Orb (15 page)

I reflected on how a worrisome percentage of individuals diagnosed with paranoid personality disorder, when left untreated, commit acts dangerous to themselves or to others. Our present tenuous circumstances placed us in even greater jeopardy. Accordingly, we resorted to keeping an unobtrusive and wary eye on our ‘patient’. We were increasingly nervous spectators. But unless Melhaus resorted to some overt hostile act, and there were no indications that he would, what else could we do?

Subject to change, Thompson reluctantly acquiesced to this wait-and-see approach. I do mean reluctantly. He was the type of person who, once aware of a problem, preferred to meet it head on.

When we weren’t playing psychiatrists, Kelly and I continued to assist the scientists in any way we could, including taking on all the menial (and, frankly, boring) chores necessary to support a ship with a crew of six. After a stint of this drudgery, stretching into early afternoon, I ensconced myself in my cabin to do
my
job.

By early evening nagging hunger and a dearth of creativity reminded me that prospect of a picnic dinner was waiting for me outside. Angie had been left with Kelly, who was assisting Diana with an experiment near the water’s edge. I wasn’t given much choice in the arrangement. Keeping Angie inside with me would have eliminated any chance of her detecting another visit (if that’s what it was) from the objects.

Gathering up a few essentials—wash cloth, recorder, water purifier, and communicator—I exited my cabin. Passing through the mission room, still musing over what I hadn’t accomplished, I absentmindedly bumped into Melhaus as he was stepping down from the command and control room. A satisfied grin was lighting the otherwise plain features of his face. When he saw me the smug look of contentment changed to that of surprise, followed by one of annoyance.

“Changes to the spectroscopy array taking you longer than expected?” I asked. “Difficult work, huh?”

“Why do you ask?” he said, irritated.

Because I’m a glutton for punishment … Because I have an alter-ego that enjoys talking to arrogant assholes…Because somewhere in the infinite multiverse, I’m basking in the glow of one civilized answer….

“No particular reason,” I said. “Just making conversation.”

“Is that all?”

“I’ll let you get back to work.”

I was glad to feel the welcoming warmth of the sun. Squinting in the bright light, I made out Kelly, Paul, and Diana standing beside a table, choosing items to bring on the picnic. Angie came running up to me. An obvious display of affection indicated she missed me. I reciprocated by scratching the base of her tail.

“We were just coming to abduct you,” said Kelly, beaming. “Diana was worried you’d use some lame writing excuse in order to desert us. Said you seemed reluctant to become a member of the fold.”

“Not to worry, Diana. But is Thompson OK with this little venture?”

“More than OK,” Diana responded. “Thought we might be able to see the objects on the other side of the island.”

“And what objects might that be?” I asked. I kept my face blank and looked questioningly at Paul.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” he said. Convincingly, too.

“You bastards!” Diana yelled at us.

I liked teasing Diana, but there would be a penalty to pay. I proffered my shoulder and she punched it hard. I pretended it hurt more than it did to make her feel better.

“Our expedition to the cove is getting a late start,” I said. “I suggest we jog there.”

“Jogging is for sissies,” Diana responded, laughing—and took off at a run into the spires.

She was damn fast. We sprinted after her but by the time we arrived at the cove she was already nude from the waist up, joyously splashing in the water. Unfazed, Paul stripped down to underwear and jumped in.

“Two questions answered,” I remarked to Kelly.

“Those being?”

“Just how constrained we’d be by social conventions concerning modesty.”

“The other?” she asked warily.

I put a lascivious grin on my face. “—what Diana’s breasts looked like.”

“Oh yeah?” Kelly said, taunting me while stripping down to shorts, “then you won’t mind Paul having
his
question answered.”

And that’s how, without embarrassment or fuss, like a bunch of kids on a sugar rush, we managed to enter the water. Of the four of us, I incorrectly expected Paul to be the most reserved concerning the partial nudity. He was smart enough to realize that a potentially awkward moment would present itself, so maybe he prepared for it. The better possibility: People were not obligated to behave in the manner I predict.

“Incredibly refreshing, the water,” Diana said. “I feel euphoric.”

“Don’t ask me,” I responded, feeling the rush. “On Earth, I get that feeling
every
time I’m in the water.”

