Solaris Rising 2 (20 page)

T
WO DAYS LATER
, the kid had a new laptop and the hallway had a new nurse, and the incident was officially closed. And two days after that, our favorite witness happened to shuffle past his neighbor’s room and found the door opened. The kid was working with his new computer. He usually played idiot games, but not today. He was writing, displaying the swift competent typing of a professional student.

“What’s the project?” the old man asked.

Allegato had fine features and black hair, and whatever his ailment, he was beginning to regain weight and strength. “I’m writing an article,” he said. “It’s going to make me money.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m a very good writer,” the kid said, eyes focused on the screen.

“That’s great,” the old man said, not caring one way or another. Then after a long silence, he asked, “So what’s your article about?”

“Something occurred to me the other day.” No mention was made of altercations or reassigned nurses. “You just think we’re living in different rooms. But then I realized that we aren’t.”

“Aren’t what?”

A mysterious smile broke out. “Apart,” Allegato said.

“We’re not?”

“Not ever.”

“So we’re joined somehow? Is that it?”

“Yeah, there this bond between us,” the kid said.

It seemed like a singularly silly notion, and the old man giggled, which didn’t offend anyone because nobody else seemed to be listening. And then he asked, “Do you really believe that?”

“Hell no. But that’s what I’m claiming.” And then Allegato finally glanced at his neighbor, and their last conversation ended with a simple request.

“Shut the door on your way out.”

The Bonds that Free

T
HE ARTICLE WAS
published but only barely—a short-lived web magazine offered Desmond a hundred dollars for the honor and then paid him nothing. But among its few readers was a jobless editor/minor author/amateur psychologist named Clarence Parcy. Where most people found nut-cake baked from obscure reasoning, Parcy saw one grand idea begging to be domesticated. An exaggerated resumé and promises of a book deal helped him meet the young author. Allegato proved to be a self-serious, aloof lad with no charm but an inflated and very useful ambition. Promises were made. A partnership was forged, and the next five years were spent building the future bestseller. Because the public wanted an expert, the author had to acquire an advanced degree. Desmond earned two quick literary doctorates from online universities. Because a serious professional needed a serious job, the young doctor formed the Chicago Institute of Interpersonal Bonding and Love – an incorporated endeavor that filled one corner of his bedroom. Because science lives on research, he and his mentor devised dozens of web surveys, dangling the possibility of cash in exchange for a moment of the world’s time. Mountains of data were given away for free. A small portion of those files were massaged to create charts and graphs, while the comments sections were dredged for tales of personal woe and adoration. And because the first goal of any genuine professional is to practice his craft, Dr. Allegato gave a series of lectures and little workshops, teaching select audiences about his extremely new theory about the nature of human beings and how vivid, living connections tie all of us together.

Those were the venues where Allegato mentioned his undefined surgery and the long, illuminating recovery. He brought notes but never referred to them, speaking from memory as the PowerPoint show churned past. Every participant signed an agreement not to record the important, confidential material. Only one authenticated video log survived until today. In it, the speaker looks older than his years, the wardrobe and gray dye in the black hair creating the portrait of the wise professor who had been through much and who might know what he was talking about. Despite a relentless smile, Allegato seemed remote, even chilly. Presumably that was why Parcy sat in the audience. A heavy-set man in his sixties, Parcy had a winner’s grin and an infectious manner that couldn’t be taught. No one ever remembers Allegato mentioning his associate. The two men in the video act as if they don’t know each other. Parcy is a nameless character sitting near the front of the rented hall, intrigued by every word and every chart, lifting his hand high whenever the group energy diminishes.

“Yes, sir,” Allegato says in the recording. Pointing off screen, he asks, “Do you have a question, sir?”

“No, just a comment.” The shaky phone-camera pans right. Parcy takes a moment to look back at the audience, making sure everyone feels involved. “I did some checking, sir,” he begins. “I can tell you’re smarter than me, and goodness knows, I don’t have half your education. And I’m sure this is all very obvious to you, this business of bonds forming around distinct personality types. But what do these bonds mean? And how can I use them in my life?”

