Slowly, almost
sadly, Graham came out of me, and I let loose with my legs, tracing
down his butt, the backs of his thighs, knees and ankles with the
tendons at the back of my feet, feeling the hardness of his muscles,
the silky smoothness of his skin. My hands were all over his
back, feeling even silkier skin, the muscles and rib bones, his well
defined spine and its hollow, his taut shoulders. I never
experienced anything like it. I submitted to him, opened myself
to him, let him into me to deposit his sperm, trying to get into my gut
like a womb that wasn't there, and I came with him in shattering
orgasms like I never experienced before in my life, all without my
hand, without anything other than his loving.
It hurt when he
first penetrated me. I wasn't expecting it at all, never even
thought of being able to make love with a guy face-to-face. I
just figured the plumbing was all wrong for that, but Graham's cock is
made for me. It has a shape that makes it perfect for moving into
me. Well,— let's just say,— it works,— almost too well. It
rubs up against my prostate so much, I have to be careful in the future
it doesn't bring me off too quickly,— before he gets going,— before
he's ready.
That first time,
I was all cramped up from the sudden intrusion, and then he started
coming inside me, before the whole thing really got started, and I
wanted him all the way inside me when he was coming, so I just jammed
him right in there, the sharp stabs of pain almost like knives.
Then he pumped his semen into me, way inside, and the throbbing of his
cock set something off inside me, and damn! I was coming,
too! Just like that! Not a finger near my cock, much less a
mouth or an ass. I guess it was all the loving we did beforehand,
I was so hot to be with him, I was primed.
After, he made
love to me, he caressed my face, my body, every part of me, told me how
much he loved me, and made me so proud to have him inside me, I
couldn't believe it. We rolled onto our sides after a while, and
it just got better, the loving so tender, so caring, I couldn't hold
back a kind of soppy feeling, and I felt a tear slip out of my
eye. Graham just kissed it away, told me how much he loved me, my
strength, my love of the land, my determination, my masculinity.
I felt like a
fraud,— like some wuss of a girl,— my chest all full of happiness, and
just wanting to bawl a little. And he told me it was all right,
it was okay for me to let it out, okay to have these feelings, and we
just held each other while I cried out of pure pent-up but now released
fear and frustration, so happy I could burst. He cried a little
with me, too, and I loved him for that. No, I loved him for
everything he was and did. I won't bore with all the litany, but
the qualities of the man are just too damn fine. Somehow, we dozed
off,— hooked together,— Graham still plugged into me, my leg under his
waist just right to keep the circulation going, our chests pressed
close, arms going all the way around us.
However, the
second time,— ahhh,— that was the one that did it. My hole was a
little tender down there; at least at first. First it was his
kisses, tender, warm, loving, raising my temperature gradually, my
heart getting quickly up to speed. Then he got to moving a
little, slowly at first, the head of his cock moving deep inside me,
just under my stomach, it felt like, and my dick waking up as it moved
about between us.
It was still
warm. The night hadn't brought much relief from the heat of the
day. As we started to perspire a little, my dick got more and
more lubrication from our perspiration, mingled with my come from
earlier, the lube streaming from my dick in response to all the
stimulation that was going on inside me, made for a wonderful slippery
glide for my penis against his and my flesh pressed tightly
together. When we rolled so I was on my back again, our mouths
pressed together, his cock now moving in and out so that Roger's head
pressed up against my prostate twice in each cycle, I tried to adjust
things a little so he wasn't going to make me come as quickly as he did
the first time, and for a minute or two, the pillow worked, but then I
moved my legs a little to make it easier for him to ram it home to me,
and he pulled me even tighter to him, and the sensations were just too
much for my poor abused nervous system. I exploded in a huge
orgasm, like nothing I'd ever felt before, every nerve in my body was
on ‘overload!’ every muscle contracting to force his semen into
me, my voice making gurgling shouting noises, my arms trying to pull
him inside my skin, my seed spurting out between us,— and then I felt
it.
I swear to God,
I felt his dick wind up and shoot his sperm into me. I felt the
hugeness of his contractions, felt the head of his dick expand inside
me as it shot his essence into me, felt the power of his emotions as he
made love to me, honored me, and cherished me. He was my man, my
love, the one whom I waited for. No doubt remained at all.
As the waves subsided, he did it again,— he made love to me after the
sex, making me feel like I was the most important person on Earth,
holding me, calming me, caressing me, just as I was doing to him,
bringing him down slowly, his trembling muscles only gradually
relaxing. Then he pulled back and roared, like a lion, laughing
and roaring, his dick still throbbing inside his mate, keeping his
semen from moving out of the pocket where it had been deposited, making
sure the egg would be fertilized, the offspring his, preserving his
genes for posterity.
His teeth had
grown back in. I knew they felt natural, not plastic. When
we kissed in the hall, I could tell they weren't his, not that it was
important. Now, looking up at him, his mouth wide open in his roar, he
had teeth all the way back, flush up against the gums, but real
teeth. When he smiled back down at me, his eyes beaming with
love, his front teeth were as white as milk, warm and glossy, much
better than the paper-white plastic of before.
