Profusion

by Stan C. Smith

  “Addison,” Lindsey called out. “It’s Mom and Dad. Where are you?”

  “As I have explained,” Samuel said softly, “your son may not appear or behave as you might expect. If he is here, and if he descends from the trees, you would do well to prepare yourselves for that. Shouting may frighten him, perhaps preventing him from approaching.”

  Lindsey frowned but nodded. Quentin understood what she was feeling. The anticipation was unbearable. And the apprehension, and the guilt. After all that had transpired, they both needed to find their son. It was a need with roots anchored so deeply within them that Quentin feared what might happen if Addison didn’t show up. They might never leave this place.

  They were so intent on this purpose that, since leaving the hanging village hours before, they had not once mentioned their disturbing conversation regarding the mbolop figurines. Quentin didn’t have any emotional space at this time for the notion that he and Lindsey were responsible for choosing a few hundred people to survive the apocalypse. So far, he had managed to shove the implications into a dark corner of his mind.

  “How do you suggest we find out if he’s here?” he asked Samuel softly.

  Samuel used his bare foot to clear away some twigs, then he sat down and crossed his legs. “The mbolop heard us approaching long before Lindsey’s boisterous shouting. I suggest we wait for what might transpire next. Quietly, if possible.”

  They took off their packs and settled onto the ground on either side of him. Rusty crouched beside Lindsey. After a few excruciating minutes of silence, Quentin whispered, “Is there any way we can climb up there?”

  Samuel gazed up at the canopy. “The mbolop have no need for rope ladders, nor does your son Addison. And from what I can see, the hanging chambers and tunnels appear to be significantly smaller than those of my indigene hosts. I fear these tunnels would not support our collective weight.”

  They were silent for another long minute. Suddenly, Lindsey spoke up. “Maybe I can help.” She patted Rusty’s head. “Can you go up to the hanging tunnels and look for Addison?”

  Rusty ambled to the nearest tree and began climbing straight up the vertical trunk.

  Quentin watched Samuel for any indication that this might be a bad idea. Samuel simply watched the tree kangaroo as it steadily climbed to the canopy. Lindsey put her hands on her knees and stared down at her hiking shoes.

  Samuel spoke quietly to Lindsey. “Your mbolop companion might prove to be quite useful.”

  She nodded slightly and continued staring at her shoes. Quentin wasn’t as ready as they apparently were to accept this odd symbiotic relationship. It was disturbing, and it seemed like Lindsey was losing a part of herself. Or, perhaps more truthfully, that Quentin was losing a part of her. Abruptly he was aware of the figurine in his pocket and his proximity to an entire colony of tree kangaroos that apparently had been created to pair up with humans who possessed such figurines.

  “Rusty is in one of the chambers!” Lindsey said. She spoke loudly, as if wearing headphones, unaware of her own volume. And she was smiling. “Other tree kangaroos are there. I see at least four. And there’s another.”

  Quentin shifted his weight and looked at Samuel.

  “He’s in a tunnel now. Tree kangaroos are passing, going the other way.” She smiled and gazed downward, fully engaged in the experience. “He’s entering a larger chamber. It has connecting tunnels, like the central hut of Sinanie’s village. Tree kangaroos are in here. Some are smaller, underdeveloped. This must be how they grow them.” Her smile grew wider. “Mbaiso is here. He’s signing to me.”

  After a long pause, she said, “Mbaiso is curious. He wants to know why we’ve come here. He wants to know if Bobby is with us.” Finally, she looked at Quentin. “Mbaiso is coming down.”

  “What about Addison?”

  She shook her head. “He didn’t say anything about Addison.”

  Long seconds turned into longer minutes. Quentin watched Lindsey, but she just gazed back with no expression. She shook her head at one point, indicating she had nothing to offer.

