Descent from Xanadu

by Harold Robbins

  “What are you looking for?” Sawyer asked.

  “It’s more intuition than knowledge,” she said. “Remember, you told me that he mentioned his boredom and his sense of growing isolation—I’ve seen that in his lack of personal interaction with people around him, even under the most physical circumstances.”

  “Sex?” Sawyer asked.

  “Yes. Physically he works at it. But inside, he feels nothing. Even with drugs to get him into it.”

  “Sometimes drugs have the opposite effect, you know, Doctor.”

  “It’s not the drugs,” she said. “That’s why I said intuition. I’m a woman. I know when a man is fucking and when he’s fucking. It’s the same act, but it’s different.”

  “It could be the sterility factor,” Sawyer said. “It varies with him. One of his experiments was to control his sterility by his mind and to show that he can separate impotence from sterility—that he can even withhold sperm from orgasmic ejaculation. You know he’s trying to touch all the bases: medical, physical, technological and metaphysical, yoga, as well as tantric mind control.”

  “That’s good,” she said. “The pleasure is in a man’s head, not his penis. I want to know what is happening to his brain and I think the scan might give us some clues.”

  “There’s nothing we can do right now,” Sawyer said. “We have to wait for him.”

  She turned off the computer screen. “Anyway, if it’s any consolation, physically he hasn’t aged one day since the last time I met with him. So something is working, though we don’t know what.”

  Judd came into the room. He glanced briefly at them. “Satisfied?” he asked.

  “I guess so,” she answered. “There’s nothing physically wrong that we can find.”

  “I could have told you that,” he said, without expression.

  “Still I’d like to know more about your head,” she said. “Both physically and psychologically.”

  He stared at her. “I don’t understand.”

  “The EEG shows a minuscule drop of brain wave electricity,” she answered.

  “Shouldn’t that be normal?” he asked. “After all, I’ve slowed up all my physical functions.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. She looked up at his eyes. “How do you feel? Do you feel as sharp and keen as you did before? To my mind you don’t seem as interested in certain things as you used to be.”

  “I’m really not interested in those things anymore,” he said flatly. “Before. I used to play games. Business, money, people. Now I’m bored with them. I think what I’m doing is more important and more interesting. Anybody can make money if he wants to. I’ve done it, and I have more of it than anyone, so I don’t need to prove myself again. Girls, sex, the same thing. I’ve done it all. Now it’s only necessary for keeping the physical machinery working.”

  She looked at Sawyer, then back at Judd. “Love?”

  “Emotionally?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. I think that’s important to you, physically as well as mentally.”

  “Do you think I’m cuckoo?” he asked calmly. “That I don’t feel things?”

  She met his eyes. “I don’t know.”

  He turned to Sawyer. “What do you think?”

  Sawyer held up his hands. “I can’t answer. Both of you are over my head.”

  Judd smiled at her. “I feel different,” he said. “I don’t think I feel as deeply as you do. But I do feel in my own way. Try to understand as I do. I am going to live forever, and if that’s true, I have to think all of you are temporary. I mustn’t become too attached to any of you, because in twenty years, or one hundred years, or more, you will be gone, and I’ll be living with other people, in another time.”

  “So you suppress your feelings because you are afraid to lose those whom you love? You’re afraid of hurting yourself?” She felt the tightness in her throat.

  “Maybe,” he answered thoughtfully. He took a deep breath. “Perhaps loving is also part of mortality. You die a little bit with everyone you love and lose.”

  She held back her tears. “If you had children,” she said, “you would live on in them.”

  “But I would not live,” he said. “Just as my father does not live. I want to be alive, not a memory.”

  She turned back to the computer and pressed several keys. Numbers flashed across the screen. She punched two other keys, and the picture turned into a demographic curve. Without turning to him, she spoke over her shoulder. “According to the computer, you have a life expectancy right now of one hundred and thirty years. That means your present physical age of forty-nine is equal to an average man of thirty-one.” She turned to him. “Present actuarial tables are L.E. 74. You now have an L.E. of almost twice that.”

  He looked from the screen to her. “What are you telling me?” he asked.

  “At one point, Dr. Zabiski had you up to an approximate L.E. 150. While trying to push it, she almost killed you. Wouldn’t you be willing to settle for what you’ve got now while you’re ahead, rather than continue experimenting and possibly destroying yourself?”

  “If I’m going to die,” he said simply, “it doesn’t matter much how long, or when it happens. This moment or another. What I’m searching for is infinity.”

  “There is no infinity,” she said flatly. “Even beyond the stars.”

  He was thoughtful for a moment, turning from Sawyer to her. “I’ve had the physical as you requested. Are you ready to begin studying Zabiski’s notes tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” she replied.

  “Good,” he said. “Dinner at nine o’clock tonight?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she answered.

  He turned to Sawyer. “How about you, Lee?”

  Sawyer shook his head. “No, thanks. I have to get back. But I’ll take a rain check.”

  “You’ve got it,” Judd said. “But meanwhile, let’s all go upstairs and have a drink.”