I laughed with
him, holding him inside me, feeling the power of his dick, still hard
in me, feeling it move about a little, and I wondered at his sheer
magnetism, his strength, his powerful masculinity, his kindness.
I couldn't believe how lucky I was,— he loved me. He looked down
at me, and there was nothing but love in his eyes, and I tried to let
my love show through my eyes the same way, and,—
"Please, forgive
the intrusion; however, it’s time." said Groth.
"Go away,"
I said loudly, "we'll be there."
Graham said
exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. Groth had
summoned. But it was a lonely, haunting summons. It was
more like he was begging us. The survival of the ship was at
stake. In two weeks, it could be singularized,— no,— imploded
into a singularity, a black hole no bigger than a pinhead, even smaller
than the "black diamond" that struck our ship and the first ship, the
one that was supposed to handle all the maintenance for the little
fleet, just as it was preparing to ‘dock’ into the ship, to modify the
Hrandoth back flush mechanism, to make sure the Batruqan never clogged
up again. I felt bad I was so selfish.
Groth said some
things that almost made me tear up. The ship is the command
center. Groth is not the ship,— he is the collective group, all
the computers on all the ships, linked up in a sub-space network that
somehow provides instantaneous communications, far faster than the
speed of light, something about using the connectivity of gravity
wells. If the ship perished, the other ships would go on, but the
success probability of the mission was barely above single
digits. I was doing a lot of that lately. Getting all teary
eyed. I hoped I wasn't losing my masculinity,— becoming
effeminate.
"Have no
fear. Your identity is in no peril," said Groth.
‘It's nice to
have friends,’ I thought to myself.
"I’m deeply
honored," said Groth.
A minute later,
we were in my shower, steam rising around us, washing each other with
only a brief exploration of the parts of each other we'd never
seen. Graham is big down there,— even soft. He’s as big as
me,— no,— be honest,— he’s bigger in most ways. I wondered he
hadn't ripped me open when he went inside me. I guess the shape
of the head of his cock has something to do with it.
The last tufts
of his gray hair fell out. His head was covered in thick, short,
soft mahogany color hair, in sort of a brush cut. The hairs on
his chest were short, dark, unbelievably sexy, as they highlighted the
tight musculature of his chest. There was a trail of them
pointing down to his navel, and from there down to his cock. I
put my little finger in his navel, like a tiny mouth, to wash it out,
nothing sexual or anything. I felt a twinge in my privates.
I rinsed his stomach, his front, felt his cock, flaccid but not
completely soft. I wanted to look closer at it, feel his balls,
maybe kiss his cock all over, even suck on it a little, but we had to
get to the hangar, and I held back.
When I soaped
his back, I realized Graham was no longer old at all. At least
his body wasn't. His back was like T.J.'s but more defined.
There wasn't a crease or wrinkle to be seen. He looked young,—
only a tad older than me. His body was the body of a high school or
college athlete, but not all gross from lifting or anything, just tight
and sinewy. There was no fat I could see; although, Groth assured
me later that our bodies would remain at 9.473% body fat, for maximum
protection against viral and bacterial assaults. I don't pretend
to understand what one has to do with the other. Graham was
beautiful on the outside now, as well as on the inside. I felt so
blessed, I could barely concentrate as we dried each other, quickly
dressed and trotted out to Jeep. It took us no more than ten
minutes from bed to those God-awful absurdly thin seats in Jeep.
The lights were
still on at Tad Barrat's house, but he's so far set back from Gove he
wouldn't notice us going by. We drove the back way, up to Post
Road on the road between Tad and Graham, and then over on Post, just in
case somebody,— like Andy, for instance,— might be on Gove road, or
looking out a window in town as we passed through. The lights
were out in Gil Carver's home facing Post Road on Graham's second
parcel. Gary Boyce's second parcel don’t have a house on it any
more. He tore down what was left of it after the fire.
Gary's place, bordered by Post and Katy, has the house facing onto Katy
Road, with a big grove of oak on the North side, so there was nobody
else to see us go back and forth. Graham drove fast,—
faster than I would at night,— but I felt safe with him. He does
that to me, he makes me feel safe whenever he's by my side. He
says I do the same for him, too.
We got there at
just the right time. The ship was ready to extend the cloak, in a
funnel/tunnel shape as soon as Graham opened the doors. You
couldn't see it as it shot out, but there was a slight feel of
electricity in the air, and the stars outside the door wavered a
little. The lights in the hangar dimmed down to almost nothing, I
guessed so as to show as little as possible light to the outside and
avoid detection as much as they could.
"Correct.
The landing funnel extends out only a few hundred yards," Groth
told us. "It is strictly a visual cloak, as a full spectrum cloak
would incinerate the hangar from the mid-section of the ship
forward. The arriving ship will move into it before de-cloaking,
so it will remain invisible while it moves into the hangar, but the
energy generated by the Kryst and the local drive will be briefly
unmasked,— uncloaked. The funnel is open at one end of course,
and may be detectable by astute observers.
"Why is the
energy,— ?"