“That’s more than a comment,” Allegato points out. “Those sound suspiciously like questions to me.”

Parcy breaks into a delightful laugh, dragging the audience into his pleasure. “I guess you’re right, sir.”

A smattering of laughter has to die away. Then with a tone both caring and a little wary, Allegato asks, “Do you have children, sir?”

“One son, yes.”

That happened to be true.

Allegato nods. “And are you close to him?”

“Very close, yes.”

“So that’s your son sitting beside you?”

His ‘son’ is a sleepy fellow in his seventies who looks up in surprise.

The lecture hall fills with hard laughter. Parcy is still giggling when he says, “No, no. Brad lives in Arizona, with his wife and twins.”

“But you said you were close to him,” Allegato says.

“Yes.” Parcy frowns and looks at his hands. “Oh, wait. I understand. I’m not talking about Brad. I’m talking about the bond between us.”

“Because that’s what is real to you.”

The audience shifts in the chairs, whispering.

“That’s not to say your boy is inconsequential.” Allegato needs a pointed finger to underscore the implications. “The human species acts like a very complicated molecule. And what is a molecule? It is a mixture of elements, some similar and some very different, all linked together by powerful, powerful bonds. For instance, hydrogen is an elemental gas that burns. Oxygen is an element that supports burning. Yet the molecule born from that fire is water. Hydrogen and oxygen are still present, but what we see is a delicious essential liquid composed of the bonds between these most common ingredients.”

The audience probably doesn’t understand the concept, such as it is. But the air fills with interested noises and whispered questions.

Parcy nods, seemingly ready to surrender the stage.

But Dr. Allegato won’t let him go. “Now tell me the truth, sir. I want to know about your son.”

“What about him?”

“How strong is this bond between you and Brad?”

The son hasn’t spoken to his father in a decade, lending the moment its poignant life. Parcy drops his gaze, saying, “Well. Honestly, we have had our troubles.”

An empathetic nod is followed by, “I see. I see.”

“There was a fight. A while back, and maybe it was my fault. And since then we haven’t been keeping up like we should.”

“Sir, I am sorry for your difficulties,” Allegato says. This is where his natural remoteness helps; the words are compassionate but his mouth gives them heft and a clinical tone. “However, if I might, sir, I would like to point out that there are no problems between you and your son. Sadness and shame are wasted when they aren’t applied to the correct part of the equation. Which is, as I have said –”

“The bond,” another voice cries from the back.

The lecture hall feels alert, involved. Everybody watches the young gray doctor nodding, seemingly gathering his thoughts. Then for nothing but the minimal cost of attending, he gives them an idea that in another two years will make him wealthy. “Every person is unique,” he says. “But each of us can be categorized according to his or her properties. There is a periodic table to the human species. I have mapped it. In nature, each element is fundamental. Each plays best with certain elements – like hydrogen joining with oxygen. Those bonds are stable and useful, and yes, the same can be said for people. But we waste so much of our lives worrying about what we cannot change. It’s the quality of our bonds that brings us happiness or despair. Some bonds are essential, others dangerous. The trick is to know how to manage these powerful, ultimately beautiful forces.”

Hands rise and voices call out. One woman wants help with a difficult husband. Another is grieving her dead, difficult mother. One loud man wonders how bonds can help him sell cars.

But Dr. Allegato is a professional, and professionals deal with one patient at a time. Focusing on Parcy, he says, “First of all, forget your son. You have no son. What you have is a bond that is sick and unstable, and what you need to do is restructure and reconfigure the other bonds in your life. Only then will you be able to offer your son a new, more stable bonding.”

“But how can I do all that?” the suffering father asks. “I’m not a strong person.”

