Black Genesis me-2

by Ron Hubbard

  Heller called down for some breakfast and while he was waiting, got on the phone. No wonder I couldn’t keep track of him. He was transacting business under the cover of the interference. Sneaky!

  A kid came on.

  “Let me talk to Mike Mutazione,” said Heller. And when the kid had put “papa” on the line, Heller said, “Sorry to bite into your Sunday, Mike. But did you get the cab?”

  “Sure thing, kid. A beauty! Fix her up in no time!”

  “Great. Now listen, Mike. I am sending you over a little bottle of stuff. I’ll write the full directions. But I want you to put it in the paint as an additive. That’s on the exterior body and in any of the signs you paint on it. It is easy. It just mixes into whatever paint you use. So when you get the motor and glass and body and upholstery work done, only use paint with this additive in it.”

  “Makes it shinier?” said Mike.

  “Something like that,” said Heller. “I’ll send the little vial over. It’ll be there by the time you’re ready.”

  “Sure, kid, no trouble. The Caddy is doing fine. Bit of a holdup with the new engine but it’s on its way. So are the new alloy pistons. She’ll do 190 when we’re done.” Mike laughed. “You’ll have to keep the brakes on to keep her from taking off for the moon.”

  “Take your time on it,” said Heller. “The cab I’d like yesterday.”

  “You’ll get it, kid. Want to come over and go to Mass with us?”

  “Today is my day for Nature Appreciation. Thanks just the same, Mike. Ciao.”

  Mass? These (bleeped) Sicilians would be converting him to Christianity next!

  His breakfast came, starting with a huge chocolate sundae. The waiter had no more than gone out the door when a gorgeous, slinky blonde came in.

  “Hiya, Semantha,” said Heller. “Have some breakfast?”

  She shook her head and sat down in a nearby chair. She indicated the door. “Myrtle was just in here, wasn’t she? Pretty boy, you’ve got to watch that Myrtle.”

  Heller laughed.

  “No, seriously, pretty boy. You’ve got to watch her. She’s full of wiles and tricks. I know her. Now, look, when she came in, did she do this?” Semantha loosened her robe. She didn’t have anything on under it! Was this Heller’s idea of nature appreciation?

  She drew her legs to Heller’s right. “And then did she sit sideways like this?” She made sure no robe was covering her legs. “And then did she show you her naked thigh like this? And then trail her fingers along it and say that it was bruised and please look?

  “Oh, you have to watch that Myrtle, pretty boy. After she’d done all that, did she stand up like this and let her robe fall off like so?

  “And then did she say she had an ache in her left breast? And, typically Myrtle, hold it up like this and ask you to see if there was a bruise there?

  “And then did she walk real close like this and ask you to really examine it to be sure?”

  Heller was laughing. “Watch it, you’ll get ice cream on you!”

  “And then,” said Semantha, “did she sort of walk around like this? Oh, you’ve got to watch her! And pick up her robe like this? And pretend she’d just noticed she was naked, like this, and trail her robe behind her like this and go into your bedroom, looking back at you like this? You watch that Myrtle, pretty boy!”

  “The bed isn’t made,” said Heller.

  He could see what she was doing now from the multiple reflecting mirrors in the bedroom. “Then,” continued Semantha, “did she poke at your bed like this? And then wonder if it was softer than hers and could she please get in it like this?”

  Semantha had gotten in, but not under the covers. She was stretched out stark naked on the bed, legs apart. “And then did she stroke her body like this? Did she, pretty boy? She takes some watching, that Myrtle does! And then did she raise her arms toward you like this and move her hips around like that and tell you that she was feeling sort of empty and needed…”

  “Semantha,” said Heller. “Get out of that bed and come in here.”

  “Oh, pretty boy,” she pouted. “You’re going to make me stand up and hold that position while you…”

  The interference came on. Well, I didn’t need to see any more. It was obvious that he was one of those weirdos that liked odd positions.