I swam over to Kelly and whispered in her ear. She smiled and nodded.

“Hey you two,” I said. “Kelly and I are going to swim around to the other side of the promontory. We’ll be back in a few.”

Diana’s eyes crinkled as she looked from me to Kelly and back to me. She had good reason to be gratified with herself.

“Don’t do anything we won’t be doing,” she said to us, flattening her body against Paul.

For her, the statement was remarkably restrained.

And so Kelly and I went off together, providing both couples time to be intimate.

If I believed the private details of this time spent alone with Kelly were an integral part of this narrative, well, you’d be reading them right now, with scant left to your capable imagination. Instead they’ve been supplanted in importance by an evolving emotional entanglement, one that defies easy description. How significant (if at all) our involvement is to the mission is not yet clear. I have, however, become cognizant of outside influences affecting my perception of the relationship. Like Thompson’s opinion of Kelly. Like Diana’s machinations. Maybe even the ocean itself, bringing us together in its all-encompassing water.

Kelly and I rejoined Paul and Diana and the four of us discovered a large flat area to eat dinner and enjoy each other’s company. As we conversed, and as the sun began to set, I couldn’t help but notice that Diana was distracted, repeatedly stealing furtive glances oceanward.

“Angie’ll let us know,” I said, hoping to ease her anxiety about the objects returning.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s understandable.”

“Nothing works,” said Paul. “She’s been beside herself all day.”

In the declining light, I watched as Diana’s expression turned somber.

“Have any of you thought about the hell we’ll be put through?” she asked.

“In what sense?” Kelly responded.

“There are twenty billion people on Earth,” Diana explained, “and almost to the last man, woman, and child they want this mission,
us
, to discover intelligent life, or at least life that’s a few orders of magnitude more complex than
phytoplankton
. OK, OK, so we come back empty-handed, maybe they can accept that. But to come this far, to see those extraordinary objects and offer no explanation as to what they are … well, knowing how
I
feel, I can’t see how the world is going to let us live down their crushing disappointment. We’d have been better off finding absolutely nothing….”

The last words stuck in Diana’s throat as she fought back her emotions. She leaned into Paul for comfort. On the other side of her, Kelly, commiserating, patted her arm.

“Oh, I know,” Diana said, dabbing her eyes, “that last part isn’t true.”

But much of what she said
was
true and the truth of it, coupled with the depressing effect it had on her, aroused my sympathy. I was ill-positioned to give her a hug. She was going to settle for second best: Logic. Or my unique version of it anyway.

“Maybe this won’t make you feel any better,” I began, “and I apologize profusely if it makes you feel any worse, but twenty billion people, myself among them, don’t have a damn clue what ‘intelligent life’ means. It’s ludicrous, and if the arbitrary criteria ‘self-awareness’ is applied, it’s even more ludicrous! Ha-ha … ah ha, ah
ha ha ha!
”

I intentionally ended my speech by affecting the laugh and demeanor of a madman. I was going into full attack mode, and it was working: I had Diana’s attention, and Kelly’s and Paul’s, too, for that matter.

“Hmmm…” murmured Diana, “is this tirade emanating from the antisocial Kyle, the writer Kyle or the just plain crazy Kyle?”

“They’re all in there somewhere,” Kelly volunteered.

“Wisdom is often misconstrued as madness,” Paul said. “Let’s hear him out and see if we can discern the difference.”

“Perhaps you shall judge me mad,” I responded, “for my madness rests on this: Our ability to evaluate intelligence is highly suspect. The very definition of the word is fatally flawed.”

“What makes you believe so?” asked Diana, a bemused look slowly supplanting the somber expression on her face.

“Because we humans have hubristically assigned the criteria for being intelligent to perfectly fit ourselves. How convenient! Should we not obtain at least one impartial point of view? Is it not true, Doctor Kelly, that it is wise for the patient to seek a second opinion?”

“
And
not to self-diagnose,” Kelly added.

“Precisely, and to further my point: Would you not agree that the artist is a biased critic of his own work? If you say otherwise, I shall henceforth pronounce myself a genius, the world’s preeminent author, and who’s to disagree?”