  ***

  Judd was drinking orange juice, Doc Sawyer, Scotch on the rocks, and Sofia, a tiny glass of Starka vodka almost congealed from the freezer. The chime of a telephone sounded next to Judd’s chair. He picked it up, listened for a moment, then handed it to Sawyer. “It’s your office.”

  Sawyer held the telephone. “Yes?”

  His secretary’s voice sounded apologetic. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Doctor, but I felt this was important. We have just received a call from someone in the State Department in Washington asking if Dr. Ivancich was staying with us. I told him she was not.”

  “Good,” Sawyer said. “Besides that’s the truth.”

  “They also asked if I could get in touch with her. I said I couldn’t, because I didn’t know where she might be. Then they asked for you, and I told them that you’re en route and ought to be in the office tomorrow morning.”

  “Very good,” Sawyer said. He put down the telephone. He looked at Judd. “The State Department is looking for Sofia.”

  “Strange,” Judd said. He turned to Sofia. “Do you have any idea why State would be interested in you?”

  Sofia shrugged her shoulders. “It’s your government, not mine. I know nothing about how it works. Most of the time I don’t even know how my own government works.”

  “Did you pick up your U.S. visa in Bangladesh?” he asked.

  “No. I used the unlimited entry visa you obtained for me years ago.” She was silent for a moment. “But when I came through immigration at JFK, I listed my visiting address in the States as Crane Medical Center, Boca Raton, Florida.”

  “That was correct,” Judd said. He thought for a moment. “Usually it’s immigration that checks up on visitors.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Call her back and find out if she has the name of the person who called. Once we have a name I can have Security run a check. If it is State, there’s something going on and I want to know about it.”

  8

  Dinner was set on a small round table in a windowed alcove of
the library. Judd turned as she entered the room. “You wore the white dress,” he said.

  She smiled. “I had it altered.”

  “You didn’t have to,” he said. “I would have sent another one.”

  “I have a sentimental attachment to this one,” she said.

  He handed her a chilled glass of vodka. He picked up his own glass. “Santé.”

  “Santé.” She looked at his hand. “Cherry Coke?”

  He laughed. “I have my sentimental attachments, too.” He helped her to her chair and sat across the table from her. “I’m not as unemotional as you think.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Because I have a dream doesn’t mean I’m not human.”

  “That wouldn’t be the thing I’m worried about,” she said. “You’re human all right, maybe too much so.”

  “I don’t understand you at all,” he said.

  She smiled. “Don’t try. Just blame it on the fact that I’m a woman.”

  “Okay,” he said deliberately. “I thought we’d have a light dinner and go to bed early. We had a heavy day today and tomorrow will be a long one for you.”

  Dinner consisted of thin slices of breast of chicken with a light consommé gravy, steamed sliced carrots al dente and whole snow peas, and a little salad with a slice of Brie. He drank water and she had a dry Chablis. Neither of them had any coffee.

  “Very good,” she said, pushing back her chair. “I’ve had just enough.”

  “Do you think you can sleep?”

  “I’ll try,” she answered. “If I can’t, I’ll take a pill.”

  “Disappointed?” He looked at her.

  She shrugged. “Not really. I know enough about you now to know that you’re not interested in all the details of the subject.”

  “You’re not angry?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, rising from her chair. “What is it you once told me? An Americanism—‘Dif’rent strokes for dif’rent folks.’”

  “That’s not my line,” he said. “That’s Fast Eddie!”

  She laughed. “It doesn’t matter who said it.” She looked down at him. “I’m still into it. I love to fuck, I still have to.”

  “Amarinth—” he began to say.

  She interrupted him. “I don’t want her. I want you.”

  “Amarinth is very talented,” he said. “She has small soft hands and with one fist she can fill you more and be further inside you than any man.”

  “No, thank you,” she said. “I could do as well with my vibrator. I’d rather settle for my pill.”

  He sighed and rose from his chair. He kissed her on the cheek and took her hand. “Come,” he said. “I’ll take you to your car.”

  ***

  The telephone chime sounded as he entered his bedroom. He pressed a button on the control panel and the wall speakers with built-in microphones clicked open. “Crane here,” he spoke in a natural voice.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you,” Merlin said.

  “Not at all,” Judd answered. “It’s only just past eleven o’clock here.”

  “We closed the bank deal,” Merlin said. “Transatlantic will transfer five hundred million tomorrow. They take over the bank operations the next day.”

  “Justice Department approved?”

  “Everything,” Merlin answered. “We’re sending four hundred million to the foundation. What do you want us to do with your one hundred million?”

  “How much are my tax liabilities on it?”

  “You don’t have any,” Merlin replied. “You still have a personal two-hundred-million loss to lay against.”

  Judd thought for a moment. “Okay. Transfer twenty-five million to Crane Medical as a personal loan and send the balance, seventy-five million, to be divided evenly to my personal accounts in Switzerland and the Bahamas.”

  Merlin said without expression: “Crane Medical could use more than that, but it’s your money.”

  “That’s right,” Judd said dryly. “It’s my money.”

  Merlin was silent at his end.

  “What else?” Judd asked.