  Why the Hells couldn’t that (bleeped) taxi driver rush up Utanc? I went out petulantly to call him. He didn’t know what he was putting me through. I tried for quite a while and couldn’t get him. I kicked around the yard and then had dinner.

  Actually, I was outraged at Heller’s idea of preparing himself for a Nature Appreciation class. How he could go from his dark den of vice into the bright sunlit world without his conscience withering, I did not know. He was not fit to associate with the dear little children and the charming Miss Simmons in their coming outing. But I knew I could count on Miss Simmons! Heller would catch it! A firm character, Miss Simmons!

  Chapter 5

  The first Nature Appreciation class was apparently being held in the United Nations park between 42nd Street and 48th Street and bordering the East River-just a few blocks from where Heller lived.

  It was a beautiful September afternoon: the grass and trees were green and the sky and water were blue. The enormous bulk of the Secretariat Building reared its white slab behind the General Assembly Building and the Conference Building.

  Some of the class had already gathered, as scheduled, in front of the Statue of Peace. They were college kids, mostly in jeans and rough clothing; some wore glasses, some did not; some were fat and some were thin. Heller looked them over. None of them were talking to one another or to him: obviously, they were all mutual strangers.

  Heller was wearing, I knew from the elevator mirrors, very tailored brushed jeans, his baseball cap and spikes. He must look,a bit out of place — neater and more expensively dressed aside from those two items, cap and shoes. He was also taller than the rest. And he carried a little brushed denim haversack while the rest had satchels or just big purses. It must make him stand out for an occasional eye flicked in his direction, especially the girls.

  More class drifted up and now there were about thirty.

  And here came Miss Simmons! She was marching with a purpose! She was wearing heavy hiking shoes and, despite the heat of the day, a heavy tweed skirt and jacket. She was carrying a walking stick that looked more like a club. Her brown hair was tightly swept back and imprisoned under a man’s shooting hat.

  She came to a halt. She pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up on her forehead so she could see them. She looked them all over. When she came to Heller, she let go of the glasses and let them fall back on her nose. Ah, this was a good sign. I had confidence in Miss Simmons. If all else failed, this was the one who would stop Heller cold! And her opening words encouraged me greatly!

  “Oh, there you are, Wister,” she said in front of the whole class. “How is the young Einstein today? Suffering from a swelled head? I hear you used more INFLUENCE yesterday to get out of further tutoring. Well, have no fear, you are not through the barbed wire yet, Wister. The war you so ferociously favor is barely begun!”

  She raised her glasses again so she could see the class and proceeded to address them. “Good afternoon, tomorrow’s hope. I always start our Nature Appreciation itinerary here at the United Nations park. The United Nations was founded in 1945 to prevent the further escalation of WAR and atomic war in particular. This hope was then entombed here in these great white mausoleums.

  “It is of historical significance that this part of Manhattan was once an area covered with slaughterhouses. It is a very apt and fitting fact.

  “The UN, this dark grave of all man’s greatest hopes, has money, authority and POWER! Yet, I must call to your attention that, despite that, these greedy, self-seeking and egotistical MEN sit in these tombs all day every day, all year every year and do nothing but plot ways and means of avoiding their true duties, duties to which they were pledged by the most sacred vows
!

  “If these craven, base scoundrels had their way, they would blow up the whole world with thermonuclear fission and fusion! Wister, pay attention.” She lowered her glasses and scowled at him.

  She raised her glasses and addressed the rest. “So, class, we start with a could-have-been, the United Nations. Everything you see alive throughout this course will soon be dead forever — destroyed by the vicious idleness, the indecision, the behind-the-scenes plotting and downright craven cowardice of the UN. Wister, what are you looking at?”

  Heller said, “This grass is standing up pretty good despite the foot traffic. If they didn’t water it with chlorinated water, it would do better.”

  “Pay attention, Wister,” said Miss Simmons, severely. “This is a class in nature appreciation, not the use of poison gas! Now, class, and I hope you are taking notes of the important data I am giving you. Do you see that group of men there? I want to call your attention to the smug, maddeningly blithe expressions on the faces of those UN people stalking about the park.”

