New Eden

by Kishore Tipirneni

  “It’s the mother ship,” Vinod said, seeming to have forgotten that his cell phone had been confiscated. “I feel like I’m going to float right into the sky, just like those people at the end of Cocoon.”

  “Yeah, we had a deal,” Rachael said, turning to Joshua, “before Vinod here took flight with Gray Goose.”

  “You’re officially grounded, free bird,” Joshua said.

  “Oh, c’mon, guys. I’ll behave. You don’t think I’d really tweet this, do you?”

  “You would in a heartbeat after enough shots,” Rachael said.

  “Okay, I’ll get sherious.”

  Rachael shook her head at the slurred word. “Hey, how about we tell the people at SETI? They must have protocols for an event like this.”

  “I’m sure they do,” Joshua said after their hostess brought them a new bottle and fresh glasses. “Their first protocol is to get verification of a signal and then call the media. For them, it’s that simple. I think we have to be a lot more cautious. Besides, some of them are flaky. A bit sketch, if you know what I mean.”

  Taking another shot, Vinod looked at Joshua, his eyes out of focus. “Hey, those guys at SETI are awesome. They’re my bros. They do cutting-edge science on a shoestring bucket—budget. Whatever. You know what I mean.”

  Joshua shook his head. “Not gonna happen. SETI is a private nonprofit organization. I’m thinking something more official.” He leaned over to be heard above the music, which was now a song by Hearts of Glass called “Main Street Psycho.” He took a shot and looked from Vinod to Rachael. “I have a contact at NASA—top man. We became friends when they started using the spookyon Henry created to control the Martian Rover. I think he’d be really open to what we’ve accomplished and would know what higher-ups we should contact.”

  “NASA?” Vinod said, his voice raised. Suddenly, he seemed more alert. “No way! They’re government man! You can’t trust the feds, dude. It’s like getting in bed with the devil. They’ll take the spookyon, sphere, and detector, and we’ll never talk with Seth again. Look how they behaved after Henry Bowman died. The spookyon on Mars was suddenly their property. Bad move.”

  Vinod burped before anyone could respond as he put one hand on the table and began to leverage himself from the cushioned backrest. “Gotta take a leak, but definitely eighty-six the entire government idea.”

  He staggered away like any drunk in a bar doing his level best to walk in a regular fashion but failing. Several people slapped the palm of his hand as he passed their tables, and shouts of “Vinod!” erupted. He downed more shots as he paused briefly to chat with friends along the way.

  The entire club turned red thanks to the man standing next to the DJ. The band was performing the last song of its set, “Shades of Sunset.”

  “Vinod is seriously trashed,” Joshua observed.

  “I can’t deny that he likes to party,” Rachael admitted. “Works hard, plays hard. It’s his personal creed.”

  “If he clears his mind any more than he’s already done, he’s going to wipe it clean, like a data purge on a PC’s hard drive.”

  Rachael, who was surprisingly lucid after her shots, just laughed. “Nah, he’ll be alright. He’s a great guy. As you’ve seen, he’s smart as a whip. One of the most creative people I’ve ever seen even when it comes to having a good time. Tonight? Maybe a little too creative.”

  “You speak of him affectionately,” Joshua said. “Were the two of you ever . . . you know?”

  “Me and Vinod? Heaven’s no. He’s more like a big brother to me. He’s the one who gave me the final nudge to become a science writer. I was undeclared when I met him. He told me that according to some postulate in information theory, combining writing with science would work synergistically.”

  Joshua nodded, now understanding why Rachael was able to finish Vinod’s sentence when he was talking about his indoctrination into the appreciation of all things related to classic rock.

  “He said it had to do with the quantification of the interaction between two variables,” Rachael explained.

  “In your case, that meant science and writing.”

  “Right. My gut was already telling me to do it, but Vinod has a way of reducing most things to some kind of equation or theorem, and the whole synergy thing made sense. If I had a dollar for every time he used the word quantification, I’d be rich. He can be quite convincing . . . when he’s not totally hammered or immersed in his music. Besides, I think Vinod would be more interested in you than me for a romantic encounter.”