“Thompson would,” Diana pronounced, feeling better.

“And exactly where,” asked Paul, “do you expect these unbiased opinions of our intelligence to come from?”

“Ah, there’s the rub,” I responded. “They may never come, and if they do, will we be able to recognize them for what they are? And once recognized will we be humble enough to listen and accept—humility not exactly being our strong suit as a species? Shall I venture a guess what that second opinion would be when our world and all the life on it groans with overpopulation, pestilence, and pollution—all caused by the most intelligent species, kings reigning over all. Ha! We are self-anointed; unduly coronated!”

“Weren’t you trying to cheer Diana up?” Kelly said.

“Oh, sorry….”

“Oh, no, please continue,” Diana entreated. “I like not knowing what a person is going to say. Reminds me of myself.”

“And since you’ve yet to call me mad, I shall venture on: The concept of self-awareness, often applied as a ‘litmus test’ of intelligence. Here at least we don’t get into so much self-inflicted trouble. Instead, we liberally parcel out suffering to every other living thing on ‘our’ planet. By extolling, then abusing, our sense of self-awareness we’ve conveniently placed ourselves above all life on Earth; it’s become either ‘us’ or ‘them.’”

“But we’ve identified more than a dozen species that have at least some measure of self-consciousness,” Diana said.

“And how long did it take us humans to reach this stunning conclusion? And what good did it do the species we’ve bestowed the honor? Or is it an honor? I’m not so sure … wait, let’s pose the question to another species, perhaps not as self-aware, but presently well-disposed to volunteer a second opinion.”

And in saying so, I reached for Angie, placed her on my lap and began petting her. Her tail vibrated, her eyes sparkled, she licked my hand and gazed at me happily. As she exuded contentment, I spoke to her, sarcasm dripping into my voice.

“My poor little pooch, if only you could be as blissfully self-aware as us humans. If only you knew what you were missing—”

Angie rolled onto her back, expecting, and getting, her soft underbelly stroked.

“What is that you’re saying, my little dog? You don’t understand why examining our belly button and then realizing it
really
is our belly button is such a big deal? You say you couldn’t possibly be more joyous than at this moment? That you couldn’t possibly give me one milligram more of affection?

“See?” I said. “We have our answer. Still doubtful? OK, then.” I urged Angie off my lap. “Good girl, find Kelly! Find Kelly! Show her exactly what you mean.”

Angie, nuzzling her way onto Kelly’s lap, received a tight appreciative hug.

“She’s pretty convincing,” Kelly said.

“She does a lot of my talking. Speaking for myself, there are times I consider self-awareness to be an affliction I
wouldn’t
wish on a dog. Oh, I don’t mean the casual ‘look in the mirror and realize the reflection is me’ kind, but the deeper kind of introspection, the gut-wrenching kind, where you stare at—and through—the reflection of your
self
in the mirror until you experience a tidal wave of shock, amazement, fear, and wonder that you exist. You exist, standing there naked in your clothing, part of, yet apart from everything that
is
and, in irony of ironies, are offered no solace, no hope of ever understanding why. And as the tide rolls out and only the memory of this experience remains, not the feeling itself, a lifetime of questions are found strewn like pebbles on the shore: Does life have any meaning? Why do I feel so alone? Why do I deliberately—”

Noticing a strident voice, I stopped and connected that voice to me. Three people were intently staring at me. Giving Diana a hug would have been a whole lot easier.

“What do I see in your faces? I’m crazy?”

“You’re not crazy, Kyle,” Kelly told me in a low voice.

“Don’t be too quick to judge,” asserted Diana. “You’re crazy, but not much more than any of us.”

“Diana, the main point I’m trying to make, perhaps scant comfort, is the world awaits the discovery of intelligent life, but with a fatally flawed concept of what they’re hoping for. We may stumble on a life-form which is unaware of the boundary between where you stop and I start; that in their belief all things are interconnected has no concept of a
self
, yet may be more
aware
than we’ll ever be.”

“Would
they
be less lonely Kyle?” Kelly asked softly.

The words stopped me cold in my tracks; they were deliberately intended to evoke a personal reflection on my part, almost challenging me to do so. My voice wavered as I grappled with an appropriate response.