  Heller said, helpfully, “It says on their blue and gold caps and badges ‘American Legion Post 89, Des Moines, Iowa.’ Is that a member country?”

  Miss Simmons quite rightly ignored him. “So you must note, class, and note with horror and indignation, the attitude of irresponsibility which prevails here. If these men would only do their duty… Wister, what are you looking at?”

  “These leaves,” said Heller. “All in all, these trees are doing pretty good in all these oil fumes from the river. I think the soil is probably slightly demineralized, though.”

  “Pay attention to your classwork!” snapped Miss Simmons. “Now, class, if the UN would ever do its duty,

  we could end utterly and forever man’s lemming fixation on self-destruction.”

  “What’s a lemming?” said a girl.

  “They are hordes of horrible rats that go plunging in masses into the sea annually, committing mass suicide,” said Miss Simmons helpfully. “If it wished, in a single, soul-stirring surge, the UN could rise up with clarion voices and cry ‘DEATH TO THE CAPITALIST WARMONGERS’ Wister, what in the name of God are you looking at NOW?”

  There were three seagulls lying along the concrete parapet. Their feet were stuck into black blobs of oil, pinning them to the concrete. Two were dead. The third, his feet stuck and his feathers saturated with oil, was still making feeble efforts to get free.

  “Those birds,” said Wister. “They got into an oil slick.”

  “And I suppose that will make it easier for you to trap them and blow them up with an atomic bomb! Ignore his antics, class. There is always some student who tries to get others to laugh.” A helicopter was coming down the river very low and the sound blotted her voice out.

  Heller was putting on a pair of gloves from his kit. He went over and verified that the two motionless ones were actually dead. Then he went to the third one. It feebly tried to defend itself with its beak.

  Kneeling, Heller got a small spray out of his haversack. By Gods, he skirted on the edges of real Code breaks: it said Solvent 564, Fleet Supply Base 14 right on it in Voltarian! I made a note of it. Somebody might notice!

  He took out a redstar engineer’s rag and protected the bird’s eyes and air holes and rapidly sprayed its feathers. Of course, the oil vanished.

  Then he unstuck its feet, wiped them off and sprayed them. He inspected the bird, found a couple of spots he had missed and handled those. He was always so maddeningly neat!

  He took out a water bottle and filled the cap. The bird, head loose by now, started to strike, then thought better of it and took some water from the cap. The bird did it several times.

  “You were dehydrated,” said Heller. “It’s the hot sun. Now take a few more sips.” What a fool. He was talking to it in Voltarian and it was an Earth bird!

  Then he took out half a sandwich and broke it up and laid it on the grass. The bird stretched its wings, doubtless with some surprise. It was going to fly away but saw the sandwich and decided to have lunch first.

  “Now, that’s a good bird,” said Heller. “You stay away from that black stuff. It’s oil, understand? Petroleum!”

  The bird let out some kind of a squawk and went on eating the sandwich. I don’t know why it squawked. It couldn’t understand Voltarian.

  Heller looked around. Of course, the Nature Appreciation class was gone. Heller listened intently. He heard nothing. He did a fast scout.

  And then he was sniffing. What the Hells was he sniffing about?

  He glanced back. The seagull was just taking off. It sailed by him and curved outward over the river and was gone.

  Sniffing some more, Heller trotted ahead and was shortly in the reception center of the General Assembly Building, according to the signs. There was even an information sign but he didn’t approach it.

  He seemed to find the place very curious. The light was coming through the walls from outside in a translucent effect. He went over to a wall and examined it to find out why, probably.

  He went over into the Assembly Hall and there was the class.

  Miss Simmons was lecturing. “…and here it is that the delegates could rise with one voice and in stentorian and noble tones denounce nuclear weapons forever. But alas, they do not. The men who occupy this place are silenced by their own fears. They cower…”

  Heller was examining some marble.

