by Gene Brewer
“Were you afraid of her?”
“Not really. She was loud and boisterous, even a little obnoxious, but I came to like her quite a lot, as I did with prot. In fact, I rather miss them both.”
“And Walter?”
“Now that’s a different story altogether. Them I’m afraid of.”
“Why is that?”
“Have you seen the pictures of them?”
He glanced at Jones. “Yes, I have.”
“Well, it’s worse close-up.”
“In what way?”
“Their eyes are… Their eyes are terrifying. Much more so than in the pictures. Frankly, they looked as if they wanted to kill me. I think I disgusted them, if they’re capable of that emotion.”
“I see. But aside from that, do you think you can believe what they told you?”
“With absolute certainty. I don’t think they’re lying, or faking a thing. They’re seriously pissed by our continual killing of each other, as if life were meaningless. They don’t seem to have any religions, so to them, life is everything. Maybe life is their religion. Anyway, I truly believe the Bullocks could do whatever they want to us. Or to the Earth itself, for that matter.”
“That’s what we think, too. And the reason we all think that is because of your experience with the earlier visitors from K-PAX.” The President thought for a minute. “By the way, do you have any idea where the Bullocks come from? It’s not K-PAX, right?”
“No. But he — I’m sorry — they never said where their planet is located, only that it’s not their first home. The earlier ones have long since become uninhabitable. But I think they were all called ‘Bullock.’ Or maybe that’s what they’re using because it’s something we can pronounce.”
He nodded and mused, “I suppose that could be a glimpse of our own future. If we survive this ordeal, of course. One last question, Dr. B.” He smiled as he used the name most of my patients did. “Is there anything else we need to know that hasn’t yet come up?” To me he seemed completely in control, almost preternaturally calm in the face of potential disaster. I wished he were giving the speech.
“Do you mean are there any skeletons in my closet?”
“No, nothing as political as that. I meant, is there anything you obtained from prot or fled, or Walter, for that matter, that you haven’t mentioned? Or that has occurred to you at some point but no one has asked you about it?”
“You mean some insight into how we might react to the Bullocks? That sort of thing?”
“Yes”
“Well…” I hesitated, but there were no longer any secrets worth keeping. I knew that was over for now. “Fled brought a device that sort of read our minds and revealed our thoughts so that we could look into some earlier aspect of our lives. The images could be projected onto a wall or anything else. Like a movie projector. She used it with some of my former patients. And what they had suffered as children was so painful for me that I buried the damn thing in the woods behind the house.”
“Do you think you could show us where it is buried, Gene?”
I wasn’t sure of that, but I said, “Probably.”
“I think we’ll need to look into that. Anything else?”
“Well, as you know, I think, Walter can read our minds. So could fled, who could even read the personal history stored there. They know what we are thinking. I don’t know what else they can do, but based on what I’ve seen, the sky’s the limit. No pun intended. Even prot and fled were so far advanced compared to us — ”
“And Walter is to them as they were to us, is that what you mean?”
I hadn’t thought about it that way. Shifting uncomfortably, I nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Then we’d better get busy.” He stood up and grabbed my hand. The handshake was firm and prolonged. “After all, they may already be waiting for you at your residence.” He turned to Jones. “Mike, see that Dr. Brewer gets safely home, will you?”
“You bet, Mr. President. Are you ready, Gene?”
“I hope so.”
“We’ll be in close touch, Dr. B.” The President scribbled something on a little card, which was otherwise blank. “This is my private number. You can call me anytime night or day without going through my secretary or anyone else.”
I stared at the number, wondering how many other people knew it. The Russian and Chinese Prime Ministers? European heads of state? The director of the National Security Administration? Mike was already at the door. I said, “Good-bye, Mr. President. I’ll certainly let you know if anything comes up that needs your immediate attention.”
“Thank you. Until this is over, I’m not going anywhere,” he responded with a sad smile.
Mike and I marched down the corridor to the door through which we had entered the White House only a moment earlier, or so it seemed, and we reversed the helicopter trip back to the big 747 and home.
On the plane I had an opportunity to talk further with my youthful escort. He mentioned some things I might expect in the next few days — briefings and meetings — but we also covered any number of other topics. In fact, I would say I got to know him pretty well. He and his wife had a place in Virginia, and his hands were, in fact, toughened by cutting and hauling firewood. “Very relaxing,” he said. “You may remember that President Reagan did the same thing at his California ranch.”
Besides a rugged physical appearance, I discovered that Mike possessed an exceptional mind. His memory bordered on the phenomenal: politics, government, sports, history, and even the sciences. He seemed to know everything. It occurred to me that a mind like his could come in very handy in almost any situation, including the present one. I hoped he wouldn’t be far away if I needed him for anything. As it turned out, I needn’t have worried.
But aside from all that, he was one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Calm and level-headed and reassuring. I think he accepted people as they were, and rarely if ever became angry with anyone. On the other hand, one thing I had learned over the years was that no one can tell what is inside another person’s head. No human, I mean.