"For the time
between discontinuing the full-spectrum cloak of the arriving vessel
and connection to the ship, when most surplus energy can be diverted
into the probe, the vessel's energy surplus must be radiated.
Energy from the bottom of the ship will be directed towards the ground,
heating it a few degrees per minute. From the top of the ship, it
will be focused into as tight a laser beam as possible, aimed at a
point where no satellites are proximate; however, the beam itself will
be detectable, as will the thermal footprint on the ground. Thus
the funnel must only remain in use for as short a duration as
possible. The vessel moved into the hangar and connected to the
probe speedily.
"Why not just
leave the cloak on until the Ship is inside the hangar?" Graham
asked. I was wondering the same thing.
"The cloak
around a ship can not be maintained within four meters of solid
matter. The matter is gradually converted, the energy drawn into
the banks. Organic matter touched by the edges is similarly
converted," Groth said, "but there is an instantaneous
impact. Living organisms do not survive."
"You mean the
cloak would kill us if we approached it?"
"Yes, but the
ship is unable to maintain the main cloak if you are within two point
five meters of the outer layer. Your cellular structure has been
recorded, and the cloak would automatically be discontinued
instantaneously. That is true for all the ships."
"What about the
other cloak," I said, thinking of the moths and bats that gyrated
near the little floodlights. "The visi-cloak inside the hangar?"
"Matter is
absorbed, but only when there is direct contact with the cloak. Rather,
the energy is absorbed. The residue falls as ash. It is
unavoidable. The ship has no record of individual cellular structures
unless they are introduced. It is why the ship is raised when you
are not present, so no other humans may come to harm. Where
cellular structure is identifiable, the light cloak is adjusted so
there is a neutralized hole in the cloak around the known structure."
That explained
why we had no more insects in the hangar, why there seemed to be a
little more dust hanging in the air.
"Yes,"
said Groth in my head. I can tell now when he doesn't use a voice
we can actually hear.
"Is that what
the light does, or did, when we entered the ship?" Graham
asked. "Record our structure?"
I was a little
taken aback at his insight, Graham is no dumb farmer.
"Among other
things, ‘yes,’" said Groth. Then he continued just to me.
"Do not underestimate the value of the choice you have made,
Bill. Graham is far more than others realize."
I smiled inside
myself and agreed, with a little shiver.
"As soon as the
ship is inside the hangar, the funnel will be switched off, so you may
unload the units," said Groth.
It began.
We could see ‘through’ the funnel, as the other ship approached, but
couldn't see the ship itself even when it was inside. We saw the
energy beam, though,— an otherworldly violet bar of flame leapt from
inside the funnel, right at the outer edge, headed straight up into the
dark sky. Our ship's funnel widened a little, and Groth warned us
to move back. The end of the funnel moved quickly into the
hangar, the violet light beam suddenly disappearing just as it looked
about to cut into the tracks of the doors. There was a loud, but
very short ‘zip’ sound, and the new ship was just there, right above
us, just inside the door, the nose at the same level as our ship's
fuselage, almost but not quite touching. It was smaller,— a
little more than two thirds the length of our ship. It was a
tight fit inside the hangar. Some kind of beam or beacon appeared
between the two ships, then was gone, replaced by a thin cable like the
ones hooked into the probe and the hangar's breaker box.
"Both ships are
now protected by the light cloak," said Groth as Graham threw the
lever to close the doors. "The probe is dissipating all but one
point three percent of total generated radiative energy. You are
fully protected. It is time to begin."
As the doors
closed, we ran to the stairway that popped out of the rear quarter of
the new arrival. It was all I could do to keep from bounding up
the stairs, but I kept still, knowing it would be faster. I
looked over at our ship. There was a white cone leading down from
it to the platform, and the deep blue-purple of the destabilizer was
intense, almost violet-purple to almost black. Then we were going
up the escalator, and our ship was hidden by the curve of the second
ship's hull.
The room at the
top was much smaller than on our ship. The optimizer light came
on only briefly, then we went through the door that opened directly in
from of us. There was a short corridor, then we went through
another door into what looked like a modern version of a computer room,
all white, with large white cubes spaced on the far side, and a series
of smaller cubes nearer the door. There were five almost
blindingly white ‘suitcases’ which I assumed contained neural units, on
the top of five of the smaller cubes, and dozens of them, much smaller,
on the larger cubes. It was hard to make out the borders of the
cases, they emitted so much light.
"Put on the
metallic gloves you see on your right," said Groth in my head. I
turned right, just as Graham turned left. There was a pair of
long silvery-gold gloves on a shelf that extended from the wall.
"These are to ensure a totally sterile environment while you transfer
the neural units to the drive. They will not harm you in any way."
I slipped one on
my left hand, and it went almost to the shoulder. The ‘hands’
were different with only three elongated fingers, one thumb hole, and a
tight fit across the palm. I slipped the other one on my right
hand, and turned back to look at Graham. I almost shit bricks.
Graham was all
silvery white, unrecognizable, everything hidden under a gauzy glow of
an almost blindingly white light. His head looked half again
bigger than his real head, his limbs like skinny skeletal
representations of his real body. I looked at myself, and saw I
looked the same way.
