Chapter 32

Side Trip

"I didn't come directly here. I took a side trip. To another place. Galaxy, star, planet - I don't know."

Logan is on his fourth drink. I don't see how he's still conscious, although the only visible effect is that he gets mellower. The rest of us stopped at two.

"When I woke up, I was in - well - it was like a clean room, white all over, except there were no walls, and the whiteness sort of pervaded everything and went off and out to infinity so that all you could see was white, like in a snow storm - analogous to being in L.A. when the smog goes out to infinity and you can't see mountains two miles away. How is L.A. nowadays? Is it still like that?

"I was sitting in a fur-lined arm chair rocker. One of my favorite things, I realized, even though I'd never been in one before. It was quite a touch. I don't believe in life after death - except in special circumstances, of course - but I was really beginning to expect a kindly, white bearded old man to show up, voice reverberation and the whole shot. Instead, I hear footsteps coming up from the left - ordinary footsteps - and into view comes this very fancy dressed butler. Tuxedo and white gloves. And he asks, 'Pardon, Sir', in a very properly butler-ish voice - 'Pardon, Sir; would you have a drink?'

"'Why, yes, Alphonse,' I reply. 'The usual gin martini, and might you have the year and date?'

"And after a minute he brings the martini, just the way I like it without any further instruction, very cold, very dry, with two olives and about a half thimble of olive juice mixed in. He knew what I wanted. By God, I love olives. I think that's the only reason I drink that vile stuff. Tastes like Hemlock. Then he goes away and leaves me with my drink and my thoughts.

"Don't have to wait long. In a few minutes this white obscuration begins to fade out, and something else fades in. I'm in a room. No windows. It's like a men's club sitting room, with rich wallpaper and paintings on the walls; beautiful inlaid wood floor; red velvet sitting chairs all around, each on its own island of thick carpeting, with its own side table and lamp; this magnificent large, round mahogany coffee table in the center of the room; and my chair, of course, of white fur, set a little more elegantly apart, just the tiniest bit like a throne.

"One of the paintings on the wall is a tastefully done reclining nude, and I swear it was Micki, bright green eyes, luxuriant red hair, not short like she used to wear it, draped provocatively over one of her breasts, although the face wasn't definitive.

"I had just absorbed this setting and was beginning to wonder what was in the magazines scattered 'round on the table - one of them was Historical Preview, which I used to read occasionally - when I hear, in this very pleasant voice, 'Hello, Mister President. I hope you're comfortable.'

"Here's this very pleasant young man - I say young, I mean in his forties - standing in the arched entranceway to the room, nice smile on his face, waiting for my consent to enter. He's wearing a cream suit with a sky-blue tie. It strikes me as being very stylish. It wasn't until later I realized the suit was a perfect match to the carpet.

"I nod him in, and he comes demurely to about ten feet in front of my chair like a subject in front of a king, smiling this slightly impish smile. I motion him to sit, and he sits.

"'We thought the special effects - the fade in - might be desirable. Did you like them?' His eyes are bright and wide.

"'Yes - yes, very nice,' I say. 'Very, very nice. Although ... I believe ... shouldn't a servant approach from the right instead of left?' This got a laugh.

"'We know everything about you,' he says. 'And we wanted to make sure you had no illusions about being in normal circumstances - that's why we did the special effects. We wanted to make sure you didn't think you were waking up from a dream, and that your demise had been imaginary. It was not imaginary. Right now you are very, very dead. Do you know that?'

"'Certainly. Intellectually I grasp that. Emotional acceptance will have to follow. Is there a men's room around here where a dead man can take a pee?' He enjoys this, and I have to say I do too. I like Junior's company.

"Well, Junior goes on to explain a lot of things. About who he represents, and ... other things. But the damnedest thing is this: that the conversation we're having isn't taking place at all.

"By Jesus, I was not in that room and never was, and he and everything else there never existed and never will. Because, the damnedest thing is: all this was to be made a part of my experience, a memory in my brain as I was created aboard this station.

"He tells me this as we sit there, having this very pleasant conversation, that he does not even exist. That he is simply a memory trace in my future brain. And it makes not the slightest difference. It's an incredible experience to hear someone speak convincingly about his own nonexistence. Of course, I wasn't even there to hear him.

"Oh my, this was hard to take. It was real. I can feel the fur of that chair against my back. I can see his face clearly, down to the pores in his skin and a tiny pimple beside his left nostril. By God, I was there, it was real, and I don't care what arguments you use, the nonexistence of that situation is entirely subordinate to the subjective experience." Logan stretches and yawns.

"Logan?" Max asks. "These extraterrestrials, these aliens, or whatever we're going to call them - might we just as well be talking about God?"

"Could be. Can you extrapolate what we'll be like in a billion years?"

We're all tired. Whatever it was that was done to us while we were out of it for ten days, we're physically exhausted. Logan promises to continue his story the next day. We all go to bed, without any further checking of the station or the equipment, without talking to Pasadena; trusting that whatever it was that saw us through the crisis and put things right again would watch over us for another night.

We give Logan the playroom for the evening. The storm cellar, which doubles as the guest room, will be unusable until we clean all the organic goo and that biological monstrosity out of it.