  Joshua nodded, indicating that the meaning of her message was received.

  The DJ was back in control as the band put down their guitars and left the elevated stage to take a break between sets. The first song up was Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.”

  Rachael, looking ecstatic, threw her arms into the air and cried, “I positively love this song. Come on! Let’s dance!”

  Joshua crossed his hands back and forth in front of each other, signaling no. “I don’t dance. Ever.”

  “I insist,” Rachael said, getting to her feet.

  “My dancing is not a pretty sight. I’d embarrass us both.”

  “Nonsense. Nobody’s watching us. Even if they were, the constantly-changing light patterns level the playing field. Everybody looks good. Geek out and have some fun.”

  Joshua reluctantly rose to his feet as Rachael tugged on his left wrist and pulled him onto the dance floor with such force that he slid the last two feet of the way. They were in the center of the floor, and Rachael’s hips started to sway as her hands and feet moved rhythmically to the music. Joshua awkwardly shuffled around on his feet, jostled by nearby dancers. Spotlights played across the floor, illuminating the faces of Joshua and Rachael every few seconds.

  Rachael was into the song, lip-syncing the lyrics with feeling, her eyes half-closed, her head moving back and forth, causing her silky brown hair to swing in an arc that Joshua found quite sensual. Her hand held an invisible microphone which she held to her mouth as she sang the first verse.

  Joshua knew the song, and in an effort to deflect attention from his dancing, he picked up where Rachael had left off. He, too, held an invisible microphone to his mouth as he sang the next verse. Joshua played air guitar for the middle riff, the forefinger and thumb of his right hand pressed together as if holding a pick and matching the down-strokes of the song’s beat. His face was scrunched into a snarl as if he were a lead guitarist feeling the music.

  The awkwardness for Joshua had worn off, and he and Rachael were now doing the same moves as they lip-synced together.

  Rachael leaned close to Joshua as the song faded so as to be heard. “I thought you couldn’t dance.”

  “I can’t. I’m simply ricocheting off the people around me. Random movement, but I can lip sync with the best of ‘em.”

  Rachael found the answer hilarious and was inspired even more both by the spirit of the music and the enthusiasm of her dance partner.

  “No,” she said. “You’re Batman, and you’ve been holding out on me, Bruce Wayne.”

  They continued dancing, moving closer to one another as the song segued into “December 1963” by the Four Seasons.

  Rachael resumed lip syncing as Joshua played air piano for the iconic chords of the intro. She sang the first verse.

  As before, Joshua picked up the next verse.

  As the song changed to “I Melt with You” by Modern English, the pair danced still closer and with less movement, each maintaining eye contact with the other as their proximity became more important than the music. If Vinod had been observing, he would have commented that information of the most intimate nature was definitely being exchanged between the two.

  As Joshua grew more uninhibited with each passing second, Rachael saw a man who was a tolerably good dancer—and getting better with each move—although she wondered if he was drawing inspiration from the music, the liquor, or her. Then it dawned on her. He was singing specifically to her
. He seemed oblivious to everyone else despite the throng pressing on all sides. It was hard to believe that this was the same serious-minded researcher who had tried to shoo her away a day and a half earlier.

  Only Joshua was now lip syncing, totally infatuated with his dance partner. He continued singing to her as if they were alone on the dance floor. He had lost all of his inhibitions.

  Rachael looked at Joshua, who stared back. Her head swayed left and right, and her feet barely moved as their faces were inches apart. A spotlight from above found them and paused for a few seconds, but they didn’t notice that they were being highlighted or that the crowd was applauding them. Joshua leaned forward and kissed Rachael deeply as the light moved to a different couple. As the kiss ended, Rachael simply stared into Joshua’s face who stared back at her with a slight smile.

  The song over, Joshua led Rachael back to the table, her hand in his.

  “Wow. What a day!” she proclaimed, out of breath.

  “Oh, what a night,” Joshua retorted without missing a beat.

  “You catch on mighty fast.”

  He gave her a glancing kiss, and she smiled without averting her gaze from the surprising young scientist. The evening had taken a pleasant turn, one that was not in the least unwelcome.