“None of us are strong,” says Dr. Allegato. “But of course, that doesn’t matter. It is our bonds that hold the energy of the world.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know it, and I have tests I can give you,” Allegato says. “I’m also developing a series of exercises that can be tailored to different elemental personalities. At the end of a long weekend, I promise, you will have the bonds you need, and you’ll drink in the energies borrowed from a universe that will give and give.”

The Unknown Element

M
AYBE THE FATHER
and his estranged son would have reconnected in the future – an event full of significance and press releases, no doubt. But men of Parcy’s age and physical condition often die with their first major coronary. Striking on the eve of publication was a coincidence, or it was the inevitable outcome of long hours making pretty the author’s stilted prose. Some claim that Parcy was suffering regrets about the project. Why didn’t he just steal the idea from the original article and put himself before an eager public? But he lacked Allegato’s marketable looks. And besides, regrets would have required confidence about the book’s success.

Confidence seemed ludicrous. Initial orders were sluggish, and the tepid early reviews used the words: ‘Contrived,’ and ‘Complicated’, and ‘Unconvincing.’ Parcy told several friends that his last big gamble had failed. Then he died and his body was found by his cleaning lady, and the autopsy and belated inquest found no substantial reason for a criminal investigation.

The sudden loss of his partner didn’t seem to sadden Allegato, which cocked a few eyebrows. But the earliest believers generally found the man’s reserve to be a comfort. Allegato spoke at the funeral. “The bonds between us and the deceased still exist,” he reminded everyone, “and it is each of our responsibilities to keep the bonds alive and helpful. Which I should add is exactly how Clarence would have wanted it.”

Clarence would have preferred money. He was guaranteed thirty per cent of Allegato’s take, which seemed like nothing for the first few weeks. But the online campaigns outperformed expectations and a pair of talk-show appearances went very well. Then one actress’ speech turned viral – a five minute sermon about how she had tried a thousand self-help guides before this and none worked and
Bonds
was remarkable. She was already at the Third Tier and on a good day she could see the bonds surrounding her, brilliant and lovely, tying her to her boyfriend and children and of course her many supportive and lovely fans too.

Orders jumped from steady to torrential. In an age of e-readers and wide scale thievery, it was impossible to know how many consumers were remaking their lives in the Allegato Way. Ten million Americans was a common guess, with a hundred million practitioners worldwide after the first year. Then the movement struck China. The One-Child policy left people desperate to cherish their scarce, valuable bonds, and seeing the wise Chinese embrace the concept caused a second, much larger wave of interest across the Western world.

Fifteen months later the second edition of
Bonds
was released – a minor reworking that dropped Parcy’s name as a contributor, assuring the young social modeler of one hundred per cent of the profits. The International Institute of Interpersonal Bonding and Love did even better. Good weekends saw ten thousand clinics on six continents. Motivated teachers flinging out jargon and smiles were transforming lives. One neutral study claimed that the Allegato Way was more effective at enhancing happiness than any religion and most psychoactive drugs. Other studies were less certain, but they didn’t gain the media foothold. Add the machinery designed to measure bonds and enhance their power, and it was possible to believe that ninety households out of hundred were blessed with Dr. Allegato’s presence.

Yet as successes grew, the man became more of a mystery. Even employees who saw him on an irregular basis were perplexed by his manners. Desmond could be pleasant in conversation, but he usually ignored the room full of corporate officers, preferring the DS held close to his face. He made decisions when decisions were necessary, and when it seemed essential he could meet a national leader or open a new hospital, mustering a passable charm for several minutes straight. But the man’s only true friend seemed to be Desmond Allegato. His ideal day involved solitude inside one of his dozen mansions, playing games designed by a team that built games only for him. Beautiful women and a few men tried to entice that billionaire, but besides a few laughable/sad adventures, nothing came of their bold advances. The man had a pathological indifference to the rest of us, and that only made him seem more brilliant and intriguing and perhaps tragic.

For twenty years his books and courses and hardware continued to sell, and there was more praise than complaints about the results, and there was no reason to suspect that would ever change.