certainly, amino acids and DNA, and an organizing force that binds the whole regardless of its size and which responds now perfectly to the consciousness of the being which can reshape the entire entity at will.”
She stopped, searching his face to divine whether or not he understood her. But did it matter? She understood now, that was the point.
“It is not invisible; it is simply impossible to see. It isn’t supernatural. It is merely capable of passing through denser matter because its cells are far smaller. But they are eukaryote cells. The same cells that make up your body or mine. How did it acquire intelligence? How does it think? I can’t tell you any more than I can tell you how the cells of an embryo know to form eyes and fingers and liver and heart and brain. There isn’t a scientist on earth who knows why a fertilized egg makes a chicken, or why a sponge, crushed to powder, reassembles itself perfectly-each cell doing exactly what it should-over a period of mere days.
“When we know that, we will know why Lasher has intellect, because his is a similar organizing force without a discernible brain. It is sufficient to say now that he is Precambrian and self-sufficient, and if not immortal, his life span could be billions of years. It is conceivable that he absorbed consciousness from mankind, that if consciousness gives off a palpable energy, he has fed upon this energy and a mutation has created his mind. He continues to feed upon the consciousness of the Mayfair Witches and their associates, and from this springs his learning, and his personality, and his will.
“It is conceivable as well that he has begun a rudimentary process of symbiosis with higher forms of matter, able to attract more complex molecular structures to him when he materializes, which he then effectively dissolves before his own cells are hopelessly bonded with these heavier particles. And this dissolution is accomplished in a state bordering on panic. For he fears an imperfect union, from which he can’t be freed.
“But his love of the flesh is so strong he is willing now to risk anything to be warm-blooded and anthropomorphic.”
Again, she stopped. “Maybe all of life has a mind,” she said, her eyes roving over the small room, over the empty tables. “Maybe the flowers watch us. Maybe the trees think and hate us that we can walk. Or maybe, just maybe they don’t care. The horror of Lasher is that he began to care!”
“Stop him,” said Aaron. “You know what he is now. Stop him. Don’t let him assume human form.”
She said nothing. She looked down at the red wool of her coat, startled suddenly by the color. She did not even remember taking it out of the closet. She had the key in her hand but no purse. Only their conversation was real to her and she was aware of her own exhaustion, of the thin layer of sweat on her hands and on her face.
“What you’ve said is brilliant,” said Aaron. “You’ve touched it and understood it. Now use the same knowledge to keep it out.”
“He’s going to kill you,” she said, not looking at him. “I know he is. He wants to. I can hold him off, but what do I bargain with? He knows I’m here.” She gave a little laugh, eyes moving over the ceiling. “He’s with us. He knows every trick at my command. He’s everywhere. Like God. Only he’s not God!”
“No. He doesn’t know everything. Don’t let him fool you. Look at the history. He makes too many mistakes. And you have your love to bargain with. Bargain with your will. Besides, why should he kill me? What can I do to him? Persuade you not to help him? Your moral sense is stronger and finer even than mine.”
“What in the world would make you think that?” she said. “What moral sense?” It struck her that she was near to collapse, that she had to get out of here, and go home where she could sleep. But he was there, waiting for her. He would be anywhere she went. And she’d come here for a reason-to warn Aaron. To give Aaron a last chance.
But it would be so nice to go home, to sleep again, if only she didn’t hear that baby crying. She could feel Lasher wrapping his countless arms around her, snuggling her up in airy warmth.
“Rowan, listen to me.”
She waked as if from a dream.
“All over the world there are human beings with exceptional powers,” Aaron was saying, “but you are one of the rarest because you have found a way to use your power for good. You don’t gaze into a crystal ball for dollar bills, Rowan. You heal. Can you bring him into that with you? Or will he take you away from it forever? Will he draw your power off into the creation of some mutant monster that the world does not want and cannot abide? Destroy him, Rowan. For your own sake. Not for mine. Destroy him for what you know is right.”
“This is why he’ll kill you, Aaron. I can’t stop him if you provoke him. But why is it so wrong? Why are you against it? Why did you lie to me?”
“I never lied. And you know why it mustn’t happen. He would be a thing without a human soul.”
“That’s religion, Aaron.”
“Rowan, he would be unnatural. We need no more monsters. We ourselves are monstrous enough.”
“He is as natural as we are,” she said. “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“He is as alien from us as a giant insect, Rowan. Would you make such a thing as that? It isn’t meant to happen.”
“Meant. Is mutation meant? Every second of every minute of every day, cells are mutating.”
“Within limits. Upon a predictable path. A cat cannot fly. A man cannot grow horns. There is a scheme to things, and we can spend our lives studying it and marveling at it, that it is such a magnificent scheme. He is not part of the scheme.”
“So you say, but what if there is no scheme? What if there is just process, just cells multiplying, and his metamorphosis is as natural as a river changing course and devouring farmland and houses and cattle and people? As a comet crashing into the earth?”
“Would you not try to save human beings from drowning? Would you not try to save them from the comet’s fire? All right. Say he is natural. Let us postulate that we are better than natural. We aim for more than mere process. Our morals, our compassion, our capacity to love and to create an orderly society, make us better than nature. He has no reverence for that, Rowan. Look what he has done to the Mayfair family.”
“He created it, Aaron!”
“No, I can’t accept that. I can’t.”
“You’re still talking religion, Aaron. You’re talking an obdurate morality. There is no secure logical ground for condemning him.”
“But there is. There has to be. Pestilence is natural, but you wouldn’t let the bacillus out of the tube to destroy millions. Rowan, for the love of God, our consciousness was educated by the flesh from which it evolved. What would we be without the capacity to feel physical pain? And this creature, Lasher, has never bled from the smallest wound. He’s never been chastened by hunger or sharpened by the need to survive. He is an immoral intelligence, Rowan, and you know this. You know it. And that is what I call unnatural, for want of a better word.”
“Pretty moral poetry,” she said. “You disappoint me. I was hoping you would give me arguments in exchange for my warning. I was hoping you would fortify my soul.”
“You don’t need my arguments. Look into your own soul. You know what I’m trying to tell you. He’s a laser beam with ambition. He’s a bomb that can think for itself. Let him in and the world will pay for it. You will be the mother of a disaster.”
“Disaster,” she whispered. “What a lovely word.”
How frail he looked. She was seeing his age for the first time in the heavy lines of his face, in the soft pockets of flesh around his pale, imploring eyes. He seemed so weak to her suddenly, so without his usual eloquence and grace. Just an old man with white hair, peering at her, full of childlike wonder. No lure at all.
“You know what it could really mean, don’t you?” she asked wearily. “When you strip away the fear?”
“He’s lying to you; he’s taking over your conscience.”
“Don’t say that to me!” she hissed. “That isn’t courage on your part, it’s stupidity.” She settled back trying to calm herself. There had been a time when she loved this man. Even now she didn’t want him harmed. “Can’t you see the inevitable end of it?” she asked, reasonably. “If the mutation is successful, he can propagate. If the cells can be grafted and replicate themselves in other human bodies, the entire future of the human race can be changed. We are talking about an end to death.”
“The age-old lure,” Aaron said bitterly. “The age-old lie.”
She smiled to see his composure stripped away.
“Your sanctimoniousness tires me,” she said. “Science has always been the key. Witches were nothing but scientists, always. Black magic was striving to be science. Mary Shelley saw the future. Poets always see the