  Rachael’s trance-like mood was broken as she looked around and noticed that they were alone in the booth. “Oh, my God! Where’s Vinod? We’ve been dancing for a while, and he should have been back by now.”

  “Who knows?” Joshua replied. “He marches to the beat of a different drummer, and it’s a big club. Maybe he’s making the rounds. He seems to know a lot of people here.”

  “But it’s not like him to just wander off, especially in the shape he’s in.”

  Rolling his eyes, Joshua slowly got to his feet. “I better check on him. Maybe he’s worshipping the porcelain god.” He took a credit card out of his wallet and handed it to Rachael. “Can you close out the tab?”

  The restroom was clean and bright, and white tiles of different shapes and sizes lined the walls. It was as upscale as the rest of the club.

  “Vinod?” Joshua called, his voice an echo in a space large enough to accommodate numerous patrons.

  An attendant dressed in black shirt, slacks, and tie cleared his throat. “I believe the gentleman you’re looking for is in the first stall,” he said, pointing to his left with surprising decorum and lack of emotion.

  “Vinod!” Joshua exclaimed as he opened the white stall door. “What the hell happened to you, as if I can’t guess? You’re absolutely shitfaced.”

  Vinod was sitting on the toilet, fully dressed. His upper torso was slumped over, head resting in his hands.

  “We gotta get you home, man. You’re in seriously bad shape.”

  Vinod looked up at Joshua with a half-smile on his face. “All of science and English in . . . just a few . . . minutes. It’s nothing short of in . . . edible.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  With great effort, Joshua picked up Vinod’s body, which lurched forward against his own, knocking him back

  “This isn’t going to be easy,” Joshua muttered.

  “Do you need help, sir?” the attendant asked.

  “No, thanks.”

  Joshua draped Vinod’s left arm over his shoulder. “One step at a time, okay?”

  “Instantaneous commiseration,” Vinod stammered.

  “Not far from wrong,” Joshua said. The attendant opened the door as the two men exited the restroom.

  “Not a pretty sight,” Rachael said when she saw her friends approaching.

  “The party is officially over,” Joshua remarked.

  “The tab is closed. I’ll call an Uber.”

  Rachael placed herself on the other side of Vinod to help guide her very inebriated friend to the door.

  In the Uber, Joshua sat in front, Vinod slumped onto Rachael’s lap in the back. She repeatedly nudged him into a sitting position, urging him to “Keep it together for a few more minutes and you’ll be home.”

  Vinod didn’t seem to hear the voice of his friend. “Aliens, man,” he repeated again and again. “We talked with freakin’ aliens.”

  The driver, a man of Indian origin, looked in the rearview mirror briefly, his curiosity piqued.

  “What is he saying?” he asked with a thick Indian accent.

  “Uh, nothing,” Rachael replied. “As you can see, the guy’s wasted, and earlier in the evening we were talking about our favorite movies. His favorite film is Aliens.”

  “Oh, I thought he said he’d been speaking to aliens,” the driver countered.

  “Yeah, well, he’s seen the movie so many times that he recites the dialogue, complete with commentary.”

  Joshua glanced at Rachael, appreciative of her quick response.

  “Oh, Aliens,” said the driver. “I know that one.” He turned to Joshua and said, “Hey, Vasquez, have you ever been mistaken for a man?”

  Joshua replied without hesitation. “No, have you?”

  The driver gave Joshua a high five.

  I’m surrounded by nerds, Rachael thought to herself.

  At Vinod’s house, Rachael and Joshua tugged on Vinod’s tall body until he was braced between them and standing unsteadily on the sidewalk as the Uber drove away.

  “Where’s his bedroom?” Joshua asked after they entered through the front door.

  “Must be upstairs.”

  Joshua groaned as he looked at the climb ahead of them.

  Getting Vinod up the staircase proved far more difficult than merely moving him horizontally, which had been hard enough. They counted “One, two, three!” with each step in order to coax Vinod upstairs. Finally, they reached the bedroom, which, not surprisingly, was plastered with more posters of classic rock bands. The star man from the band Rush was displayed on a poster above the headboard.