The trip from the airport was yet another jaw-dropping experience. It involved a caravan of four identical black limousines; ours was the third. It was equipped with two television sets and several electronic devices, most of which I wasn’t familiar with. One of the screens actually displayed our caravan from the air, as seen, presumably from an aircraft flying somewhere overhead. Mike informed me that my new personal physician, Dr. Greaney, rode in the ambulance at the end of the convoy.
When we got back to the house there was a long double-wide trailer perched in the driveway. I asked Mike what it was for, but I already knew the answer. His terminology was “Nerve Center.” Inside the mobile complex, he told me, was a tiny medical clinic, surveillance equipment, security headquarters, and a food-handling staff, among other things, including several meeting rooms. I stared at the thing for a moment in disbelief before heading toward the house. “One final thing, Gene,” he said. “We’re going to have to cordon off the road and station people in the woods around your home. This may inconvenience you a bit, but I’m sure you understand. You’re free to call your neighbors and explain everything if you like. For the next week, though, you may find yourself somewhat isolated.”
“Can my wife have visitors? She’s going to be pretty lonely for the next week.”
“I’ll see what I can do. But they should be kept to a minimum, for obvious reasons.”
I shrugged and went into the house, where Karen was waiting for me with a plate of hot food, which had already been tasted by someone in the trailer. They must have told her that I declined to eat on the plane. “How was your meeting with the President?” she asked me, and we both started to giggle. Soon we were howling. I expected a head to pop up in the kitchen window, but we were left alone for the time being, and we sat down to a nice din
ner.
“You know, when I married you,” she said, “I knew you were capable of great things. I even imagined sometimes that you would win the Nobel Prize or maybe appear on talk shows or something like that. I wasn’t even surprised when your book about prot was made into a big movie and you found yourself doing a cameo. But I can’t get over the fact that you just came back from the Oval Office.”
“Me, either.”
Of course, like any wife, she wanted to know what the President was like.
“Just like he is on television,” I told her, but she wanted more. “Well, he’s tall, which always makes a person seem more commanding, I suppose, and he has a glorious smile. There’s no doubt who’s in charge, like there was with the last guy. I think he’s pretty deep, too. There are layers of personality under his placid exterior.” I felt around in my shirt pocket and pulled out the tiny card he had given me. “His private phone number.” We giggled again for a while.
“All the kids and grandkids called. Everyone wants to talk to you. Especially your son-in-law.”
“Of course Steve would want that. But I suspect he would really prefer to talk to Walter.”
“Anyway, I told him you’d call him when you could, like I told everyone else.”
“God, I’m tired,” I confessed, even though I was still wide awake.
“It’s okay. I’ll come to bed in a few minutes, after I finish up here.” By the time she got there I was already sound asleep. The last thought I had was: How strange life is. You go to the shopping mall for a few little items and end up in the Oval Office… .
DAY TWO
If I had any dreams that night, I can’t remember them. I’ve never been able to remember my dreams very clearly, or at least most of them. Some of my former patients could recall lengthy dreams in exquisite detail. It’s one of those little mysteries of psychiatry: why some people can and others can’t. I used to spend hours wondering about that. Those were wonderful years, years when I was deep in the workings of the mind, the most fascinating subject imaginable. But there was no longer time to dwell on such mundane matters, with the survival of the human race at stake. I needed to keep my aging brain focused on that issue, to the exclusion of everything else. This fact was brought home first thing that morning. I was just climbing out of bed (was the bedroom now under video surveillance?) when the phone rang.
“Good morning, Gene,” came a calm, cheerful voice. “This is Mike. Sleep well?”
“No.”
He laughed into the phone. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t either. But that’s part of the job.”
“I suppose so.”
“I’ll be over in a few minutes. Will you be ready?”
I looked at the clock. It was 6:30 A.M. “I just have to get dressed. Do I have time for a shower?”
“Of course. You can have all the time you want, as long as it’s under ten minutes. We have a long day ahead of us.” I thought I heard a chuckle, but I may have imagined it. There was no longer time for joking.
I found Karen in the kitchen. She had already been up for an hour. But she wasn’t making breakfast — she was just sitting there in her bathrobe staring into space. This worried me — she is usually as unperturbed as a sloth. “Are you okay, peach?”
“I didn’t sleep at all last night. It finally hit me, I guess.”
I gave her a hug. “We’ll talk about it later. Mike’s coming over in a few minutes.”
“What do we do about breakfast? Do I have to take every meal over to the tasters, or do they come here?”
“I don’t know. We’ll ask him. I’m going to take a quick shower.”
When I came back ten minutes later, Mike was there, and so was breakfast. Someone from the Nerve Center kitchen staff had brought it over. It actually didn’t look too bad: scrambled eggs and home fries and all the rest. “Are you joining us?” I asked Mike.
“Thanks — ordinarily I’d love to. But you can only have a cup of coffee for now. You have a blood draw in a few minutes. After that you can eat all you want.”
