“Uh… did you happen to have a sugar plum at the time?”
“Not to worry, dear sir. I didn’t bring any yorts with me this trip.”
“I’m glad to hear that. All right—I just have one or two more questions.”
“Ah, your endless questions. Prot warned me about those.”
“Never mind prot. It’s you I’m concerned with right now. You seemed to imply that you had a simple, delightful childhood on K-PAX, full of sex and skywatching. I just want to ask you one last time whether there were any—uh—serious issues back then.”
“Like bathing a stranger in a hollow log with a fallid leaf?”
“Or any other unexplained incidents that have happened to you.”
“None that I can remember. And I have a pretty good memory.”
“Even so, I’d like to put you under hypnosis the next time we meet. That okay with you? Do you know how it works?”
“No, and neither do you. But why the quackery? What are you looking for?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have to look for it, would I? I just wanted to know if there’s anything significant you’ve forgotten.”
“Why would I forget anything significant?”
“That’s what I’m hoping the hypnosis will tell me.”
“Sure. I’ll play your silly little game.” Her head fell suddenly and she seemed to fall asleep.
I had to chuckle at this. “Okay, fled, you can wake up now. We’ll do it on Friday. Will you be here then?”
Her eyes came open slowly. “Is— Is it over?”
“Yes, except for one or two more things. I was wondering whether you’re planning another trip to Congo or elsewhere. Will you be here Friday or not?”
She grabbed another stalk of broccoli and bit off the head. “Let me consult my calendar.” She went for the one on Goldfarb’s desk, pretended to check it. “As it happens, I’m free that morning.” She tossed it back to where it had been lying.
“No more trips until then?”
“Did I say that?”
“Not really.”
“Has my obligation for today been satisfied, then?”
“Not quite. You might be interested to know that the U.S. government takes a dim view of your taking 100,000 people to another planet. Especially if any of them are Americans.”
“No doubt. That’s 100,000 less robots to buy stuff they don’t need, right?”
“Well, it’s probably a little more complicated than that.”
“Very little more. And how do they plan to stop me if I decide to take an American or two? That is, if I can find any who meet the criteria.”
“They didn’t say.”
“Oooh. I’m skeered.” The rest of the stalk disappeared into her maw.
“Let me tell you something, fled.” I waited until the munching had stopped and I had her attention. “The government—maybe all governments—may be bumbling idiots, but they’re dangerous ones, nevertheless.”
“That’s why we don’t have them on K-PAX!”
“Yes, I know. Well, you’ve been warned. Ignore it at your own risk.”
“Much obliged. That it for now, pardner?”
“For now, yes, we’re finished.”
She grabbed another handful of broccoli. “Good stuff, but how about a little more variety next time? See you Friday, doc.” She strolled out of the room, leaving me to wonder about the possible consequences if she tried to leave our planet with 100,000 of us in tow. And, on the other hand, what consequences we might expect if she didn’t show up on K-PAX at the appointed time.
* * *
I joined Goldfarb in the faculty dining room. We usually meet informally once a month or so to discuss administrative matters (I was acting hospital director for a while before she got the job), and she sometimes asks for what she calls my “conservative” opinon. Generally, I look forward to these meetings, especially the food, which is no longer limited to the cottage cheese of my working days. But today the subject was fled, a very wiggly worm in a whole can of them. I was already beginning to re-evaluate my poorly-considered volunteering to “supervise” her while she was on Earth.
“Too late for that, Gene,” she pleasantly reminded me before whipping out the familiar folder with the information about the television and magazine interviews.
The former was to be a full-fledged network pilot for a reality series featuring various settings of interest to the public—hospital emergency rooms, police precincts, military camps, and the like. According to the attached blurb, the individual episodes would attempt to “put the viewer into intimate contact with the raw inner workings of these fascinating cauldrons of human drama.” A mental hospital wasn’t originally planned to lead off the series, but fled’s visit changed all that. They wanted to feature her in the show as a “special guest.” “Such an opportunity is not to be missed,” the info sheet concluded. Nevertheless, the focus of the program(s) would be the day-to-day interactions between the inmates.
The proposal involved setting up their equipment on the lawn for a full day (June 15th, from six a.m. to ten p.m.), with an additional “roaming” camera or two keeping a watchful eye on the goings-on inside. Cassandra was already predicting fair weather for that Wednesday (otherwise the date would have been changed). Although Goldfarb was a bit concerned about the effect the program might have on the hospital’s reputation, especially if anything went wrong, she was also well aware that it could be a great promotional and fundraising opportunity.
Despite the “ad lib” nature of the telecast, two or three members of the staff would be interviewed for voiceover purposes in addition to fled; those details would have to be worked out between our attorneys and theirs. Much of the air time, however, would be spent silently observing the events taking place on the lawn, in the dining rooms and lounges, with supporting background narrative (I had been wrong about the “live” aspect; it was to be “live on tape,” a concept I have never understood). It sounded like another can of worms to me, with all kinds of legal and ethical considerations. Nevertheless, I agreed with Goldfarb that it was an offer we couldn’t refuse. I had nothing to lose, of course; such decisions were no longer my responsibility.
The magazine interview was a different matter. It involved only the reporter and fled. “I want to be in on that,” I said. “I don’t want to find out the hard way that I missed something.”
“Consider it done. And by the way, he wants to come next week.”
After that we discussed the usual matters—old patients leaving, new ones arriving (where are they all coming from?)—and finished with a summary of what I had learned about fled’s visit so far. There wasn’t much to summarize. About all I knew was that she had come to Earth to “study’ its inhabitants, learn what she could from them, and take 100,000 people with her when she departed, the date for which had not yet been determined. And, of course, she had to be the most promiscuous being in the galaxy.
“Try to keep your hands off her,” she advised. I wasn’t sure whether or not she was joking—with Goldfarb you can never tell. “Do you know how many people she’s selected so far?”
“No.”
“Or how many countries she’s visited?”
“I don’t know that, either. All she’s mentioned so far is Congo.”
“Maybe that’s the only country she wants to visit. Maybe that’s the reason she came here.”
“Why would— Ah!” I mentioned Will’s idea that she could have an alter ego living on Earth. “Maybe her alter is from Congo!”
“Slow down, Gene. You’re getting way ahead of yourself here.”
“Could be. But it occurred to me that her alter might be a prostitute. I suspect they have those in Congo just like everywhere else.”