  “That’s certainly appropriate,” Joshua said as he glanced at the poster and deposited the limp body onto the queen-size bed as gently as possible.

  As Joshua tried to get Vinod’s body into a supine position, Rachael got a trashcan from the bathroom and placed it next to the bed. “At some point during the night, he’s going to need this.” She then pulled Vinod’s cell phone from her purse and set it on the nightstand.

  “Let’s go,” Joshua said. “This is more intense than a workout at the gym.”

  “Let’s roll him on his side so he doesn’t choke when the time comes,” Rachael advised.

  Vinod briefly opened his eyes. “Thanks, guys. Wow. Aliens.”

  He then fell asleep.

  Outside, after Rachael locked the front door, Joshua said, “That was a lot of work. I think the combination of the night air and lugging Vinod around has sobered me up—somewhat.”

  “Somewhat being the operative word,” Rachael said.

  “Hey, I’m sharp as a tack.”

  “Famous last words.”

  “No, the famous last words tonight are that Vinod may be a brilliant information theorist, but he’s one sloppy drunk.”

  “Don’t forget that the sloppy drunk wrote an algorithm that enabled us to talk with Seth. No Vinod, no first contact.”

  “You continue to get the last word in. But hey, you happen to be right. We owe him a lot.”

  “And soon the world will too depending on what we decide to do about our long distance chat with Seth.”

  They both stood next to each other awkwardly.

  “Well, I guess this is goodnight,” Joshua said, looking at the sidewalk, hands in his pockets.

  Rachael lowered her head and put her hands on her hips. “How far away do you live?”

  “Huh? Oh, my house is maybe forty-five minutes away. In Berkeley.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Joshua reflected a moment before saying, “Damn! My Harley’s back at the lab. Can you gimme a lift to the lab so I can ride home? Or I can take an Uber ba
ck to the lab if you’re too tired.”

  Rachael shook her head. “No way, Mr. Sharp As A Tack. You may not be falling-down drunk like Vinod, but you’re still pretty buzzed.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “I took it a lot easier on the Gray Goose than you guys. Or maybe it’s my Irish ancestry. I’ve been told I have a hollow wooden leg. My condo is only a few minutes away, so get in. You’re not riding your Harley anywhere tonight. You can crash at my place.”

  Joshua grinned. “Well . . . if you insist.”

  He got into the passenger seat, although it took him a full minute to fasten his seatbelt because he couldn’t find the latch receptacle between the seat and the console in the center of the Prius.

  The car pulled out of the driveway and headed down the street until its taillights disappeared in the darkness.

  18

  No More Words

  Arriving at her condo, Rachael killed the motor and got out of the driver’s side as Joshua stood next to the vehicle, waiting for the woman he’d so passionately kissed at the club. She pressed her key, causing the car’s lights to flash as the door was locked, and he followed her along the curving walk to the front door and into the hallway, where she took a left and veered into the kitchen.

  “Make yourself at home,” she said. “Be back in a sec.”

  Joshua was tired and needed to lie down, so he searched for a couch in Rachael’s home. He headed down the hallway and saw an office littered with stacks of legal pads, digital recorders, flash drives, Post-It notes, and science magazines. A PC screen and laptop sat on her desk which was flanked by a small table holding a printer. Enlarged and framed was a selfie she’d obviously taken with Neil deGrasse Tyson, director of the Hayden Planetarium.

  “Wow,” he said to himself. “Busy lady.”

  He then turned right and saw two couches in the living room, one longer than the other. On the end table between the couches he saw a framed picture of Rachael and Vinod, which he picked up to examine more closely. They were standing on the campus of Berkeley with the Campanile in the background. Rachael had on a Cal tee shirt, and Vinod wore a Pink Floyd The Wall tee shirt. Does this guy wear anything else but rock tee shirts? He replaced the picture and picked up another. It was a photograph of a young boy and girl with their arms around each other, smiling widely at the camera. The kids were not more than ten years old, and Joshua recognized the girl as a very young Rachael but had no idea who the boy was.