"You okay,
Bill?" Graham's voice said.
"Yeah, but you
look like an alien," I said back. This was too cool!
"All white
light?"
"Yeah!"
"You too!"
"How come,— "
Groth never lets
me finish a question.
"It is because I
know the questions before you can verbalize them," he said in my
head. Then he said in a voice, "The suits are visible to
anyone outside the fields, but not to you as long as you are in
them. Touch each other, and you will understand."
Graham moved to
me and put his arm, tentatively, on my shoulder. It was as if he
couldn't see where it was until he actually touched, then all of a
sudden, I could see him without the suit, just wearing the ‘gloves.’
"I love
you," he whispered, and gave me a quick kiss. I grabbed him
back for an encore.
"There is little
time," said Groth, "you will have this evening together."
I let go of
Graham, and he turned back into an alien.
All the time,
there was more information coming in. Which unit would go first,
the orientation each of them had to have after they were taken out the
door, and how to get them to move up and down. There were
small gravity platforms under each of them, with a lever sort of button
(Graham called it a toggle) to move up or down.
I got a surprise
when we went to move the first suitcase. It was another sterile
suit. As soon as I touched it, the unit itself became
visible. The primary power board was just a slab of solid looking
wood colored plastic, showing no sign of circuits I could discern, with
a manipulator handle at each corner of the slab. Each side of the
slab sparkled, as if from a myriad infinitely small lights.
It took forever
to get the first primary board out of the ship, down to the hangar
floor. It wasn't bulky; however, it was massive. A little
more than three feet long, a few inches wide, almost wedge-shaped,
maybe six feet tall, no big deal, right? Try it when it weighs
eight thousand kilos. That's something like seventeen or eighteen
thousand pounds,— as much as a large truck, more than an empty UPS
delivery van, more like Pete's gas truck without the trailer. You
couldn't dare move it fast, because you couldn't hope to stop it
quickly. The gravity platform made it slide in any horizontal
direction with the slightest push, but the speed of the slide was
infinitely slow, because it was so massive. The blessing of the
gravity platform was it kept it stolidly vertical, and it went up and
down easily.
As long as we
were both touching the unit, we looked normal to each other, but at one
point when I let go to help Graham push his end into the right
direction, he looked immediately like an alien again, pushing a slab of
light in front of him.
The other
thing,— the board was ‘inside’ our suits as long as we were outside the
ships. It didn't have its own source of aura, for want of a
better word. One of us had to hold onto it at all times, no
matter what, to keep it from getting contaminated. You wouldn't
believe what we breathe in the air. It's like a soup, there's so much
life in it,— mostly bacteria, viruses and spores. Groth showed it
to me once, explaining we actually needed it, to naturally maintain our
immunity defenses in top condition. If we lived in a sterile
environment, we would have to take special precautions to keep from
being exposed to ‘real’ air, wearing these suits all the time.
The descent was
a major problem. The escalator brought us down slowly, then put
us on the floor, but with the primary board still accelerated to the
forward motion of the escalator, we had to hang on for dear life,
push/pull with every ounce of our strength to get it swung out of a
path that would have taken it right into the hangar wall. Groth
was with us the entire way, encouraging, suggesting, cautioning.
Thank God, or we would’ve screwed it up beyond belief. The next
time, the gravity platform would be secured to the escalator, Graham
told Groth, so it wouldn't have the momentum when we released it, after
it stopped. Graham actually swore, but there's no point in
repeating it word for word.
Groth just
responded, "Yes." No apology for not having thought of that
before,— nothing. I thought computers were perfect. I
didn't get a response to that either. I wondered if computers had
feelings to hurt.
"Yes,"
Groth replied, “It is unfortunate I did not take into
consideration the momentum added by the descent," said Groth to
both of us. "I am,— sorry."
Graham shot me a
look of surprise, which I probably reflected.
"S'okay
Groth," Graham said. "we're all under a little stress,
here. Human bodies gotta’ blow off little steam now and then,—
get rid of it or bust."
"I understand
the concept, and I agree," said Groth. "Computers do not
know stress but we do understand frustration. Is that comparable."
"You know
it," said Graham. "yours is called heat,— you think too
much,— you over compute, you make heat,— you have to get rid of
it,— or you’re damaged. That's stress."
"You are a man
of surprising perception," said Groth.
‘That's my
man.’ I thought to Groth as I chuckled with pride.
Most of the time
we just grunted from pushing and pulling, breath labored, muscles in
agony. We were drenched with sweat, every muscle aching by the
time we got the board lined up in front of the drive, which the ship
had lowered. It wasn't that large,— maybe a seven or eight foot
diameter disk, six plus feet tall, over which hung another hollow, much
larger diameter disk, about eight foot tall, with an eight foot
diameter hole where the smaller disk obviously nested. Both disks
were encased in a ‘suitcase’ of the white light, not quite as solid as
the one around us, but masking details of what we were looking
at. It seemed to reach out, sort of enveloping us as we got
within a few feet of it, making everything visible again.