  “Mitsubishi Heavy Industries made us an offer of one-and-a-half billion dollars for Crane Engineering and Construction,” he said reluctantly.

  “What are our current assets?”

  “Net: Twice more than their offer. Three billion.”

  Judd thought for a moment. “Tell them they can have it for two billion.”

  “I don’t want to answer you on that,” Merlin said. “I’m beginning to think you’re getting rid of everything.”

  “Maybe I am,” Judd said. “Money isn’t important to me anymore. I have more than I need.”

  “But accepting the Mitsubishi offer would result in a billion-dollar loss.” Merlin’s voice was shocked.

  Judd was patient. “If we get the three billion dollars, how much in tax liabilities would we incur?” He could almost see Merlin punching numbers into his computer.

  A moment later, Merlin spoke. “Between seven hundred and eight hundred million dollars.”

  “Then how much net does another billion dollars make? Not enough to go through the pain in the ass that IRS would put us through. And they could keep us tied up for five years for the money. This way, the red ink shows clear, they have no arguments and the net loss to us is only one hundred sixty million to the foundation and forty million to me.”

  Merlin was silent.

  “Don’t get down,” Judd said gently. “It’s time we began getting rid of some of our responsibilities. Maybe then we’ll all be able to enjoy life a little more.”

  Merlin sighed through the speakers. “I don’t think your father would have agreed with that.”

  Judd’s voice was flat. “My father’s dead. And I think I’ve played his game long enough. I’m still alive and I expect to enjoy life more.”

  “Okay,” said Merlin dejectedly. “I’ll pass along your proposal to Mitsubishi.”

  “Thank you,” Judd said. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” Merlin said.

  Judd broke the connection and walked across the bedroom to the window. He looked out to the night sea. The moon was climbing into the sky, and its light was beginning to dance on the water. Judd commenced his breathing exercises. He began to feel everything inside his body slowing down.

  He felt, rather than heard, little footsteps come into the room. Then they were beside him. Lightly, soft fingers began to undress him. His shirt and slacks seemed to float from his body, tiny hands led him to a round, hard pallet about one-and-a-half feet above the floor. Without seeing the helping hands, he assumed the lotus position, facing the night-painted windows. The room lights were turned down until they matched the night sky. A candle, almost level with his eyes, began to flicker before him.

  He stared into the light until its pale glow began to feel heavy on his eyelids. Tiny fingers closed his eyes, but the candlelight remained imprinted within his lids. Soon the footsteps were gone. He was silent, and alone.

  His mind wandered through his body. He felt his toes, his feet, then his legs. His testicles and penis were soft and warm, his groin and belly relaxed. His chest moved gently over his lungs, and the easy pumping of his heart echoed in his mind’s hearing.

  Soon he was far away; his consciousness had gone from him. He felt at one within the consciousness of all the universe. The power within him was the power without. In his mind and with his mind, he soared. And he slept into the endless night of his soul. Another star, another star, another star…

  9

  The light on the table read six-thirty. She pressed the button next to it and the drapes rolled open. The morning sun had already risen above the sea. She picked up the telephone.

  “Good morning, Doctor,” Max answered.

  “Grapefruit, coffee, scrambled eggs with bacon and a big pot of coffee.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Immediately.”

&
nbsp; She hung up the telephone and went to the bathroom. Quickly she showered to wash the sleep from her. She was still feeling sluggish when she came out of the hot and cold shower. She wrapped the bath towel around herself and went into the bedroom. The breakfast table had already been set.

  She poured a cup of coffee before she sat down. It was black and strong. She emptied it, took another, sat down and picked up the grapefruit spoon.

  The telephone rang. She didn’t have to leave her seat to answer it. “Doctor Ivancich,” she answered.

  “Sofia,” Sawyer said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “I’m already having breakfast.”

  “I’ve tried something interesting,” he said eagerly. “I’ve matched the EEGs over the last five years to the scans taken at the same times. We’ve turned them into mathematics, then reconstructed them. After that, we built them into computer graphics. And they looked so much like the original scans. I did the same process to the EEGs we did yesterday. They’re damned interesting, Sofia.”

  “I wish I could see them,” she said quickly.

  “You can,” he said. “Turn on the television set in your room. It’s connected to the central computer. Punch in these numbers—748,61,011,953. Got it?” He waited until she returned to him.

  “I have it, but nothing’s on the screen.”

  “Type in the word below: Computrac.”

  The screen turned to life. The picture was something very much like a PerScan, colors and all. “I’ve got it,” she said. “Now what do I look for?”

  “I’m going to superimpose this new stuff over the old scans. Watch the tiny track of blue light on the latest track.”

  “I see it.”

  “That’s the electric level now. Now look at the same thing on the superimposed tracks. They seem to be moving faster. Also the new scan seems to indicate the total brain is a fraction larger.”

  “Do you mean to say that his brain could be growing?” She sounded incredulous.

  “I’m not sure, but it might show that his brain weight may be increased by as much as two grams. If that’s true, that explains the slower impulse rate. He’s actually using more of his brain cells, and of necessity more cells have been manufactured to carry the load.”