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Chapter Eight Continued...
Hunter and I
meet whenever he can get out to the country or whenever I can tear
myself away for coffee at Zoe’s Café near the square. We discuss
philosophy, religion and politics. The café is within walking distance
of his Massachusetts lab.
“Look Hunt, you
have a job, I’d call impossible. You head IIS have goals such as
world peace, a global science community. But it’s your job Hunt, not
mine. And with Joe Randolf, to boot – well –“
“Did
Randolf mention his latest model?”
“You
mean that ball of electricity growing clusters and brain cells and
neurons – nano cells? Look Hunt—IF- I could help you out, I
wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“I’ll start for
you, Jay. Randolf heads Project Peace, code name, Plasma Matric.
There’s been nothing like this since the Manhattan Project – since the
atomic bomb was created to stop Hitler and his allies. This is a
project of the same proportion, Jay, but a model that will show us
routes in consciousness, in thinking and in the brain – that will
guide us, our minds to the stream of peace, not war. Do you grasp
where we are?”
“No.
Not really, Hunt.”
I
want to help, but what am I to say? Randolf is going to cross the
phantom divide? Randolf is going wherever the plasma brain goes?
Randolf is going to save the world or destroy it? Randolf has opened
Pandora’s Box, a door to other dimensions? In his pocket and in his
mind, Randolf carries another universe?
“His
life is in danger, Jay.”
“I expect it is.
Plasma. What is he thinking? And what are you thinking, you and all
your security. What if someone is listening in on our communication?”
“Q-2 has changed
the gate access, Jay.”
“Well, oh, of
course, I should have known.”
“I’ll wager,
Jay, that Randolf didn’t explain half the danger.”
I hold the phone
away from my ear. This is between Hunter and Randolf. I’ll stay out
of it. But stray words coerce my attention. “Plasma. Model.
Fusion. Weapon.”
I’m on the phone
again.
“Weapon?”
“That’s right.”
“But
it’s only a model. Something Randolf dreamed up. Surely you can turn
it off?”
“It
doesn’t work that way. We can’t afford to let that model outside
IIS. It’s deadly.”
“Deadly! Now I know a great deal more than I care to know especially,
this early on Saturday.”
“Jay
–You can help --”
“But
this has nothing to do with me Hunt. I’m a philosopher. I spent half
the night working on the new Hume and Reid essay. Remember my own
dear projects – far more important to me than your inability to rope
in Joe Randolf and stabilize him on this planet.”
“Did he tell you
he planned to disappear?”
“He’s always
disappearing!” I point out. “You’re dead set on keeping me from going
back to sleep, aren’t you?”
“Jay—“
“Randolf could
have been talking quantum foam for all I know, Hunt. Tell me
truthfully – he’s had a nervous breakdown, hasn’t he?”
“Of course not.”
“Has he seen a
doctor? Has he talked to a psychiatrist?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because Randolf
is physically fine – mentally…”
“He’s not living
in reality! He’s not over Janet and you know it. He’s burying himself
in this brain model. He needs a long vacation, right after he sees a
doctor.”
“We know he’s
undisciplined, stubborn, arrogant, independent..”
“Eccentric and
will soon collapse from a breakdown if he hasn’t already.”
“He’s mentally
fine, Jay.”
“He hasn’t
imagined this plasma brain?”
“No.”
“Have you seen a
doctor?”
“No.” His voice
trembles. “And I haven’t imagined the danger!”
“Hunt,” I pause
then give up exasperatingly, “He wants to decode consciousness, the
meaning of life – bring peace. Ironic isn’t it that he’s out to answer
every question in the world and he’s not in this world-”
“Are you through
ranting, Jay?”
“No!”
“Randolf has disappeared.”
Continue.
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