EMERGENCE (11 page)

And
six
times—conclusive. Utterly so.

Nobody home. Again. All signs point to orderly move-out.
Again.
No clues suggesting possible destination, whereabouts.
Again!

Performed most thorough going-through of homes, offices, labs of all five M.I.T.-Harvard-area AAs. Turned up nothing. Simply vanished. Carefully, efficiently, without loose ends.

AGAIN!

Kinnart's house first stop; then office. Scene at house duplicated Peter Bell's; office equally barren: Everything personal, if even faintly portable, gone. Results at Smith's, Ling's, Parker's, Hollister's similar, equally dismaying. No affirmative data; all evidence negative, inferential, based on what not found.

Returned to Kinnart's house for night. Lovely place: Even stripped of personal touches, still homey; retains comfortably feminine ambience.

Great relief after weeks of living in van, sleeping on bunk, cooking with charcoal, Sterno. Electric power out, but gas, water still work. Easy enough to run extension cord in for evening's lighting.

Decision to spend night under civilized roof met twin's approval. Loves travel, but
bon vivant
at heart; wallows in luxury at every opportunity (believes anything worth doing worth overdoing). And apparently concluded time ripe for good wallow: Hurled self into project with glee (mere fraction of which, publicly displayed in times past, sure to result in involuntary hospitalization). Participation included: assisting carrying tee stand in from van (me carrying; manic sibling gripping crossbar with toes, wings flapping at max); unpacking food (container-opening one of brother's pettest passions—problem arises confining enthusiasm to appropriate time, place, object); setting table (loves this part: Waddles joyously about tabletop, seizing plates, utensils—anything not nailed down—laboriously carries/drags to edge; surreptitiously peeks around to see if observed yet; then heaves over side, watching fall, bobbing head, chortling under breath as impact occurs—then back for more).

In especially rare mood today; having wonderful time: talking, warbling like trained chainsaw, assisting until seemed must be three of him. Finally became necessary—to retain own sanity—to banish him to stand, order him, "Stay!"

Feelings unruffled by rebuff, of course. Within moments had discovered refrigerator handle within reach. While doing sideways chin-ups, indicated continuing willingness—nay, eagerness—to help clear table. Before meal was over.

Had turned on gas first thing on arrival, lit water heater. Have put clean sheets on firmest bed in house. Looking forward to indescribable pleasure of hot shower, followed by best night's sleep in weeks.

Looking forward
intensely
—helps keep mind- off AAs' disappearance. Impossible six people could vanish so utterly, without
any
clue.

Well, perhaps morning will bring inspiration: Maybe subconscious noticed something so-called "conscious" missed while worrying.

Good night.

Eureka! (Sort of.) 

Upon waking this morning, realized search not thorough as should have been. Oh, thorough enough regarding not missing single drawer, looking under beds, examining every inch—but was looking
for
things; paying no attention to what might be missing. Stated in yesterday's entry, ". . . all evidence negative, inferential, based on what not found." But made no effort to determine
what
not found; haven't inferred worth darn.

So following breakfast (found old-fashioned campfire waffle iron in basement; works equally well on kitchen gas range—results
wonderful
with maple syrup after so long); adjourned back to Kinnart's office; conducted repeat search, this time with eyes, perception,
mind
open. And learned:

Remaining lab contents limited to stock equipment, scientific goodies available anywhere. Nothing visible appropriate to work of most brilliant researcher in five (un?)related fields. Vacant table space suggests missing equipment, but not much. And no clues as to what.

However, one artifact obvious by absence—her First Microscope. (Every student scientist and/or doctor receives as gift or purchases in school a First Microscope. Sometimes powerful, sophisticated instrument; sometimes Woolworth's Student Special—but always treasured for life; always prominent in office, whether used or not.) Absence significant.

But not as glaring as lack of any scrap of work notes, memoranda, programs, floppy disks, photographs, printouts, results—in short: irreplaceable stuff, without which any research reverts back to square one.

Went back then; reinspected homes, offices of other four Boston-area AAs; confirmed similar conditions. Physical gear remaining wondrously varied but limited to catalog stock; nothing custom-made, no records. And
no
First Microscopes!