When finally we
swung the new unit into alignment with the place it was supposed to go,
this vacuum-hose-looking tube dropped down to the top of the damaged
board in front of the replacement part, and the whole thing,— the
damaged one,— just sort of turned to jelly from the top and disappeared
up the hose,— like it didn't weigh a thing.
It took nearly
two hours, just to get the first primary board in place. Believe it or
not, the move only took a little more than a half hour. Lining it
up with the lasers, fitting the guide straps top and bottom so the unit
wouldn't graze up against the units to left and right, removing the
handles from the ‘front’ end, then inching it into place in its socket
was both delicate and heavy work. We couldn't touch the other
units of the drive except at the occasional ‘handle,’ and it was hard
to gauge the speed of the forward movement as the unit went into the
slot.
I don't know
how, but the little gravity platform under the board was gradually just
absorbed into the one under the drive. I keep thinking about
mercury, how drops of it coagulate when they touch. Except there
was no appreciable change in the size of the whole to reflect the sum
of the two parts. I never asked Groth about that,— have to do it one of
these days.
Groth gave us
precise instructions on when and where to push or pull, how to position
ourselves above and below the unit. At one point, Graham was
standing directly over me as I lay on the ground, pulling on the bottom
handle with my feet braced against the gravity platform of the
drive. He was pushing hard, trying to get it back to the
vertical, as the top was scraping against the guide straps, slowing it
down. His legs straddled me, and I felt a drop of his sweat on my
head. I looked up, only for a second, and looked at his
body. I could write a book just about that. Slim, muscled
legs almost bursting out of his jeans, his butt flexed, arms like
ironwood, his muscles so well defined. The image burned into my
memory. I turned back to watch as the last few centimeters ticked
away, as our ‘end’ of the board ever so slowly became flush with the
other boards.
"Break
time," Groth said as the mushy ‘click’ of the circuitry into the
contacts came, almost no other sign the board slotted into position
than a slight tremor. "You are doing well!" There was no
indication as yet whether or not the board would function, but Groth's
uncharacteristic expression of almost pleasure was a good omen.
"Tests are
underway," answered Groth
I felt like a
steamroller ran me over, folded me in half, and ran over me
again. I stunk like a horse, my muscles screamed in agony, I had
no breath, and I was hungry. Graham seemed unaffected,
except he smelled really desirable. His perspiration is a
definite turn on for me,— big time. I had to pee. That
always seems to happen after I have an orgasm. I have to pee more
often for a couple of hours, but not as much.
Ten minutes
later, we bounded out to the stairs of our ship, completely recovered
after a solid night's sleep, refreshed by the food and drink we'd
been,— not injected with, but something like that in the
optimizer. Just as well,— I never could have chewed any
food. My teeth ached,— every damn one of them. The front
one, the one with the big chip in it, felt loose in its socket.
The second board
was waiting at the bottom of the other ship's escalator. Groth had
taken our constructive criticism to heart. The board was anchored
to the escalator by some kind of extrusions that simply melted back
into the escalator when we took hold of the handles. The
‘suitcase’ was apparently maintained by a cable, which popped off the
top of the board just as we took hold of the handles, and zipped back
into the other ship.
By five, the
second primary board was installed, and Groth made us stop. "We can not
continue while your employees are present," he said, "and
it is important no one see anything unusual in your behavior. You
must both go to do your morning homework (he meant chores) then go for
food at the restaurant."
We went back
into the optimizer again, slipped off the gloves, slept ten hours in
approximately five minutes or less, and awoke with our clothes clean
and fresh, our muscles only slightly stiff, and our bellies screaming
for food. On our way down the stairway, my arms draped over Graham’s
shoulders. I had to admit, I needed food more than loving right
then. Graham took his teeth out of his pocket.
"Ain't gonna
need these no more."
"Let's
see," I said, turning his head.
He opened his
mouth, and they were already mostly grown in, say three quarters as big
as his old teeth. He had big molars in back. Every tooth was as
white as milk. It was teeth like the models in magazines have.
"Wow!" I
said. "Perfect! You're gonna have to stop smoking." I
suddenly realized I hadn't had a cigarette in two days? Or was it
three?
"Already
did," he said, just before I got a long kiss. "Haven't
wanted one since,— I guess, since the ship got here. I mean, into
the hangar."
"It is
singularly bad for your health to inhale the carcinogens and chemical
by-products of incinerated tobacco and chemically treated cellulose, as
well as those created by the burning of your matches and especially the
butane and petroleum distillates used in lighters," said Groth
from somewhere.
We both laughed,
and walked to the door to the shop, turning as we closed them.
All we could see was the pallet jack, tool kit, jackhammer, and a very
big block of solid concrete with an even bigger block on top of it.
We took the Jeep
again. I dropped Graham at his doorstep, got a wonderful, sloppy,
heart-pounding kiss, then sped to my place. I fed the hens,
milked and mucked, brought in the eggs, fed the cats and dashed back to
the Jeep. I seemed to be able to move faster,— the minute hands
didn't sweep so quickly.