  The class trailed out on Miss Simmons’ heels and, with her still lecturing and totally ignoring the guide who seemed to have attached himself to the party, went into the Conference Building and were shortly in the gallery of a chamber labelled:

  The Security Council

  They gazed across the two hundred or so empty public seats — for, of course, nothing was in session and would not be for another couple of weeks — and Miss Simmons continued her lecture. “…And so we come at last to the lair of the powerful few who, even if the General Assembly did act, this fifteen-nation body would veto any sensible ban proposed. The five permanent members — United States, France, United Kingdom, Russia and China — each have the right to turn down, individually, the anguished pleas of all the peoples of the Earth! They block any effort anyone makes to outlaw nuclear power and disarm the world! Greed, lust for power, megalomania and paranoia cause these self-anointed few to surge onward and onward, closer and closer to the brink.”

  Heller had been admiring the gold and blue hangings and a mural. But at her last words, he spoke sharply. “Who keeps preventing a solution?”

  Miss Simmons spoke out with a clarion voice of her own. “The Russian traitors who have sold out the revolution and asserted themselves the tyrants of the proletariat! Who asked that question? It was a very good one!”

  “Wister did,” said a girl.

  “Oh, you again! Wister, stop disturbing the class!” Miss Simmons led them back outside.

  Heller’s eyes lingered on a huge statue of a muscular figure that was putting a lot of effort into something.

  Heller asked, “What is that statue doing?”

  Miss Simmons said, “That is a Russian statue. It is a worker being forced to beat a plowshare into a sword. It personifies the betrayal of the proletariat.” She had looked back, moving her glasses off her eyes to see. “Ah, that was a good question, George.”

  Wister was looking around to see who George was and so were the other students.

  She had gathered them together under the Statue of Peace. “Now, today, students, was just a start, an effort to orient this course for you. But I will review why we started here, so pay very close attention.

  “All that you will see in our future Sundays of Nature Appreciation is doomed by nuclear war. It will make it far more poignant for you, as you admire the beauties of nature, to realize, as you look at every blossom, every leaf, every delicate paw and each bit of soft, defenseless fur, to realize that it is about to be destroyed forever in the horror and holocaust of thermonuclear war!”

  Oh, she was right there! I
f Heller didn’t win and a Voltar invasion got turned loose, those crude atomic bombs would seem like a picnic!

  “So, class,” she went on, “if you do not yet feel, individually and collectively, the craving urge to instantly sign up with the Anti-Nuclear Protest Marchers, I assure you that you soon will — New York Tactical Police Force or no New York Tactical Police Force. Class dismissed. Wister, please remain behind.”

  The students wandered off. Heller came up to Miss Simmons.

  She lifted her glasses up to try to see him. “Wister, I am afraid your classwork is not improving. You were interrupting and disturbing the others. You were not paying attention!”

  “I got everything you said,” protested Heller. “You said that if the UN couldn’t be made to function, the planet would destroy itself with thermonuclear weapons.”

  “Weapons made by such as you, Wister. My words were far stronger. So you get an F for today. If your daily classwork is a bad average, you know, of course, that even a perfect, INFLUENCED, final examination won’t save you. And if you flunk this course, Wister, you won’t get your diploma and then nobody will listen to you and you’ll never get that coveted job of blowing up this planet. Small as it is, I do my bit for the cause, Wister. Good afternoon.” And she stalked off.

  Heller sat down.

  And how pleased I was! Miss Simmons had him stalled. What a marvelous, brilliant woman! Her straight hair and glasses hid the fact that she was also quite good looking. And even though she obviously hated men, I felt a great tenderness for her, a longing to hug her and tell her what a truly magnificent person she was!

  My ally! At last I had found one to give me hope in my sea of chaos!

  Oh, it did me good to see Heller just sitting there, staring at the grass.

  The fate of empires lay in the delicate and beautiful hands of a woman. But this was not the first time in the age-long histories of planets. I prayed to the Gods that her grip on fate would remain tenacious and strong.