The Traveler's Companion (16 page)

“What do you have to report?” Gibbons asked.

“I got drunk and threw up,” he said, still stunned by the image before him.

“You in control of this situation or what?” Gibbons asked, dismissing him with a wave of the hand. He began to pace.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Iverson said, descending into the living room. He sat on the couch. “How is Mister Go?”

Angela scoffed and said, “He’s insisting that I be creative. I mean really!”

“It’s causing some tension between them,” Gibbons said. “I don’t know what to do. She told him she isn’t creative, and he seemed to be okay with that at first, but now he’s starting to pressure her.”

It was difficult to take this Gibbons seriously. He looked like a kid.

“As a narcissist, Go needs to teach and I can’t be his doting disciple if I can’t create. I can’t work in these conditions,” Angela said, having a diva moment.

“Mark, you’re going to have to be creative for her,” Iverson said.

Gibbons stopped pacing, spun on his heels, and asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when Mister Go asks her to create something, you do it for her.”

“That could work,” Gibbons said, thinking it over. “Never thought of that. I could make myself a fly on the wall. Follow them around.”

“Angela, go back to Mister Go and tell him you need further instruction. Allow him to teach you, and when the director manifests something for you, seem grateful to Mister Go,” Iverson said.

“May I speak freely?” Angela asked.

“Briefly,” Iverson said.

“Mister Go isn’t showing any activity in his caudate body.”

“What does that mean?” Gibbons asked.

Iverson regretted giving her permission to speak freely. “It means he’s not falling in love with her.” He tensed up in anticipation of Gibbons’s reaction.

“Isn’t it a little soon for that?” Gibbons asked.

“With Level Four, there should be some activity by now,” Iverson said.

“He told me he doesn’t want to rush things. He wants to take it slow. He’s been in other relationships that moved too fast and they didn’t work out,” Angela said.

“Shit!” Gibbons said. “That’s a sure sign he isn’t interested! Bastard!”

“It doesn’t mean he isn’t interested. He may be trying a more old-fashioned approach,” Iverson said. “He may be wiser than we were giving him credit for.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Iverson. Otherwise we’re going to have to go in another direction,” Gibbons said.

“What direction would that be?” Iverson asked.

“We’ll have to take him out,” Gibbons said, puffing up.

“What good will that do? The book goes on the shelves with or without him. Millions of people will have those remotes. They’ll have access to the Zone. If you take him out, we’ll never find the location of the laboratory,” Iverson said.

“Someone has to pay,” Gibbons said.

“Sooner or later Angela will find out where the lab is,” Iverson told him.

“You think he’s just going to tell her where it is?” Gibbons asked.

A loud bang came from the bedroom.

“What the hell was that?” Gibbons asked.

“There’s someone in the bedroom,” Angela said. “A female.”

“You got a girl here, Iverson? No wonder you’re acting so nervous. Let’s see who it is. Bring her out here.”

“It’s a manifestation of Beth,” Iverson said, hiding his embarrassment.

“I finally get to meet the legend. Bring her out here. Why’d you hide her in the first place? I was the one pushing you to create her,” Gibbons said.

Iverson went to the bedroom door and called for her. She came into the hallway, took his hand, and wouldn’t let go the entire way back to the living room.

“This is the Director of National Intelligence, Mark Gibbons. This is Angela Iverson. For the purposes of this mission, she needs to be regarded as our daughter. I wasn’t sure how I was going to deal with this, since she only has my DNA, but I suppose no one else has to know that,” Iverson said.

Beth went to Angela and hugged her. “I’d be happy to call you my daughter. You’re so beautiful, I wish you were mine.”

Angela returned the embrace, but to Iverson it looked as though she were hugging a stranger. If Beth had died shortly after giving birth to her, they would have been strangers. He had cloned Angela three years after Beth died.

Beth shook the director’s hand and then went back to stand next to Iverson. When she went to hold his hand, he dodged her.

Iverson went over to Angela and asked. “Would you mind running a DNA analysis of her?”

“Already done, sir,” Angela said.

“Any anomalies?”

“She is a human female of unknown origin. I would need your deceased wife’s DNA to make a comparative analysis.”

“She’s human?” Iverson asked.

“Biologically and genetically, yes, she’s human,” Angela said.

“Listen, Iverson,” Gibbons said. “I’m happy you’re playing house here, but we still have a mission to complete. How are we going to get the location of Go’s lab?”

“Angela is making progress on that front,” he lied. “There will be a point when pair-bonding becomes nearly unavoidable and any secrets between he and Angela will feel like daggers in his back. He’ll say uncle eventually.”

“Good. Let’s get to it. Come on, Angela,” Gibbons said, grabbing Angela by the arm. He pointed a finger at Iverson and said, “You better be right!”

They were gone.

“Nice meeting you,” Beth said to no one.

* * * * *

Iverson was sitting in a chair on the deck, watching Beth. She was leaning against the railing, gazing out at the city. The wind was blowing her hair into her face and she had to continually draw it away with a finger. It didn’t seem to bother her.

She turned from the view and said, “Have you thought of shaving that thing off your face?”

He stroked his beard and replied, “This? It just sort of happened. I stopped shaving one day and before I knew it, I had a beard.”

She went into the bedroom, and when she returned she was holding a pair of scissors.

“Where’d you get those?” he asked.

“In the bathroom. I saw them earlier when I was looking for towels after my bath,” she said.

“You took a bath? Not a shower, a bath?”

“Yes. A bath. Is that so hard to fathom?”