"Your body is
becoming more efficient." said Groth, "You are able to move
more quickly, expend more energy, think more rapidly as the repairs
progress."
I sped to
Graham's, got another glorious wake-up-the-barracks kiss from him, and
we got to Charlene's at Graham's customary time, and took our place in
the usual booth. Graham again apologized to Dan he wasn't sitting
next to him. Dan just handed him two mugs of coffee, with a big
shit-eating grin. Christ, did he know we were,— surely not.
I got a gigantic
shock when I looked in the mirror on the wall between the door and the
booths. Graham was old again, homely, gray-haired, big nose, deep
creases in his face. He still had the killer body, though.
I turned in panic to look at him, and got another shock as he turned to
me. He was my Graham, young, handsome, energetic and completely
ready for anything. I looked back in the mirror in confusion, and
he was the old Graham, and when I snapped back to look at him, he was
new.
‘Groth!’ I
almost said aloud. ‘What, the — ?’
As usual, he
answered before I got it all out. ‘He is really as he looks to
you. We can not afford to have others see him as he is now, so he
is wearing a kind of cloak."
‘It won't hurt
him?’
‘No. Nor
will your cloak harm you or Graham in any way.’
‘My cloak?’
I turned to look
at myself in the mirror. I looked,— like me, that's all. Then
Groth did something, and all of a sudden, I looked different. The
scar on my right cheek from the scythe that fell on me last year was
gone, my nose was straight, unbroken. My front tooth was still
chipped from football, anyway. I looked,— more mature.
‘This is how you
actually appear without the cloak. Your organism is at absolute
overall peak at the biological age of 23 years seven months. You
have therefore aged approximately 827 days. Your first new tooth
will appear in several more days,’ Groth said. ‘I am afraid
your teeth are being replaced. It is necessary.’
‘Why?’ I
seized on the silliest little details. What about the nose?
What about my appendix scar?’
‘Your teeth must
be rebuilt to last a much longer duration during your life span.
The old teeth would have been inadequate after only several scores of
your chronological years. Your appendix has been restored.
It is not a useless organ, but vital to long-term anti viral and
anti-bacterial defenses of the human body. Your components are
being replaced by the optimizer, eliminating several incorrect
sequences in your genetic structure. Graham's DNA structure is
being used to repair the damage, as it is intact in the areas where
your sequences are not,— as will yours be used to repair sequences
where his were not. His semen is being used as the source of
material. The life span determinants of the DNA helixes are being
replaced, duplicating the ends of helixes contained in both of your
sperm. It is important that you provide Graham's body with,— ’
He stopped,
almost as if it was,—
‘Somewhat
intimate, yes. Graham has need of your sperm cells, as you have
of his.’
I almost heard
Groth clear his throat. ‘Your nose was susceptible to arthritis
and polyps as the result of cracks in the cartilage and a splintering
of the bone.’
‘You’re
rebuilding my body?’
‘It is the only
ethical thing to do.’
‘Why?’
‘Your life span
must be matched to that of your mate. The bond of two beings can
not be altered by us under our judicial code, save by judicial order
and only in extreme circumstances, such as untreatable mental
deterioration. We have had to alter Graham's genetically determined
potential life span to achieve its optimum performance in order to
accomplish our mission. It was partially done by judicial order
after the ship was first damaged, when he volunteered to help make
repairs, and it was ordered to be completed when the drive was
penetrated, as a precaution. Many of the superficial repairs have
been made, but I have delayed the cell replacement process until the
appropriate genetic material is available.’
‘What is your
mission? Why is it so important?’
‘That will be
disclosed as soon as the probability calculations are completed.’
‘Probability
calculations?’
‘We are yet
gathering information.’
‘On what?’
‘On human
engineering and mathematics.’
‘Why?’
‘To determine if
the mission will be successful.’
‘And you won't
tell me your mission?’
‘In due course,
I promise you, you will know, whatever the outcome.’
I was getting
nowhere, like walking on a Mobius strip.
‘How would it
have been altered? Our bond, I mean.’
‘It would have
terminated with the death of one of the participants.’
‘Death is always
interfering with relationships.’ I philosophized.
I didn't believe
his response. I can be so damned bullheaded at times. I
should have told him I was bull-headed, but he didn't say anything
more, so I let it drop into my mental waste-basket. I should have
known better. Groth never lied to us. Not about
anything. If I had been a little more accepting, I would have
pursued my line of questioning a lot harder and longer.
Groth assures me
he did not influence my thoughts in any way, so it was entirely my
fault. Not that it made any difference. It just postponed
my understanding of the importance of Groth's mission, and
consequently, our mission.
My attention
snapped back to Graham as he sat down opposite me, the hot coffee
wafting fragrant steam. I took my mug, and took a first sip,
carefully, as it was pretty hot, just as mom came out of the kitchen.
"Morning,
Mom!" I said over my mug with a big smile.
"Morning, you
two!" she almost laughed back at me. "The usual?"
'You two.'
I wondered again if that meant she knew?
"Sounds
good," Graham and I said at the same time.
Mom went back to
the grill to get it started, after cutting Pete's piece of cake.