So much for available facts; now for inferences: Left, probably as group; went somewhere already physically equipped to continue studies, taking more specialized, irreplaceable tools, notes, records,. etc.

(Granted, premise requires quantum leap past logic; but given reasonable parallel between their thinking and mine—assuming also work in progress [and opportunity]—only tenable conclusion.)

Besides, was
necessary:
Had, while ruminating, forgotten Armageddon side effects. No possibility hominems, with olfactory sensitivities far transcending
H. sapiens',
could have remained in population-dense Boston area during months immediately following species' end. Or any large, heavily peopled area. Own experience in tiny Wisconsin hometown proof enough: Had not spent first three months sealed in shelter, breathing own recycled air, would have been driven away.

So—again—what now? Conclusions interesting, probably valid—almost certainly valid. Also, in practical terms, next to useless. Even were conclusions confirmed—all Tarzan File AA addresses in fact obsolete—so what? Who cares? Equally pointless is speculation over why gone. Ringing question is
where!

Without
some
hint—positive data, not accumulation of negatives—search deteriorates to pure exploration. Futile on face of it; continent simply too big for random poking about. Too much area; too few targets—and even methodical search won't improve odds. Not really. AAs might well move into section just covered, remain undiscovered forever.

Besides, what (beyond wishful myopia) limits scope of search to North America? Whole planet now available (excepting only several extremely radioactive areas in Asia, where [according to Daddy's secret papers] U.S.'s displeasure over attack most intensely expressed). Surprising if AAs failed to capitalize on all available resources, natural or man-made, wherever extant, to found, secure, develop community from which to gather, store, preserve, ultimately extend knowledge base accumulated during
H. sapiens'
sway on Earth.

Hmm. . . . Uninformed observer might suspect pattern developing here: Seems every time central question ("What now?") crops up, somehow vanishes again beneath welter of irrelevant detail, philosophy, speculation.

Goodness. . . . Candy Smith-Foster subconsciously refusing to face facts? Perhaps because answers unpalatable?)

Nonsense! Nothing subconscious about it. Plain as day: scared to death. And with best of reasons: answers
stink!

Consider remaining options: One, can assume—not unreasonably after six consecutive strikeouts—Tarzan File truly dead end; set off blindly into wilderness, playing entirely by ear; distributing leaflets widely, collecting ABs catch-ascan, if at all.

Or, two, ignore six-ply coincidence; play out hand as dealt by Tarzan File, follow through to conclusion; not so much expecting dramatic results as sticking to scientific method, ensuring resultant fine-tooth examination of homes, offices overlooks not least clue suggesting whereabouts.

Then
set off blindly into wilderness.

Or silly-season stuff, among which least harebrained notions include: Acquiring necessary knowledge (not impossible, considering formidable reading speed, comprehension/retention level); constructing, activating powerful omniband radio station; broadcasting endless worldwide appeal for company.

Or how about skywriting? Attention-getting, certainly; and effective each time over huge chunks of geography. Given
H. post hominem
mind, reflexes (far quicker, better integrated than predecessors'), how difficult can be to learn aircraft operation basics? Memorize book, absorb theory; then apply practical. (Shucks, Wrights only human, managed
without
theory)

Probably neither truly silly-season ideas. Farfetched, yes. But not totally beyond pale, given sufficient impetus (i.e., desperation—cornered rat apt to try anything).

No, not really silly—silly is debating whether might be possible very quickly to breed special strain of mosquito (limited to drinking hominem blood); securing very small notes to very tiny collars, sending out to spread word.

Now,
that's
silly. . . .

And demonstrates lengths will go to avoid facing "What now" question. Not that have any real choice: Big world; only information even potentially helpful is Tarzan File, whether current or not. Must be verified, unto bitter end if necessary. As well might be.

