Pandemonium (4 page)

“Many have questioned whether or not hendropods—or ‘sels,’ as they prefer to call themselves—should truly be considered ‘people.’ Lawsuits and petitions are wending their way to the U.S. Supreme Court and the United Nations as we speak.” She glanced in Geoffrey’s direction.

Geoffrey nodded back at her and grinned, eager to give her the news after the lecture.

“The ecosystem on Henders Island began its separate evolutionary trajectory over half a billion years ago on a much larger landmass,” Nell explained. “It was completely isolated from the rest of life on Earth. The same adaptive force
that
accelerated and distinguished
Homo sapiens
in only five million years from all other mammals also acted on
sels
to shape a species that is just as human in its own way—spiritually, physically, intellectually—millions of years before us.” She clicked on an image of Geoffrey and Hender hunched over a chessboard like mismatched bookends.

“Yes, they play chess,” Nell nodded. “And they mostly win. Those who are incredulous that a species from Henders Island could be sentient or civilized, I would point out that some of the most inhospitable environments, the Congo and the Amazon jungles, have given rise to some of the most peaceful cultures of
Homo sapiens
.

“Species that innovate take control of their evolutionary destiny and steer it in a unique and special way toward their own purposes. I propose tonight for your consideration that
this
is what distinguishes humanity and is the true definition that separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom. And we share this with only one other earthly species: our hendropod cousins.”

Nell flourished a hand over the audience. “And so, without further adieu, you may attack my proposition without mercy.” She bowed, inviting the post-lecture scrum that traditionally followed Fire-Breathing Chats.

Applause rose and hands ascended in front.

Nell pointed to a questioner stretching her arm in the third row. “Yes?”

“Don’t you regret that it was your own human curiosity that caused the destruction of an entire ecosystem on Henders Island, Dr. Binswanger?” the frowning woman accused more than asked.

A nervous gasp audibly spread over the audience.

Nell tilted her head toward the lectern. It was odd hearing her new last name. She realized that she and Geoffrey would both be taking this heat from now on, and she caught Geoffrey’s eyes looking back at her ruefully. “That’s an excellent question, and one I think about every day. Henders Island was sterilized with a nuclear weapon, as you all know. All I can say is that I do not regret it. I’m glad there is not even the slightest possibility that any species, other than the sels, of course, can ever reach the rest of our planet from Henders Island. Any species from that ecosystem would have eradicated all life as we know it. I hear that half of Henders Island has already crumbled into the sea, as nature itself seems to be bringing that evolutionary detour to a dead end. If we had not intervened, it would have been destroyed in short order, and nothing from Henders Island would have survived. If Hender, one of the five surviving sels inhabiting the island, had not figured out how to activate an emergency beacon on a beached sailboat, and if we had not been there to answer, they would have been lost, too, along with everything else. And we would have all lost what they can teach us about ourselves.” She called on a man in the third row.

“Dr. Binswanger, considering the fact that the hendropods are intelligent beings like us, don’t you acknowledge the fact that they might be the most dangerous creatures from Henders Island?”

“Well. That was certainly the belief of Thatcher Redmond, one of my colleagues who was lost at sea while we were rescuing the hendropods. As sentient beings, hendropods are as capable of good and evil as we are, I suppose. It depends on whether one is a pessimist or an optimist about the power of autonomy. But I would say they are no more or less dangerous than we are.”

“My very point!” the man answered.

The audience punctuated his point.

“It’s a risk we take every day with our own species. It’s a risk I believe is worth taking.” Nell called on an elderly woman in the tenth row.

“Is this how you are spending your honeymoon?” she said, to spluttering laughter.

“We are flying to one of the Hawaiian Islands tomorrow for two glorious weeks of seclusion. We’ve always wanted to check out wolf spiders in lava tubes.” Nell nodded. “Really!” She called on another.

“Is it true that sels see much better than humans can? And do they close their eyes?”

“Yes, they see millions of colors we cannot see, much like modern-day stomatopods, or mantis shrimp, which might be distant relatives and may even have originated on Henders Island, or at least the continent that Henders Island used to be. And yes! Their eyes are dry and they shed periodically like crab shells, but they can close them and also extend them on three-inch stalks. It’s a bit disconcerting, like a Tex Avery cartoon, but it seems perfectly natural after being with them for a while. Yes, you in the blue shirt?”