Nobody took any
notice of us. We talked the talk, ate like pigs, laughed with the
others when Pete told a joke he heard in Salina about what Gore had
really been doing in the Buddhist temple, swore when the guy on the
T.V. news mentioned something about Monica. Tired of that mess,—
just throw the bums out, wipe their names off the daily scandal
sheets. I think I'm a Democrat at heart. It's sort of like
always wanting to support the underdog, give people as much freedom as
possible to be their best, but I can't stand the way most of the
bigwigs are preaching class warfare and bigger government, always more
bureaucrats, more taxes, more invective about the rich, hand-wringing
for the poor. Shit, I'm poor, and I don't damn well need or want
help. I want help given to those who need it because they
can't,— not won't do for themselves.
When we got back
to the hangar, Rob and Cory were already there, at least half an hour
early, working together on a Deere, laughing a little at some joke as
we came in.
"Hey,
Guys," Graham said, "gettin' an early start?"
"We figure
you're so busy with the other stuff, you could use a little extra,"
said Rob, wiping his hands on a red cloth.
I got a
twinge. I wondered if they knew anything, saw anything while we
were working on the ship. No, it was only me, Graham was with
them.
"Sorry if I'm
not with you enough," Graham said at once, "this should be over
in a couple of weeks."
"You let us know
if we can help," Rob said. Cory stood up beside Rob, with
grease already on his forehead.
"Will do,"
Graham replied.
Graham and I
went into the hangar. Both ships came into view as we approached,
just an instant after they were not there.
"Can we get some
things done today?" I thought at Groth. "There is so much
to do, so little time if we only work at night."
"We can not take
the risk that others know that we are here," Groth said
aloud. "The ship is completely vulnerable until the drive has
been remounted."
"What if we give
Rob and Cory the afternoon off?" I think I was the one who
asked,— I don't remember.
"We could get
more done," said Groth, "at least finish the large boards,
and begin with the smaller units."
"Done,"
said Graham, "I'll work with them all morning, try to get the
Deere tractors all done. Maybe see if we could have a couple of
maintenance jobs on-site for the boys later this week."
What day was
today? Wednesday. The weekend would be free. We could
get a lot done.
"That has been
factored into our estimates," said Groth, "If there are no
significant problems, we will be able to replace all 842 neural units
with at least a twenty-four hours cushion."
"Cushion?"
Graham asked.
"Time before the
group must leave."
"Why is the time
so inflexible?" I asked. "Why can't you put off departure
for a day or two, just to be sure?"
"We would be
destroyed." Groth replied. "That is a certainty."
"By who?"
Graham jumped.
"Not by
who," said Groth, "by events."
"Is,— are we,—
is the Earth going to be destroyed?" I managed to sputter
out. Not now,— now that I've found my Graham,— no,— please no,—
"Not for many
tens of thousands of years," Groth said.
I breathed
easier. Graham did, too, I could tell the way he held himself.
His back straightens a little when he's tense. Not so that others
would notice that much, but I do.
"What
events?" Graham asked softly.
"Part of our
mission," said Groth. "I will provide a full explanation in
no more than six days. It will take that long to complete our
calculations."
"What now?
I mean this minute?" I asked. "What can I be doing?"
"We will begin
the training for connecting the neural control units, first for Bill,
then for Graham, so that one of you can, at all times, be certain the
other two do not learn of the ships' presence.
I went into our
ship and started absorbing directly from the learning center.
Polarities, positioning of laser guides, use of the mini-platforms in
sequence, splicing of cards,— not all connections were through the core
circuits, some physical links were needed, especially in the thruster
control sectors,— double stacking of several cards to create further
redundancies, inclusion of,— there are no technical terms made up yet
to describe the processes. They are for fabricating gravitic
wells that draw matter from the direction of the ship's flight through
defined entry points, into the thruster units for conversion into
high-energy near light speed particles, through the magnetic/gravitic
concentrators and out in the opposite direction of forward
acceleration. That’s as close as I can come in simple
English. Not as much as I understand, but as much as I can
explain.
Groth stopped
the process after what seemed like a couple of hours. Actually, it was
already dinner time, or almost. I pulled my hands off the posts,
and they were stiff from grasping for so long. I had to pee, and
my bowels announced an imminent delivery.
"The optimizer
will relieve you," said Graham as I went down the corridor.
A minute later,
I was down the escalator, everything converted, or whatever.
"The body is
unable to process material as efficiently as the optimizer," said Groth
in my head. He proceeded to give me a graphic description of what
happened to the contents of my bladder and rectum, which I found a
little unappealing, but edifying nonetheless, so I pushed away any
thoughts of distaste.
"Yes, I
see," said Groth after his explanation was complete, "you
are becoming somewhat adept at suppressing nascent and subliminal
thought. I have not seen that before in you. It is,—
unexpected."
I had no idea
what he was talking about.
"It is
important, but not for now," Groth said as I opened the doors to
the shop, ensuring the ship was not visible beforehand, just in case.