  Mbaiso and Rusty appeared, not descending a tree but rather hopping on the ground. Most of the tree kangaroos Quentin had seen looked similar, but there were subtle differences in the piebald patterns on their tails, bodies, and faces. Mbaiso’s face was uniformly rust-colored, and Quentin recognized him right away. The two mbolop approached and stopped a few feet away. But then other tree kangaroos appeared, moving cautiously toward them through the understory growth. At first several appeared, and then many. It was hard to tell how many because they stayed a safe distance back, some of them partially hidden among saplings, tree trunks, and ferns. But there were dozens, at least.

  One of them didn’t stay back with the others. It walked on all fours, rather than hopping, until it was beside Mbaiso. It lacked the prominent testicles that were visible on Rusty and Mbaiso. She was a female.

  “Hello,” Lindsey said to the third mbolop. “Rusty, who is your friend?”

  Rusty moved closer to the female. He leaned in and pressed his snout to hers. They remained this way, motionless.

  Lindsey stiffened. Her hands gripped her khaki trousers at the knees, knuckles white, and she let out a brief cry.

  Quentin got up and rushed to her side. “Lindsey?”

  “Her name is Newton! She has seen Addison—spent time with him. I think I see him right now.”

  “You see who? Addison?”

  “Addison! They were together, Newton and Addison.”

  Quentin kneeled down beside her. This startled the female, and she scampered back, breaking contact with Rusty.

  Lindsey blinked and looked at Quentin. “He’s here. I know he is. I couldn’t see him clearly, but I’m sure it was him. He named her Newton, Quentin!”

  Quentin didn’t even know where to begin with his questions. “How could you see him?”

  “The mbolop, Newton. Her memories.”

  “Quentin, Lindsey,” Samuel said, his voice controlled and even. “Please refrain from shouting or moving excessively. I believe your son is here.”

  They turned to Samuel and then followed his gaze. The tree kangaroos were moving closer, now more than a hundred of them. And something else was there, a dark figure. It watched them from behind a tree, only one of its eyes visible. It was low to the ground, perhaps crouching.

  Lindsey got up and took a step forward. “Addison? Honey?”

  “Mummy?”

  The voice was not Addison’s. Or maybe it was. But Addison hadn’t used that word since he was a toddler.

  Lindsey took another step. “Honey?”

  The creature behind the tree stood up. It then stepped into full view.

  Quentin’s gut tightened. He heard Lindsey gasp, but the sound seemed distant. The creature was Addison. Since the last time he had seen his son, he had almost forced himself to forget Addison’s transformed appearance. It was a transformation Addison had wished upon himself and had accomplished with the Lamotelokhai’s help. And in that new, powerful, monstrous form he had gone on a murderous rampage, killing Miranda and half the members of Sinanie’s tribe. The thing standing before them was not something that had evolved naturally. It was not a creature from the distant past precisely reconstructed by the Lamotelokhai. Instead, it was a physical form conjured by a fourteen-year-old boy who used to read monster comic books and then had his brain bashed in during a plane crash and reconstructed by alien technology.

  Addison leaned forward, bent his knees, and put his hands on the ground. He then walked toward them, like a gorilla would walk.

  Lindsey backed up until she was at Quentin’s side. “I forgot,” she muttered. “How could I forget?”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. “We made ourselves forget. It’s how we survived.”

  Addison stopped just in front of them. Again he stood erect. His torso was long and lean, with conversely shorter legs. His arms were longer than a boy’s should be by half, with extraordinarily spi
ndly, curved fingers that appeared to be designed specifically for gripping tree limbs. He was naked, but his penis and scrotum were barely visible, nearly lost in a thick mat of curly pubic hair. Other than that and the long corkscrew hair growing from his scalp, the rest of his body was hairless. His skin was darker than it had been, either from dirt, from the sun, or because he had wished it to be. His face was still smooth, but its shape was angular and mature. It was not the face of a boy. But his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, were still the eyes of their son, Addison. And this was enough for Quentin.

  “Addison,” he said, “Samuel told us you were alive, and that you remember us. So we came here to find you. We’d like to take you home.”

  Addison looked at him. He then shifted his gaze to Lindsey. He looked down at the tree kangaroo named after his home town. He smiled, revealing inch-long canines.

  “Mummy. Daddy. Newton my mbolop. Newton go home, too.”