I stared at the food while Mike took a generous helping for himself and gobbled it down, explaining that he hadn’t had time for a meal the previous evening. Karen declined. “I’ll eat with Gene,” she explained.
“Is this the pattern?” I asked him. “Will someone be bringing all our meals over?”
“That’s about the size of it. Whatever you already have in the house is okay, in a pinch — if you need a snack or something. Otherwise, we’ll take care of everything. Even the silverware.” He poured himself another cup of coffee from the big carafe and sat back with a sigh. “Now, let’s get to work, shall we?”
“Before that happens, should I excuse myself?” Karen asked him.
“Not at all. You’re as important as Gene in this situation. But if you have something you need to do, that’s fine. You can’t leave the house, though, which I’m sure you’ve already realized.”
“Not even with an escort?”
“No, unless it’s an emergency of some kind.”
She gazed unhappily out the window and nodded. I felt sorry for her — my lovely wife is the active type. She has a whole case full of bowling trophies, for example.
“You can have a few people here, though. Family, a couple of close friends. He poured her another cup, then reached over and picked up his clipboard, which he had placed on the fourth kitchen chair. “Okay, I’ve got today’s schedule worked out.” He handed one copy to Karen, and one to me. I looked at it, my eyes widening. There were at least a dozen items listed, beginning with a physical, including eye and dental exams. That was followed by a visit with a team of four mental health professionals — two psychiatrists and two psychologists.
“Why do I need a dental exam to talk to an alien?”
“Well, I can imagine a rare instance where you could get a terrific toothache of the sort that might affect your concentration in some way. There shouldn’t be any distractions of any kind. Think of yourself as an astronaut.”
I’ve hated the dentist’s chair since I was a kid. The smell of mouthwash alone turns my stomach. “But I just saw my dentist a month — ”
“Anything can happen in a month.”
I shrugged and perused the rest of the list. The exams would take all morning. The afternoon would be spent in meetings with “strategic staff,” whoever they were. “Will you be at those meetings?”
“Yes. For the most part, I’m your confidante and your liaison with everyone else. I hope that won’t be a problem for you.”
“No, not at all. I’m sure it’s a dirty job that someone has to do.”
He gave me a barely detectable smile before checking his smart phone. “It’s time. Are you ready, Dr. B?”
“No.”
He shook his head. “Let’s go.”
I won’t bore the reader with the gory details, except to say that it was the most thorough physical I’ve ever had. The chief physician was the guy who had accompanied Mike and me to Washington and back — Dr. Greaney. I was poked and prodded in places I barely remembered from medical school anatomy classes, asked for blood and urine and saliva samples, had my prostate prodded and squeezed. There was an electrocardiogram and an encephalogram. Nothing I hadn’t experienced before. The only difference was that there was no waiting. Pending the results of the blood work, I was as healthy as a horse, my new doctor informed me, adding that “if any problems of any kind come up, even a hangnail, I’ll be here.” I thanked him and was whisked to the next room.
My glasses were apparently adequate, as was my dental work. I was given thirty minutes for breakfast and told to report back for psychiatric analysis. I complained that I couldn’t eat “all I wanted” in half an hour, but Mike merely smiled and grunted, “Welcome to government work.”
The Secret Service agents stationed outside the trailer stared straight ah
ead as if I were invisible. Halfway back to the house, Flower came bounding out the dog door and, like the G-men I had just passed, completely ignored me and started toward a squirrel sitting in the yard. I watched, knowing she would never catch it. But then a strange thing happened. The squirrel didn’t move, and I was afraid it was done for. Before I could yell, though, Flower suddenly stopped short and gave it a long, thorough sniff reminiscent of the exam I had just endured in the trailer, before bolting for the house. I heard someone say, “Good morning, doctor.” At first I thought it must have come from the woods, or from inside the trailer, but I soon realized it was the squirrel.
“Walter??”
“That’s as good a name as any,” they growled.
I studied the bushy-tailed rodent carefully, but I couldn’t see its mouth move, and I realized it wasn’t speaking, but somehow projecting its (their) thoughts into my head. The Secret Service agents stood like a pair of stone statues, saying nothing. I wondered if they were aware that Walter was communicating with me.
“Uh… I’m not sure I’m supposed to talk to you yet. There are certain preparations — ”
“Your health is adequate for your needs. If it weren’t we would have approached someone else.”
“Thank you for the expert medical opinion.”
“Now comes the mental testing, a process you are quite familiar with.”
“That’s right. How did — Oh. Right. You know everything.”
“Only what is in your mind.”
I thought about that. So did they, I presumed. Thought about what I was thinking, I mean. “May I ask you a question?”
They snorted, “You may ask anything relevant.”
“Do you know what’s in everyone’s mind? All the people in the whole world?”
He seemed annoyed, but he answered the question. “Not all at the same time. That would be quite a feat even for us. There are limits to everything. Even to the universe itself.”
“Can you tell me why you’re here now? I know it’s because of our inherent violence, but that’s been ingrained for thousands of years. Since the beginning, probably.”