Graham was
working on a Cat that appeared from somewhere, and Rob on the same
Deere as before. Cory was changing the oil on another Deere.
Graham
hollered, "Hey, Rob! You want to head down to Charlene's
and pick up dinner for us?"
"Sure thing,
boss! You already order it up?"
"Should be ready
in ten," Graham said over the noise of Cory's suction
machine. I actually thought that, instead of 'vacuum.' My
use of words,— even my vocabulary,— was changing. Groth told me
later why. The optimizer was repairing faulty synapses as it
replaced my cellular structures. One at a time, but millions per
session.
"I'll go with
you," I said to Rob. There was nothing I could do here,
anyway. I'm no mechanic, not by a mile.
Cory jumped up
like a shot. "I can go!"
Graham looked at
me, then at Cory. "He won't be gone long enough to get in any
trouble, Son."
Cory
blushed. "Course not!" he said without thinking.
"What
trouble?" I thought to myself.
"The younger of
the pair is not secure," said Groth, "he doubts his own
worth, and thus is fearful of losing the other."
I don't think I
really wanted to know that, but I kept it to myself.
"I can not
detect your response," Groth said.
"It is of no
import," I said in my thoughts.
"You are masking
some of your inner thoughts from me. I am capable of penetrating
barriers, but I choose not to,— I feel I can trust you. You are
making substantial progress."
"How is Graham
doing?" I thought automatically.
"His value has
been confirmed beyond my expectations,— as has yours. Again, I
compliment you on your choice of partner. There are major hurdles
you will find quite manageable together."
I was already
walking towards the door. "Let's go, Rob, I'm starving!"
He trotted out
to the driver's side of the pickup just as I got to the passenger door.
"Watch the junk
on the floor." he said as I opened the door.
There was a pair
of gallon creeping rosemary plants and a couple six-packs of bedding
plants.
"Gardening,
too?" I asked.
"You into
it?" said Rob as he fired up the old F-250.
"I'm a
farmer!" I laughed. I was proud to say that. First
time I realized it. "Anything that grows from the soil has my full
attention!"
"Yeah," he
said, "I know how you feel."
"You want to
farm?" I asked idly, as we pulled out the gate onto Katy.
"Yeah," he
said, "we do."
"Just like that?"
"What?"
"The 'we' part?"
"We're sort of
working together," he said, looking over at me, "thought
you would,— I thought you knew that."
"I don't know
from nothing," I said, but not in a bad way, "I don't think
it's any of my business."
"Look,"
Rob said, slowing down a little, to maybe only twenty. "I know
you're,— uh,— I mean, you wouldn't say anything to Cory to turn him
against me, would you? Please."
I didn't have a
clue what he was talking about, so I didn't say anything. Nothing
to say.
"I know I did
you up at the rest stop, and all, but that was before I ever met Cory,
before we ever kinda,— uh,— got together. I ain't done nothing
like that ever since that time with you, I swear. I almost got
busted by a cop, just after you left, while I was finishing myself
off. I never did it again, I swear. It's true."
I was
stunned. My tongue was tied. Rob was the guy behind the
hole? The one who sucked me off? Oh, shit. I stumbled for
words while he just looked at me. We weren't going more than a
couple of miles an hour.
"I'd never tell
Cory something like that," I finally spit out. "What
happened was just two guys emptying out their nuts. Like beating
off; nothing more."
His eyes got a
little damp, then he turned back to the road.
"You're all
right," he said, "I may tell him,— some day,— but not yet.
I like him too much to let him walk for the wrong reasons."
"I know what you
mean," I said. "but I don't think he'd walk no matter what
truth you told him. I don't think he can breathe without you."
"— and how would
you know?" Rob answered with a laugh. We were back up at
normal speed.
"Because I
couldn't breathe without Graham." There. I said it.
Finally. To someone who barely knew me.
"You mean you
and him,— ?"
"Yeah," I
said, "since a couple of days,— since forever, it seems like."
"I wouldn't a
thought,— I mean he's really a great guy." He was searching for
his tongue. "He's a lot older than I would a’—
shit! That was insensitive of me,— sorry. S’none 'a
my business anyways."
"S'okay.
There's a lot more to Graham than meets the eye," I said, "A lot
more." I had to swallow a half-giggle.
We talked about
farming the rest of the way to mom's and back. We never spoke
again about the rest stop. I almost feel bad about telling it
here, except I know Cory and Rob don't consider it important any more,
either.
Good thing we
took the pickup. Graham ordered more than I would've for four of
us. Mom asked if Graham was feeding an army? I told
her there were four growing boys out there, bustin' hump to get the
garage going, and starvation was pounding on the door all the
while. This is farm country,— most folk eat a decent
dinner. Have to keep the fires stoked up. It took us two
trips to get all the food into the back of the truck.
I told Graham
what I'd done in the rest stop while we were setting up the food.
Rob was on the pot and Cory was scrubbing his hands. He didn't
bat an eye. He said something about it not being possible to be
jealous of a sock, a handkerchief, a kleenex or the past. He
sealed it with a kiss. We never talked about it again, except to
laugh about the embarrassment I felt in telling him.