  Twenty

  “You two could use some cleaning up. You look rather dreadful.”

  Bobby snapped his head up, hitting it on the airport terminal wall behind him. He shook Ashley’s leg to wake her.

  The man was kneeling on the floor at their feet, looking at them at eye level. Beneath a blue Yankees ball cap, his hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wore a blue denim shirt, brown shorts, and leather sandals. He had to be Peter’s guy, Jonathan.

  “That was fast,” Bobby said, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

  The guy held out a hand. “Jonathan Benson. It’s 2:30 AM. Shall we go? I imagine you two would like a more comfortable place to rest.”

  They both stood up and shook his hand.

  “It’s starting to get crazy here,” Ashley said, looking around at the activity in the terminal. “Is that going to slow us down?”

  Bobby realized she was right. There were more people around now than before he’d fallen asleep. Many of them bustled about like they were late. Bobby could hear angry shouting. Large groups of people stood beneath each of the televisions, watching a news report that was still showing video from a helicopter. But now you could only see what was in the chopper’s spotlight because it was dark outside. The spotlight was trying to follow things that were running on streets and between buildings.

  “I guess it’s gotten worse,” Bobby said.

  Jonathan didn’t bother turning to look at the TVs. “I’d say you’re right about that, though I haven’t had much opportunity to monitor the situation.” He looked at Ashley. “If we get moving now, we shouldn’t have many delays.”

  Jonathan stepped closer and grabbed their shoulders like he was about to give them a group hug. “Before I’m willing to leave, I need to know something. Are you one hundred percent certain Peter and Robert are dead?”

  “We didn’t actually see their bodies,” Bobby replied. “But they were both in the compound, and Helmich’s idiots set off some kind of heat bomb. There’s nothing alive in there now, we’re certain of that.”

  The guy closed his eyes. His lips moved silently, like he was saying a prayer, or maybe swearing. He opened his eyes. “Then we should go, pronto.” He headed for Terminal B, and they followed.

  Waiting for them next to the security checkpoint was a man in pilot clothes—black pants, white shirt with black and yellow stripes on the shoulders, black tie, but no hat on his shiny bald head. He wasn’t the same pilot who had flown them from Belize to Oklahoma. Jonathan introduced him as Quincy Kirk. Bobby thought this was a great name for a pilot—Captain Kirk. The guy flashed a friendly smile and shook their hands while Jonathan pulled out their passports, which he had picked up after they had left them behind at Peter’s facility in Oklahoma City.

  Going through security was easier than Bobby had thought it would be. Captain Kirk showed his ID and some papers, did a bit of polite but firm arguing with a man and then a woman, and a few minutes later two airport security men led them through a narrow hallway and out a door to a noisy tarmac area. No one even looked in Bobby’s duffel bag.

  Although it was the middle of the night, enough lights were shining on the runway for Bobby to see the sleek private jet waiting for them. It was larger than the jet they’d taken to Oklahoma, with seven passenger windows on the side instead of only three.

  “It’s a Cessna Citation Ten,” Jonathan shouted over the noise as they walked to the jet. “Or Citation X, if you prefer. Cruises at over 600 miles per hour with a range of 3,700 miles. We can get you to Jayapura with only three stops: LA, Honolulu, and Fiji. With any luck we’ll be there twenty-three hours from now.”

  Ashley grabbed his arm to get his attention. “We can’t get there any faster than that?”

  He seemed surprised by the question. “No, we can’t. This is the fastest business jet available to civilians.”

  She released his arm. “It’ll have to do, then.” She then climbed the steps and entered the jet.

  “Sorry about her, but we really do have to hurry,” Bobby said, and he followed Ashley.

  The jet had seats for twelve passengers, in rows of four facing each other. At the back of the plane, Bobby spotted a messy tuft of black hair sticking up from behind one of the seats—Carlos.

  Ashley walked past Carlos with hardly a glance at him and went straight for the restroom at the back of the plane. Bobby took the seat facing his friend and placed the duffel bag on the floor. Carlos was sleeping, his head tilted back, mouth open, snoring with a Darth Vader breathing sound, like he used to do. For a brief moment, Bobby wished he had a can of whipped cream to spray into his open mouth. Carlos would think that was funny.

