“So what makes it fly?”
I started to tell her, but she interrupted: “Besides money, of course.”
“It has something to do with the shape of the wings. Actually, there are a couple of different theories on that….”
I had given her the stack of e-mail messages I had received from people who had professed an interest over the last several years in going to K-PAX, and she perused these for a few minutes. When we merged into traffic on the interstate, I glanced over at the passenger in the pickup truck passing us on our left. I couldn’t hear anything, but I could see that she was screaming. She turned toward the driver and suddenly the truck accelerated to about 90 mph and pulled away from us. Fled chortled again as she tossed the mail into the back seat. “We won’t need these,” she explained. “It’s a whole new ball game.”
I was still trying to collect my thoughts on how the shape of the wings lifts a plane into the air.
“Never mind,” she said. “I get it.” After a moment she added, “One day I’ll take you for a ride in the sky with me.”
A chill shot up my spine. What effect would that have on the physiology of a sixty-six-year-old human? Even John Glenn had some medical problems with his final trip into orbit. I realized that Karen would go with her in a heartbeat.
“Her, too,” fled promised.
Since we were on the subject of light travel, and not knowing whether I’d ever have a chance like this again, I started to bring up some of the questions I had about cosmology. For example, if the universe recycles over and over again, where did it come from in the first place, and when would the reverse process begin?
She yawned. “That stuff doesn’t interest me.”
Thoroughly disappointed, I asked her what did.
“Life on other PLANETS. EARTH, for example.” (NB: For a K-PAXian, only heavenly bodies are deemed worthy of capitalization. Everything else, including people, are lower-case entities.)
“Why the Earth?”
“Who knows? I’m not a shrink.” She glanced at me accusingly before continuing. “Some of your beings study the biology of your oceans, right? I’m interested in the biology of other PLANETS. Besides,” she added matter-of-factly, “I wanted to come to EARTH before it was too late….”
“Too late for what?”
“Too late to find any sapiens.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Is that why you’re planning to take 100,000 of us back to K-PAX with you? To sort of ‘preserve’ us? Put us in zoos, maybe?”
“Not at all. We’re not humans, gino. Prot informed me that most of you want to get off this WORLD. I thought: what the hey? As long as I was here, I might as well help some of you out.”
“What kinds of people will you be taking?”
“If I told you that up front, it wouldn’t be much of a book, would it?”
“What makes you think I’m going to write a book about your visit?”
“You can’t help yourself!”
“Well, what about you? Aren’t you writing a report about us?”
“Nope. Most K-PAXians know all they care to know about you.”
While she gazed at the suburban landscape, I thought: how could she possibly determine which of us to take out of so many possibilities?
“Well, you can eliminate anyone with a cell phone in her ear, for example.”
We “talked” on about prot and Robert and Giselle, and I learned that my namesake was going to have a little sister in a few months. “That must be quite a rarity on K-PAX,” I noted. “Given your reluctance to have—uh—sexual relations.”
“Oh, that only applies to the dremers. And a few other species. The rest of us can’t get enough of it.”
I changed the subject. “When you got here, you said you had ‘a message from prot.’ What was it?”
“Nine suggestions.”
“Nine?”
“Yes, nine, o deaf one.”
“What are they?”
“Prot advised me not to tell you until later.”
“Why not?”
“He thinks I should tell everyone at the same time.”
“You mean go to the UN?”
“Unless there’s something better.”
“That’s awfully ‘science fiction,’ don’t you think?”
“Except in sci-fi they never make it to the UN.”
The city of New York came suddenly into view. “Whoa!” she exclaimed. “It’s just like prot said. Except that the world trade center is gone now, of course.”
I shrugged defensively. As we were crossing the George Washington Bridge I began to think about fled’s visit and what we might learn from her. I didn’t want to screw it up and find myself remembering to ask her something after she had gone.
Despite her brusque nature she must’ve felt a little sorry for me. “Okay, gene,” she sighed. “I’ll answer one question about cosmology. What will it be?”
There were so many that I had to ponder for a minute or two. Finally, I came up with: “Is there a Grand Unification Theory?”
“You mean to resolve the apparent dichotomy between relativity and quantum mechanics.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You mean no one will ever—”
“Forget quantum mechanics and superstrings. It’s all fantasy. Mathematical farting.”
There was only one appropriate response to that. “You would know.”
As we turned onto Amsterdam Avenue she told me, “Albert lives on K-PAX. As a ‘hologram,’ of course. He’s still mad at himself for wasting so much of his time on Earth with the GUT, as you call it. A fascinating guy with a childlike curiosity. He’s great pals with Wolfgang.”
“Mozart?”
“No, you twit. Wolfgang Schwartz, the physicist.”
“Oh.” I wanted to hear more, but we were almost to the Manhattan Psychiatric Institute. “And Robert Porter’s father—is he there, too?”
“Oh, yes. Rob talks to him all the time.”
I parked illegally right in front of the hospital and hustled fled past the gate and into the building as quickly as possible, informing Officer Wilson that I had an emergency case to admit. The elderly guard’s mouth was still open when we hurried inside.
Fled was far more demonstrative than prot had ever been. She waved and smiled (at least I think it was a smile) at everyone milling on the lawn or in the main (first-floor) lounge. A few of the inmates waved back, including Phyllis,* who thinks she is invisible, but most of them seemed confused by what they were seeing. A couple of the patients tried to follow us into the elevator (fled was greatly amused by this contraption), but I admonished a bug-eyed nurse to take them back to what they had been doing.
Goldfarb knew who was coming, but even she was shocked by the appearance of our guest. Nevertheless, she managed to return fled’s grin and offered a hand, which our newest visitor enthusiastically shook. Evidently fled had been coached by prot on the proper protocol with respect to introductions.
After we had all sat down and fled was gawking at everything around her, I put it right to Virginia: did she have someone to look after prot’s K-PAXian friend? I presumed Will had spoken to her about the matter. By now she had regained her composure. “I was thinking you might take care of fled.”
It hadn’t even occurred to me that she would come up with this nutty idea, and I told her so. I protested further that I was retired, and didn’t even live near the city anymore. Goldfarb wasn’t daunted. She’s never daunted. “That’s precisely it. No one on the staff has room for another patient. You do, and you come in once a week anyway just to hang out and get in everyone’s way. Why not do something useful while you’re here?”