“Do the hendros have any body odor, and if so, can you describe it?”

Nell smiled as laughter twittered. “They smell sweet, like pennies. Perhaps that’s because they have copper-based blood. Yes?”

“Do the hendros have Internet access, and if so, what do they think of porn?”

“Uh, no, they don’t have access yet. Our own bashfulness may be why, but I’m not sure. We’re working on it, though. They really want it. And I’m not sure what they’ll think of porn, now that you mention it.… Yes?”

To Geoffrey’s frustration, virtually none of the questions were about Nell’s topic. The audience wanted to hear about the sels: What did they eat or drink, had they tried alcohol, did they have any favorite video games or favorite movie stars or television shows? Geoffrey sighed and realized that this was the way it would be—probably for the rest of their lives.

9:24 P.M.

Geoffrey hugged her behind the curtain. “You knocked ’em out, sweetheart.” He handed her a dry airport rose. “Congratulations!”

She smelled the pink bloom. “That was
so
much fun. Thanks for arranging it, sweetheart.”

“Don’t mention it. You were brilliant.”

“What’s the news?”

“Well, we got them high-speed Internet.” He smiled tentatively.

“Thank God! And?”

“And … Hender has been invited to London for a party in his honor.”

“Fantastic…”

“It’s a step.”

“So … that’s it?”

“Sort of.”

“So it’s … a trial, then?”

“More like a debut, I think.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here! I made some arrangements.” He whispered in her ear. “We can give the Secret Service the slip and tell them where we are later. Or just take a cab to the airport in the morning.” Geoffrey shouldered his bag and grabbed Nell’s suitcase, which had been stowed backstage.

“OK! Sounds like fun.”

Geoffrey whispered to a stagehand, “Keep it on the down-low.” The man winked back as they slipped out the emergency exit and ran down the alley behind Lillie Auditorium.

They sneaked down the tiny streets of Woods Hole to Brick Dorm, the old dormitory of the Marine Biological Laboratory. Inside, they found the room Geoffrey’s friend had reserved for them. Geoffrey was disappointed to find that the room’s window faced a Dumpster in an alley instead of Eel Pond, where they could have watched the sailboats. At least no one knew they were here, he thought.

Nell sat on the bed and reflexively called Andy to check in, and Geoffrey stammered belatedly in protest. She looked at him apologetically as she answered. “I know they miss us, Andy. Could you just tell them that we miss them—? Oh, hi, Hender!”

Geoffrey sighed and stretched back on the bed next to her, placing his hands on his forehead. All five sels demanded to speak to her in succession. By the time she finished, the sleep-depleted Geoffrey snored loudly.

She decided not to wake him up and curled up beside him, still coming down from the high of delivering her first Fire-Breathing Chat at the legendary Lillie Auditorium.

MARCH 15

9:01 A.M. EASTERN STANDARD TIME

Geoffrey and Nell woke to a loud noise that sounded like the screech of a spiger, the most terrifying predator of Henders Island, and she jolted upright, peering out the window. She recoiled at the image of a garbage truck raising its spiked arms as it hoisted a bin. Adrenaline jolted her body as her groggy mind reacted, and she instinctively grabbed Geoffrey’s arm, breathing hard.

He jerked awake and noticed that both of them were still dressed on top of the bedspread. “Oh, no,” he said. “You let me sleep?” He noticed the terrified expression on her face. “What’s the matter? Did you have a dream again?”

“The garbage truck,” she sighed, mad at herself. “I thought it was a spiger!”

“Sorry.”

“Damn,” Nell said, trying to shake it off.

“It’s only natural. We’ll probably have nightmares for the rest of our lives. But we’re safe now. I wish you hadn’t let me go to sleep. I wanted to attack you, too.” As he reached out to tickle her, the phone rang. Geoffrey answered and listened for a moment. “OK,” he said, and hung up, dropping his head. “There’s a limo out front. They found us.”

“Surprise, surprise. I need a shower. I can’t wear this hula skirt on the plane for nine hours.”

“But we’re going to Kauai.”

“Ha.”

“I’ll go down and stall them.”

He kissed her and dragged their luggage downstairs.

9:07 A.M.

