The asphalt was clean and the drive was fast. The hills around the San Luis and Los Banos reservoirs should have been green with winter rains, but they were a matte gray, as if coated with primer before application of a new color. The reservoirs themselves were glossy green and still as glass. Nowhere was bird or insect visible. April regarded all this with fated pride; my son did this, she seemed to be thinking, and while a frown crossed her face as they passed the reservoirs, on the whole she did not seem to disapprove.
Jerry was both intrigued and thoroughly spooked by her, but he wasn’t about to say anything. Still, John could sense his unease.
The fields to each side of 5 were covered with mossy brown sheets that glistened in the sun like plastic. “All those trees and vegetables,” April said, shaking her head. “What do you think happened to the crops?”
“I don’t know, Ma’am,” Jerry said. “I just spray ‘em, I don’t judge ‘em.”
“Not just people. Takes over everything.” She smiled and shook her head. “Poor Vergil. Had no idea.”
They made a pitstop at a Carl’s Junior just off the highway. The franchise’s doors were open, and there were a few piles of clothes behind the service counter, but the building was undisturbed and unconverted. In the restroom, as they pissed in parallel, John said, “I believe her.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s so sure.”
“Hell of a reason.”
“And she ain’t lying.”
“Hell no. She’s looney tunes.”
“I don’t think so.”
Jerry zipped up and said, “She’s a witch, John.”
John didn’t disagree.
The monotonous brown-covered farmlands gradually changed color and character as they approached the Lost Hills turnoff. More bare earth appeared, dusty and dead looking. Little spouts of air swept the land in the distance like maids cleaning up after a wild party. “Where did all the crop go?” April wondered.
Jerry shook his head. Don’t know. Don’t want to know.
John squinted into the dusty haze ahead and tapped the truck’s brake pedal, down-shifting expertly. Then he slammed the brakes hard and the truck spun out, tire squealing. Jerry cursed and April grimly hung on to the edge of the window.
The truck came to a halt reversed on the roadway. John turned them around and grabbed the gearshift back into neutral.
They stared. No words were necessary—or even possible
A hill was crossing the highway. Slow, ponderous, perhaps a hundred feet high, the mass of shiny brown and primer gray moved through the wind-churned dust barely a quarter mile ahead.
“How many of those are there, do you think?” April asked pertly, breaking the silence.
“Can’t say,” John demurred.
“Must be one of them Lost Hills they were announcing,” Jerry said without a hint of levity.
“Maybe that’s where all the crops went,” April speculated The brothers did not care to discuss the point. John waited until the hill had passed, and a half hour later, as it slid over the fields toward the west, started the truck again and put it back in gear. They slowly crossed the mangled asphalt. The air smelled of crushed plants and dust.
“Martians,” John said. That was his last protest to April’s claim of knowing what had really happened. He said very little after that, until they started the climb up the Grapevine past the unconverted trees and buildings of Fort Tejon and the vague outlines of tiny German. As they neared the ridge. he stared at Jerry with wide eyes, pupils dilated, and said, “City of Angels, coming up.”
It was five o’clock, early evening and getting dark.
The air over Los Angeles was as purple as raw meat.
32
At noon, Bernard’s lunch was delivered through the small hatch—a bowl of fruit and a roast beef sandwich with a glass of sparkling water. He ate slowly, reflectively, occasionally glancing at the VDT. It displayed the lab’s recent results in analyzing some of his serum proteins.
The screen’s alphanumerics were mint green. Red lines were taking shape under the numbers, which scrolled up as new series were added.
Bernard, what is this?
–Not to worry, he answered the internal query. If I don’t do research, I malfunction.
Their level of communication had improved enormously in just a couple of days.
?You are analyzing something to do with our communication. There is no need You already communicate through the proper channels, through us.
–Yes, indeed. But will you tell me all I need to know?
We tell you what we are assigned to tell you.
–You’ve riddled me, so allow me to riddle you. I have to feel I’m not powerless, that I’m doing something useful.
With great difficulty, we have been trying to comprehend *encode* your situation. To VISUALIZE. You are in an enclosed SPACE. This SPACE is of *concentration* you regard as SMALL.
–But adequate, now that I have you fellows to chat with.
You are restrained. You cannot *diffuse* through the limits of the enclosed SPACE. Is this restraint by your choice?
–I’m not being punished, if that’s what you’re worried about.
We do not *encode* comprehend PUNISHED. You are well. Your body functions are in order. Your EMOTION is not extreme.
–Why should I be upset? I’ve lost. It’s all over but the (ahem) loud encoding.
We WISH you were more aware of the physiology of your brain. We could tell you much more about your state. As it is, we have extreme difficulty finding WORDS to describe the location of our teams. But to return to the prior question. Why do you WISH to process other forms of communication?
–I’m not blocking my thoughts, am I? (Am I?) You should be able to figure out what I’m doing on your own (How could I block my thoughts to you?)
You realize our inadequacy. You are so new to us. We regard you with…
–Yes?
Those who have been assigned to replicate this state to ******* This is unclear.
–I’ll say.
We regard you as if you were capable of mild *dissociation* reproof for minimal performance of assigned processing.
–You regard me as what?
We regard you as a *supreme command cluster*.
–What is that? And that brings up a whole host of questions I would like to ask.
We have been authorized to answer those questions.
(Jesus! They knew the gist of the questions even before he had formed them in his mind.)
–I’d like to speak to an individual.
INDIVIDUAL?
–Not just the team or research group. One of you, acting alone.
We have studied INDIVIDUAL in your conception. We do not fit the word.
–There are no individuals?
Not precisely. Information is shared between clusters of *******
–Not clear.
Perhaps this is what you mean by INDIVIDUAL. Not the same as a single mentality. You are aware that cells cluster for basic structuring; each cluster is the smallest INDIVIDUAL. These clusters rarely separate for long into single cells. Information is passed between clusters sharing in assigned tasks, including instruction and memory. Mentality is thus divided between clusters performing a function. Important memory may be *diffused* through all clusters. What you think of as INDIVIDUAL may be spread throughout the *totality*.
–But you’re not all of one mentality, a group mind, collective consciousness.
No, as much as we can analyse those concepts.
–You can argue with each other.
There can be differences of approach, yes.
–So what is a command cluster?
Key cluster placed along travel *juncture*, lymph and blood vessels, to monitor performance of traveling clusters, servant cells, *tailored* cells. You are like the mightiest of cell command clusters, yet you are ENCLOSED and have not yet chosen to exert your power to *lyse*. Why do you not exert control?