar methods. I don’t know how it works—I doubt anybody does but its reality cannot be denied, nor therefore the possibility of its relevance here dismissed. Consider migrating birds, and whales, and many other creatures. And the remarkable ability of the Bedouin to find oases—there’s lots of examples that science cannot explain. It all might add up to something relevant.”
“It comes on at you right out of the ground,” Andromeda said. “It’s like I’m plugged into the planet. It comes up through your feet.”
“Maybe we should all take off our shoes,” Wagner joked.
“You disagree, Kevin.”
“Yeah. It ain’t from the ground. It’s within ourselves. You know how they say we only use part of our brains. Maybe this is a different part kicking in.”
“The next step along the road of evolution?” Thyssen suggested.
“Yeah. Like maybe all our brains can be linked only we don’t know how. But the volcano caused us to link in.”
“An interesting view. Which leaves you, Lorna.”
Lorna thought about it for a long time. “I feel I know all of you. I feel close to you, like you do when former lovers become friends. The old intimacy touches something deeper. We are sharing something. We are all very close, even though we hardly know anything about each other.”
“The power of love,” Felicity suggested.
“Or maybe,” Lorna said, “contacting the force within ourselves from which love arises.”
“I’m afraid,” Thyssen said with a smile, “that on the subject of human emotions, I am completely out of my field. But another good idea. If only some of my students were as imaginative and thoughtful as you people.”
“How about you, Professor,” Wagner asked. “What do you think?”
“As a scientist, I’m not allowed to speculate from insufficient data,” Thyssen grinned.
“We shared our thoughts. It’s only fair,” Lorna insisted.
“Very well. In the interest of fairness,” Thyssen said, and paused. “Speaking as a person, not as a scientist, I’m reminded of Gaia.”
“Who’s that?”
“The ancient Greek goddess of the earth. Mother Nature, if you wish, but more than that. A rather fanciful but by no means discredited idea that the earth is an organism, a living entity unto itself and we are part of it, as blood cells or bacteria are part of our bodies.”
“I heard it was more like the fleas on a dog,” Brian Carrick grunted.
Thyssen raised his eyebrows. “Well, don’t let its proponents hear you describe it that way but, in any case, it means that whatever happens to the planet, happens to us.”
“And this is relevant, how?” Joe Solomon asked suspiciously.
Thyssen shrugged as if it was a small thing he was saying. “I think the planet is in trouble and it’s screaming out for help. I think you are hearing the voice of Gaia.”
7. NATURAL PROGRESSION
The rock stood like a gigantic rude finger-gesture pointing upward amidst the wide mountainous terrain and Wagner banked the helicopter toward it, making a deft landing, right on the top of the pinnacle. Lorna was, by spine-rippling turns, terrified and thrilled. She had, all the way, been oscillating between doubt and self-assurance in regard to her reasons for being there—the exhilaration of the impromptu touch-down more than made up for her feelings of guilt.
When they finally dispersed from Kyabram that evening, Wagner declared that he had to `return the crate to Sydney and did anyone want a ride?’ He had been looking at Andromeda Starlight, but she shook her head.
“Gotta wake up my man John and do the figuring.” the black woman smiled regretfully.
At the same time, Lorna had said `me’, but no one heard her except Chrissie who stared at her with absolute betrayal, to which Lorna shrugged. Chrissie looked away in a huff and Lorna returned her attention to arrangements. There were plenty of rides available to get everyone wherever they wanted to go so she sidled up to Wagner and breathed. “I love helicopters.”
Wagner eyed her with a wry smile—his warm handsome features softened by late afternoon light. “Woulda asked you first, Lorna my sweet, but I figured you mighta been spooked by helicopters, after your crash at Ruapehu and all.”
“I don’t remember anything about it,” Lorna breathed.
So it was settled. Dr Felicity seemed to have taken Chrissie under her wing and so, and with a final guilty glance in that direction, Lorna ran hand-in-hand with Wagner to the helicopter.
They flew with the sunset behind them and she babbled on about god knows what as the mountains reared up beneath them. And then this rocky up thrust that seemed an absurd metaphor for the occasion—she pointed it out and declared `I want to go there’ and he laughed and obliged.
At the top of the rock was an area about twenty metres square that seemed far larger when they touched down than it had on the dare-devil approach. To the west, a huge boulder jutted out over the precipice and they walked to that, watching the orb of the sun drop toward the distant line of deep purple peaks while the scattered cloud glowed in blood red and mellow orange. The air carried only a slight chill at this height but the rock was still warm beneath her feet—she had removed her shoes beforehand. The rock soothed her as she wiggled her toes upon it. They put arms around each other as the mighty globe touched the first ridge.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” she breathed.
And he kissed her neck.
She hastened out of her clothing and lay back on the rock, her flesh felt a strange welcoming caress from the hard stone. He did not undress but simply opened his fly—she did not, at first, realise the mess of scars and grafts to be found on his flesh.
“Only bit of the equipment I haven’t really tested yet,” he said, as if by way of explanation.
His penis was huge! She stared for a moment and then craned her head back and closed her eyes and indeed his penetration caused her some pain, but the rest of her senses understood it as pleasure. As he thrust, she was forced up the rock until her head and shoulders hung over the edge of a thousand feet of thin air.
Terror replaced the pain—as first she gripped the fabric of his shoul
ders in desperation but then, strangely, she began to relax. Somehow there was a surety with which the stone gripped her back and buttocks and she knew she would not fall. She released her grip and threw her arms wide over the edge and opened her eyes.
Upside-down, the glorious multi-hued vista opened up to her and the blood rushed to her head in a way not unlike the orgasm shortly to follow. Throughout, it was as if the stone rather than the man was the force that gripped her passionately. “Hey, Honey, where you goin’?” he asked, between panting breaths.
When she was done, he withdrew—she had no idea whether he had come or not, so little attention did she pay him. He grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her back to a more secure position on the stone.
“Thought you were going right over the side,” he gasped, once his breathing returned to him.
She did not reply. The stone’s rough loving hands cried for more of her and she rolled over onto her belly and pushed herself against it as tightly as she could. She spread her hands and clutched the basalt and pushed her cheek down until it pained and her belly and breasts tried to absorb the rock inside themselves.
Perhaps he mistook it as an invitation but in any case he entered her from behind and began to thrust again, and the more he crushed himself down upon her, the more she was squashed against the stone but her desire to be part of it became all the more unquenchable.
When he finally grunted out his orgasm and departed, she felt completely splattered upon the rock, like an old blob of birdshit or the contents of a dropped bottle, or perhaps even a part of it, like a growth of moss, but certainly not anything separate and discrete.
All the way from her toes to her fingertips, she sought a totality of touch. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” she breathed.
It never occurred to her that the man might have thought she was referring to him.
*
They were waiting for him. He returned the truck to the yard and walked home, ambling along hands in pockets, through the chill of the night, along suburban streets where no one ever strolled at night. These nice safe streets with good lighting and good footpaths, nature strips, low fences if any, only a few cars not slipped into garages with automatic doors. There was no one else. In such places, everyone drove and no one walked. You could be murdered or assaulted and no one would know—unless your screams for help were able to carry the distance and overcome the television voices. But no one was ever murdered, nor assaulted. Not here. The only fatal incidents possible were motor accidents and illness. No gangs of kids hung out at the local milk bar and even the packs of domestic dogs that once foraged out here were now locked up at night. Everyone was locked up at night, in brick veneer houses with burglar alarms, thinking themselves safe. While the very planet they lived on was shaking itself to pieces.