In front of the dorm sat a huge black limousine. The Secret Service must have tracked her cell phone signal and, in the most annoyingly polite way, were waiting in front of the dormitory to escort them to the airport for their honeymoon. Geoffrey plucked a pink beach rose from the hedge bordering the sidewalk outside Brick Dorm. Then he peered into the open back door of the limousine.

Inside the cavernous cabin, which was far more opulent than their usual ride, he saw a large man reclining with his back to the driver and stretching telephone pole legs toward him, crossed at the ankle on the spotless black carpet. He wore expensive loafers on his feet. Geoffrey smelled strong cologne. Long black hair was combed back from the man’s sharp widow’s peak, and his massive, jutting face was overhung by bushy eyebrows, his jaw framed by a beard with snow-white brackets on his chin. He wore a stylish charcoal suit with a white dress shirt opened at the collar. Leaning forward toward Geoffrey, he grinned, flashing a gold tooth, his ice blue eyes strangely magnetic. “Come, come!” he boomed with a prodigious voice. He waved Geoffrey in with one hand and extended a drink with the other:
“A mimosa for groom!”

Geoffrey accepted the fizzing mimosa and noticed a gold ring set with what looked like a 20-carat diamond on the man’s pinkie finger. “Is this the right car?”

“Yes, Dr. Binswanger, this is
right car
!” laughed the man. His voice was not only deep but also
explosive—
like a Gatling gun inside the broad barrel of his chest. “Come, come! Let me introduce myself. I am
Maxim Dragolovich
!” He reached out hands as big as goliath tarantulas to grasp Geoffrey’s hand. “You cut your hair, yes?”

Geoffrey winced as the man nearly crushed his hand and pulled him inside the car. He sat on the nearest seat and smiled. “Did you say Maxim Dragolovich?”

“Yes. You heard right.” With his jutting jaw and nose like the broken ram of a trireme, and his six-foot-five-inch frame, the man was imposing in a way that handsome men cannot be. Geoffrey had certainly heard of the legendary Russian oligarch. His celebrity-adorned rooftop soirees in his Upper East Side mansion on Fifth Avenue were frequent grist for the “Page Six” gossip mill. The billionaire’s latest investments were headlined in
The Wall Street Journal
. His hobbies were sports teams. His homes were feature spreads in
Time
magazine. For a man with such an outsized profile, Geoffrey thought, he certainly lived up to the hype.

“Congratulations on your wedding! Here is
to bride
!” With a sweep of his long arm, Maxim toasted Geoffrey so lustily, the biologist felt obliged to lift his glass. As he sipped the drink, he felt a kick of vodka in the “mimosa.”

“Don’t worry, Doctor. I have come with
wonderful proposition
for you!” The billionaire peaked his eyebrows apologetically, softening the natural threat of his countenance.

“Oh, yes? What would that be?” Geoffrey asked.

“Being capitalist, I promise to make your cooperation quite agreeable. I require expertise only you and your bride can provide. I am prepared to pay two million dollars for not more than few months of your time. Maybe only few weeks, perhaps.” He shrugged. “With condition that you leave today. Right now, in fact.”

Geoffrey laughed. “My wife and I are going on our honeymoon today. And due to other extremely pressing obligations, I’m afraid we couldn’t possibly commit to that kind of time. I’m very sorry. It’s really out of the question.”

“But it sounds very interesting,” Nell said. She climbed into the limousine wearing faded jeans and a fresh T-shirt. She pecked Geoffrey on the cheek, took the pink rose that was still in his hand, and sat next to him, facing Maxim Dragolovich.

Maxim laughed. His entire body quaked.
“Mimosa?”
He poured a glass and handed it to her, clinking their glasses in another toast. “I will pay you same amount as your husband. Two million dollars.”

“Wow!” Nell tasted the surprisingly powerful drink. “What would we have to do for all that money?”

“I would rather not say before you agree, for reasons you will understand later. That is part of reason for high price. For now, let me say that only scientists with your expertise may be able to identify some species. Species that you will be able to take full credit for discovering. You can name some of them after yourselves. I don’t care! So long as you name one of them after me.” As he spoke, he removed a bottle of vodka from the refrigerator in the limo and spiked his own drink, downing it like fuel or medicine.