Michael took a taste. “Steak? What, are you crazy? It tastes like sweet potatoes.”
“Get outta here!” Richard complained. “You and your sweet potatoes.” He sat down on one of the chaises and helped himself to a sizable ladle of the food. “You’re always talking about sweet potatoes.”
Michael sat opposite and took a portion for himself. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically. “I happen to like sweet potatoes.”
Suzanne and Perry stepped to the table, their curiosity piqued by this exchange. They were experiencing almost irresistible hunger. Suzanne was the next to try the food.
“That’s incredible,” she remarked. “It tastes like mango.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Perry said. “Because to me it tastes exactly like fresh corn right off the cob.”
Suzanne took another taste. “To me it’s mango, without a doubt. Maybe there’s some way it tricks our brains to interpret the taste according to our own predilections.”
Even Donald was intrigued. He came over to the table and tried a minute amount. He shook his head in disbelief. “It tastes like biscuits to me: fresh buttermilk biscuits.” He took one of the chairs. “I guess I’m as hungry as everybody else.”
Everyone helped themselves to varying amounts of the curious food. They found it difficult to resist going back for seconds. They also discovered that the iced drink had a similar variable effect. It tasted different to each person, according to his or her preference.
As soon as the group’s ravenous hunger had been slaked, the exhaustion and sleepiness that they’d experienced earlier returned, and with a vengeance. Fighting against sagging eyelids they pushed back from the table and sought their separate beds. No sooner had they drawn up the covers than everyone but Donald fell into a deep, hibernating sleep. Donald struggled vainly in hopes of maintaining a vigil, but it was impossible. Within minutes he, too, was slumbering.
The moment Donald’s eyes closed, tiny red lights appeared on the canopy of each bed. At the same time, a glow emanated from the canopy and enveloped the sleeping individual below in a violet halo.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The tiny red lights above the beds in the living quarters switched momentarily to green and the violet glow faded. A moment later the green lights blinked off.
Perry was the first to wake up. It was not a gradual transition but rather a sudden change from deep sleep to full consciousness. For a few seconds he stared at the canopy above him, attempting to put the strange structure in context and orient himself. But he couldn’t. He’d awakened to nothing like what he expected: namely, the blank ceiling of the supposed V.I.P. suite on the Benthic Explorer.
Perry was confused, but as soon as he turned his head, it all came back to him. It hadn’t been a dream. The Oceanus’s horrifying plunge to unfathomable depths had been a reality.
There was a simple, black clothes tree standing within reach of his bed. A set of white satin drawers and tunic similar to those he’d put on were hanging on it. Perry realized he felt quite naked under the coverlet. He lifted the edge of the cashmere blanket and looked at himself. Not only was he naked, he detected the same peculiar ring of puncture wounds around his navel as he’d seen on Richard and Michael when they’d emerged from the spheres.
Perry let out a low-pitched cry, then leaped from the bed to examine his wounds more carefully. He spread the soft skin of his abdomen. The puncture wounds were not deep and they weren’t painful, much to Perry’s relief. Most important of all, they seemed healed.
As Perry absorbed this discovery, he had another shock. His legs and groin were hairy again! He inspected his forearm and discovered that the hair had returned there, too. He put a hand to his scalp, and smiled.
Perry grabbed the clothes from the ebony rack and pulled them on as he transversed the length of the room.
His reflection in the mirror practically made him swoon. His scalp was covered with a full head of hair. It was only about an inch long, but it was as thick and dark as it had been when he was in junior high school. He felt like he’d discovered the fountain of youth.
Perry heard the others stirring. He turned in time to see Donald and Suzanne slipping back into their clothes. Richard and Michael were sitting on the edges of their beds, gawking at the surroundings. Their clothes were neatly piled in their laps.
“Just as I thought,” Donald said to no one in particular. “I knew those bastards would be in here screwing around with us when we were sleeping. That’s why I wanted to set up watches.”
“It isn’t all bad,” Perry said as he sauntered over. “We’ve got hair! Can you imagine? Mine is thicker than it was when I lost it.”
“I noticed my hair,” Suzanne said with less enthusiasm.
“Aren’t you thrilled?” Perry said.
“I preferred the length I had yesterday,” Suzanne said. “Or actually the length I had three days ago.”
“What do you mean, three days ago?” Perry questioned.
“Yesterday was July twenty-first,” Suzanne said. “Right?”
“I guess,” Perry said. He wasn’t sure thanks to the overnight flight to the Azores.
“Well, my watch, which someone took off my wrist but was nice enough to leave behind, says it’s now the twenty-fourth.”
Suzanne’s watch had been the only one to last through the gassing. Its gold bracelet band remained undissolved.
“Maybe whoever removed it advanced the date,” Perry suggested. The idea of being asleep for three days was disturbing, to say the least.
“It’s possible,” Suzanne said. “But I doubt it. I mean, to grow as much hair as we have, it would have taken more than three days. Maybe we’ve been asleep for a month and three days.”
Perry shivered. “A month?” he gulped. “I can’t imagine. Besides, the hair growth we’ve had has to have come from some kind of amazing treatment. My hair’s back to the way it was when I was fourteen. I’ll tell you something: as a businessman, I’d kill to find out the secret. Can you imagine? What a product.”
“They didn’t do me any favors,” Donald said. “I didn’t want hair on my head.”
“Did you notice the puncture wounds on your stomachs?” Suzanne asked Perry and Donald.
They both nodded.
“I think that means we were on life support of some kind,” Suzanne said. “Maybe the same kind our divers had been on in those spheres.”
“That was my thought,” Perry said. “I suppose they had to keep us on something if we were out so long.”
“Hey, are you guys okay?” Suzanne called over to Richard and Michael, who were finishing dressing.
“I’m all right,” Richard said. “Except for the fact that I was wishing this was all a bad dream.”
“Drugging us is in violation of the Geneva Convention,” Donald growled. “We’re civilians! Who knows what these puncture wounds mean. They could have given us anything-AIDS, or truth drugs.”
“Actually, I feel really good,” Perry admitted. He flexed his arms and stretched his legs. It was as if his body as well as his hair had been rejuvenated.
“Me, too,” Michael said. He touched his toes and then ran in place for several strides. “I feel as if I could swim for twenty miles.”
“I got my hair back but now my beard’s gone,” Richard said. “Explain that!”
The other men reflexively stroked their chins. It was true. They had no stubble.
“This is getting more and more interesting,” Perry said.
“I’d say it’s getting more and more surreal,” Suzanne said. She looked closely at Perry’s cheeks. Previously he’d had a definite five o’clock shadow. Now his complexion was perfectly clear.