  Jonathan took the seat to Carlos’s left and across the narrow aisle. “Go ahead and wake him. He hasn’t been asleep long. He and I had an interesting conversation on the flight. I feel as if I know a bit more about what you kids went through in Papua last summer.”

  “Maybe I should let him sleep.”

  Ashley came out and sat across the aisle from Bobby, in the seat facing Jonathan. “How long before we can take off?”

  The plane lurched and started rolling just as she finished saying this.

  “We’re making every effort we can to accelerate the process,” Jonathan said. “I have no doubt that what we’re doing is important, but now that we have a bit of time on our hands, perhaps you can provide more of an explanation.”

  Ashley said, “Is it required for all of Peter’s employees to have their hair in a ponytail and wear sandals?”

  Bobby frowned at her. “What’s wrong with you?”

  She glared back at him, but then she shook her head and rubbed her face with both hands. “It’s the middle of the night, a maniac tortured me, and I’ve seen some pretty weird shit. I’m sorry.” She uncovered her face, looked at Jonathan, put on a fake smile, and blinked her eyes twice in a stupid, flirty way.

  Jonathan took a breath and held it, apparently struggling to decide how to react to Ashley’s attitude. “Perfectly fine, Miss Stoddard. I’m happy to answer your question.” He pursed his lips and thought for a few seconds. “I met Peter in 2013. Actually, I met him briefly some years before that, but that’s a story for another day. In 2013, his wife Rose fell and broke her hip.”

  “We know Rose,” Bobby said. “Peter brought her to see us a few times.”

  “Then you must know Rose is a rather elderly woman, which is actually in part why she broke her hip. Anyway, fortunately, I was there when it happened and was able to help out. I became friends with them.”

  The plane had been rolling steadily, but suddenly it stopped. Captain Kirk called back over his shoulder, “All secure, sir?”

  Jonathan nodded at their seats. “Fasten your seatbelts, please.” When they had checked Carlos’s belt and fastened their own, he shouted back, “Secure!”

  The plane’s jets roared and they shot forward, picking up speed until they were in the air. The noise quieted to a level where they could talk again.

  Jonathan went on. “Anyway, we became friends, and I started wor
king with Peter on his Kembalimo project. It was unlike anything I’d ever done, trying to figure out a way to help people communicate with an alien intelligence. It was the job of a lifetime. Eventually we found a few additional talents to help with it. Robert was one of them, and there was Ardell Gray. The four of us became rather obsessed with the project. We practically lived together, day and night.”

  Ashley squirmed in her seat, and Bobby silently willed her not to lob whatever insult she was holding back.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard it said that, over time, a dog owner begins to resemble his dog. Or perhaps the dog resembles its owner.” Jonathan smiled, although he looked kind of sad. “I suppose that’s what happened to us—Robert, Ardell, and myself.”

  Bobby waited for more, but Jonathan was done. Ashley snorted a short laugh and turned to stare out her window at nothing but blackness.

  “That’s kind of funny,” Bobby said, although it wasn’t really. He then began telling Jonathan about what had happened. He told how he and the others had been kidnapped in Oklahoma, and how they’d woken up in the compound. He told about what Helmich had been trying to do, and the terrible things that had happened as a result, and how they had escaped, leaving Peter and Robert behind to die, and about the animal-creature-things that got loose, and about Tiffany, and how they got to the airport. And he told of how he was trying to reassemble the consciousness of the Lamotelokhai from twenty-four data packets stored in the minds of twenty-four people.

  Before he finished, Ashley had fallen asleep.

  Jonathan asked a lot of questions, but finally he seemed to run out of them. After sitting in silence for a few minutes, he said, “You’re right. This is important—the most important thing I’ve done in my life. He looked at his smartwatch. We will be in Jayapura in twenty-two hours. Then we’ll figure out a way to get you to the hanging village. One way or another, we’ll get you there.”