So. Six down, 93 to go. Next stop: Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University; Barbara, James, Frederick Harper. No, not related—family: Idyllic
ménage à trois
of several years' standing. Harpers, according to file, enjoyed benefits, protections of marriage laws, without violating them but without common-law togetherness risks, by simply
co
habitating; defining responsibilities toward one another, to heirs, regarding assets, etc., by forming corporation, incorporating into bylaws useful provisions from marital, probate law. Reported very happy. Perhaps all three being doctors, dovetailed specialties, helps.

Discovery piqued curiosity. Checked further through File. And learned plural living arrangements not uncommon amongst AAs: Fully one-third involved in family units of more than two. Largest such encompasses five.

Intriguing. But not sure my cup of tea. Earliest memories pervaded with gently intense love emanating from, between, all around Daddy, Momma Foster. Couldn't have spent formative years basking in glow always surrounding, enveloping them, anyone near them, without being imprinted to some extent with bias toward general wonderfulness of twosome life—joy of being single most important thing in life of Someone Wonderful.

Certainly hope Harpers home. Apart from obvious, interested in observing daily workings of family life; see whether they glow together. (If so, at what intensity in which combinations.)

Off tomorrow to Baltimore—or perhaps "toward" more realistic preposition: Though only 427 miles, according to map,
know
about map distances now (been through that before, haven't we). So don't expect to make it in single day. Or even two, three.

For one thing, must retrace path around much of Connecticut, Hudson rivers—doubles distance right there. Additionally, frequent stops to post leaflets in promising locations takes time. Finally, map shows two additional major rivers between here, there (Delaware, Susquehanna); both so convenient to large populations, almost certain downstream bridges useless.

Can't take less than week. Maybe two.

If possible at all—
for very different reason: While hasn't been hint of residual radiation heretofore, Baltimore very close to Washington. Capital one of few targets across land scheduled for broken windows: According to Daddy's secret papers, favored with many direct hits. Quite conceivable D.C. area still hot. Equally probable, Baltimore unsafe as well.

Been testing ambient background radiation periodically with geiger counter from shelter (recent design: lightweight, quite sophisticated [nine-tenths of capabilities completely over head]). Will step up checking frequency as approach Baltimore area.

Bedtime again—after another deliciously hot shower. Then to that firm, cool bed.

Tomorrow beckons. . . .

Yes, Posterity, derelict again—sorry. Trying to do better, really. Sometimes difficult to muster energy. But trust me: Missed nothing through failure to enter daily progress from Boston on regular basis. Omissions, if any, not substantive in nature—
events
not substantive; absence from history books not world-shaking.

Because mostly dull. Indescribably so. Hundreds of miles. Some on roads, some not. Thoroughfare varied from expressways to pasturelands; passability from utterly not to unobstructed. Myriad get-out-and-copes. Engaged four-wheel-drive lots. Cleared path with winch frequently. Doubled back often.

First break in routine came while working southward through rural portion of Pennsylvania, apparently egg-farming region. Accidentally rediscovered old source of fresh meat: Hit chicken. Happily, not going very fast; killed cleanly with bumper instead of mashing flat with tire. Stopped, cleaned immediately; roasted over charcoal for early dinner.

Delicious—thought so myself—but Terry transported beyond ecstasy: Waded in with gusto; split, pulverized bones; cleaned out every scrap of marrow, gristle. Long time since last chicken dinner; poor baby probably in throes of withdrawal.

Experience profitable long-term as well as short. That night switch clicked in brain, disturbing sleep. Old switch. Primitive circuit.

Found self suddenly awake, staring into darkness. Pictured clearly in mind's eye was tee shirt seen on tourist several years back: cartoon of hungry vulture glaring down from tree branch, muttering, "Patience,
hell—
I'm going to go
kill
something . . . !"

H. sapiens
not scavenger. Was, in fact, puny physique notwithstanding, deadliest predator on planet. Any reason for successor to be less forthright about satisfying appetite? Moral issue, perhaps? Should
H. post hominem
be vegetarian, as philosophical principle?

No . . . !
Nothing philosophical about vitamin deficiency, creeping malnutrition. Granted, probably entirely possible for hard-working, full-time agrarian to raise sufficiently diverse crop to constitute balanced meatless diet. But for explorer, nomad, simply not practical.