“I guess not.”

“Sit up,” she said. She pulled up a footrest and sat on it.

Iverson could hear the scissors shearing at the coarse hair. Soon he could feel the metal against his skin.

“Much better,” she said. “I can actually see your face. But you’ll have to do the rest.”

Iverson stood, brushing the hair off his clothes. When he got to the bathroom, it was a shock seeing his nearly cleanly shaven image in the mirror. He was no longer the young man he had once been. He looked tired.

He manifested a straight razor and finished the job.

When he returned to the deck, C.C. Go was there. He and Beth were standing at the railing, chatting. They were close to the same age, and someone who didn’t know them could have mistaken them for a couple. He felt a pang of jealousy, but quickly suppressed it. He faked a smile and said, “Mister Go, so good to see you.”

Go quickly explained, “I knocked at the front door this time. Your wife let me in.”

“It’s fine,” Iverson said.

Beth stepped over to Iverson and stroked his smooth cheek.

“I like the clean-shaven look,” Go said.

Beth smiled and said, “So do I.”

“To what do we owe the honor, Mister Go?” Iverson asked.

“I came to personally deliver an invitation for the two of you,” Go said.

“An invitation?” Iverson asked.

“You inspired me, Doctor. I’m manifesting the Montmartre district again, complete with nineteenth-century cabaret. Should be a lot of fun, and you are invited.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Beth said.

“How about it, Doctor Iverson?” Go asked.

“Sure. Why not?” Iverson feigned excitement.

Beth kissed Ryan on the cheek.

“But first, Mister Go, since I have you here, I’d like to have a word with you alone,” Iverson said.

“Sure thing,” Go said

“Do you mind, Beth?” Iverson asked.

“Not at all,” Beth said.

Go extended a hand to shake. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise, Mister Go,” Beth said.

“Please, call me C.C.”

Beth left the deck, shutting the French doors behind her.

“She’s awesome, Doctor,” Go said.

“Yes, I wanted to talk to you about her.”

“I think I know what it is.”

“You do?”

“Yes. You want to know how I’ve been able to make the manifestations last as long as I have. You want to know how to make your wife last longer. Angela probably told you that I made that hotel in Bali last quite a while,” Go said.

“How’d you do it?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I have a theory. True creativity is found in the moment. Artists talk about it all the time, to the point of cliché really, but it’s completely true. I’ve come to understand what they mean through the practice of meditation. There’s a space between thought where you rise above the material world and achieve a higher state of consciousness. Creating art is about receiving rather than conjuring, and when our minds are open we can tap into genius. It’s fleeting. We couldn’t be human and expect to stay in this place for long. Sooner or later the chaos of life distracts us from it,” Go said.

“The moment. . . . I’ve heard that before. You think this is how you get the manifestations to last? Getting in the moment?”

“Time is different here, but when I started, I couldn’t get manifestations to last more than a few minutes. If one lasted an hour, it was a topic of conversation with the team. Now, I can get them to last several hours.”

Iverson turned the ring on his finger, realizing it had lasted two days now. Had to be a fluke.

Go said, “There’s no doubt in my mind that a sincerely deep state of meditation allows us to tap into greater resources in ourselves and in the universe. Since I’ve returned to meditation, I’ve been able to manifest more vivid and longer lasting manifestations.”

“Interesting, Mister Go. However, it’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

Surprised, Go said, “Then please, Doctor. Tell me what you wanted to say.”

“My wife. Twice she’s shown up unexpectedly, each time as a different incarnation. One is the entirely pleasant and wonderful Beth I knew, while the other was an unconscious woman just out of brain surgery.”

“That is strange.”

“You don’t see this as potentially dangerous?”

“There are dangers, of course. Creativity is a mysterious force; certainly not binary. There could be unconscious influences causing you to create two Beths. Something in your mind sees her as two people. One sick, one healthy. Who can say for sure? I have a painter friend who slips into a nearly unconscious state when she paints. She says the brush guides her. I’ve heard of other artists having similar experiences. Writers talk of characters writing their own dialogue. Michelangelo spoke of finding the sculpture inside the slab of marble.”

“Has anything like this happened to you here?” Iverson asked.

“My first time in the Zone, I saw my father. He emerged from the blackness in a gray tweed suit. He stared at me for a moment, then turned and walked back into the darkness. Scared the shit out of me. But since then, nothing too surprising has come up. Though details often exceed expectations, I haven’t manifested anything I didn’t intend on manifesting,” Go said.

“But don’t these strange happenings make you wonder whether releasing this to the public might be a bad idea, at least for now? Maybe we should be able to answer some of these questions first.”

“Who will answer them? You?” Go asked.

“Of course not. A group of scientists would be chosen based on their merit.”

“No offense, but you’d need someone better than a scientist. I’ve gathered together the smartest minds in the world and they’re all at a loss.”

“Then maybe the Zone isn’t meant for public consumption,” Iverson said.

“The Zone is what you want it to be. Is it safe? Probably not for everyone. The individual will have to decide for himself. Unfortunately the Zone has a way of reflecting certain belief systems. Before entering the Zone, you have to decide whether you live in a friendly universe or a hostile one. I’ve clearly outlined this and other dangers in my book. But try to look at it this way. Imagine a team of the greatest thinkers in history all gathered together to determine whether or not reality is safe for human consumption. What conclusion do you think they would draw?”

Iverson didn’t respond, but he knew the answer to his hypothetical question. Their conclusion would be that life was much too dangerous.