Zombies of the Gene Pool

shop; i.e. the car he used), and Marion had been assigned to the front passenger seat on the condition that she act as navigator and that she use her reading glasses when consulting the map. She was dressed for the expedition in khaki shorts, an Earth Day T-shirt, and several layers of sun block. Jay had suggested that the outfit needed chukka boots and a riding crop to really complete the look, but Marion was not amused.

Erik Giles, in a white suit and straw hat, looking like a clean-shaven version of Mark Twain, was settled into the backseat, reading the current issue of Atlantic.

'I thought they saved Wall Hollow,' said Marion, running her finger over the area south of Johnson City. 'I mean, I thought that a new town bearing that name still existed. Didn't the TVA move the church and several of the town buildings to higher ground? I thought that some of the residents moved there.'

'They did,' said Jay Omega. 'I asked Wulff in civil engineering about it. Dams are his specialty. According to him, the present village of Wall Hollow is one street, with half a dozen buildings, one general store, and a scattering of houses. It's smaller than it was in the old days before the lake. Rand-McNally didn't think it worth mentioning.'

Erik Giles leaned forward and peered between the seats for a closer look at the map of Tennessee. 'Never mind,' he said. 'I know how to get there. See if you can find Hampton on the map.'

With her nose almost touching the map, Marion finally announced, 'Hampton. Got it. Highway 321. It doesn't look very large, either.'

'I don't suppose it is. It wasn't much more than a crossroads in the early fifties. Back when we lived on the farm, the little diner and service station there kept a black bear in a cage as a tourist attraction. Tourists used to buy bottles of chocolate soda to feed it, and the bear would hold the bottle in its forepaws and chug it down in one gulp.'

Marion looked stern. 'If that is an example of the good old days, I'm thankful to have missed them.'

'Look at the map again,' said Jay Omega, hoping to forestall another of Marion's lectures. 'We're not going to Wall Hollow, are we? I thought the reunion was being held somewhere nearby.'

Marion consulted the reunion brochure, a three-paneled flier on baronial ivory paper. It had been printed in considerable style by MistralWorld, Inc. and mailed to everyone connected with the science fiction genre. On the front was a blue computer-designed graphic of Atlantis sinking beneath the waves, and above it in gold-foil avant garde script were the words: Return of the Lanthanides. The first panel gave a brief history of the Lanthanides and the fate of Dugger's farm, probably taken from a reference work on science fiction, since several of the less important members were omitted altogether (Woodard, Giles, Conyers). The center panel gave a schedule of events, culminating with the Saturday trek to the newly drained Fan Farm to recover the time capsule (proceedings to be filmed by the television program A Current Affair). The literary auction would take place on Sunday morning, followed by a press conference with the surviving Lanthanides and their newly acquired publisher, the high bidder of the auction. The last panel, authorship credited to George Woodard of Alluvial, listed the contents of the time capsule and a brief description of the mini-con weekend that led to its creation. One of the two back panels provided a map of the Gene C. Breedlove Lake area of east Tennessee, with instructions on how to get there by air or car, and the last panel said 'MistralWorld Productions' in the customary and instantly recognizable flourish.

'There is a map on the back of the folder,' Marion announced. 'According to this, we are staying at a state park motel on the shores of Breedlove Lake.'

Jay Omega snickered. 'Not the Breedlove Inn?'

'Alas, no,' grinned Marion. 'It's called the Mountaineer Lodge. It's beside the dam, on the western side of the lake, a few miles from the present Wall Hollow.'

'The best local motel by a dam site,' chuckled Erik Giles.

Marion turned to stare at him. 'I thought you didn't make puns anymore.'

He sighed. 'It's the reunion. God knows what I shall be saying and doing after a few hours of their collective presence. Singing 'Shrimp Boats,' I expect. I hope we don't shock the editors.'

Marion consulted the brochure. 'Not much chance of that. I believe they will be lodging at the Holiday Inn in Johnson City so as not to cramp your style.'

'I suppose Bunzie will have them bused in for the auction.'

'You wouldn't shock the editors, anyway,' said Jay Omega. 'Writers are supposed to be eccentric. Besides, they're filming this reunion, aren't they? If you all clown around, the media will love it. It will be good for the auction.'

'They're having a literary auction in Wall Hollow, Tennessee?' said Marion. 'That doesn't sound like publishing as we know it, Jay, because your editor wouldn't cross the street…'

'I know,' said Jay, 'but this is a publicity deal. Remember that the whole thing is going to be filmed for national television, and Mistral is connected with the movies. Even New York is impressed by the presence of movie people.'

'It's Bunzie's doing, I am certain,' said Erik Giles. 'He had an instinctive grasp of publicity. He faxed press releases to Publishers Weekly and to all the major newspapers, announcing the reunion. A couple of reporters are actually being sent down to cover it. To me it all sounds like a scheme to get an outrageous sum for the anthology. I confess that I am not averse to such a plan.'

'It will probably work, too,' said Marion after a moment's consideration. 'People don't buy books unless they've heard of them. All of this star-studded publicity could turn this into a bestseller.'

'That would be a pleasant surprise after all these years.'

'Aren't you worried about what the English department will say when they find out who you really are?' asked Jay Omega.

Erik Giles looked startled. 'What do you mean?'

'C. A. Stormcock.'

The professor smiled. 'I imagine that the department will forgive that youthful indiscretion if I promise not to lapse again.'

'Don't you think you might like to write science fiction again?'

He shook his head. 'Definitely not. To quote Mr. Woody Alien, I plan to take the money and run.'

'Well, the auction should provide you with plenty of that,' said Jay Omega.

'Do you think Alien Books will be there to bid?' asked Giles.

'No,' said Jay, reddening a little at the mention of his neglectful publishers. 'They only do paperbacks. I don't think they could afford a deal of this magnitude.'

'They're probably all in summer school, anyhow,' giggled Marion, who contended that Alien Books filled its editorial vacancies by calling the Runaway Hotline.

'Well, it should be a very profitable venture for you, Erik,' said

Jay. 'Imagine getting thousands of dollars for a short story thirty-five years later. What was your story about, anyhow?'

Erik Giles smiled ruefully. 'I've been trying to remember. I believe that all our stories were very much in the style we later became known for. Surn did a story on colonialism set on a distant planet; my old friend-er-Pete- Deddingfield, I mean, wrote a poetic alien encounter thing that reminded me of Moby Dick. Or maybe / wrote that one. We lived in each other's pockets in those days, and some of us dabbled in each other's styles. Well, if Pete wrote that one, then I think I wrote one about a man dying of radiation poisoning.'

Marion shuddered. 'In 1954?'

'Oh, yes. The Fan Farm library had a paperback copy of Hiroshima by John Hersey, and I remember being very struck by his account of the aftermath of the bombing.'

'It will be an interesting story to read in today's world,' Jay remarked.

Giles blushed. 'I hope I got my details right. We didn't do much research in our Fan Farm days. Too far from a library.'

'Do you remember anyone else's story?'

'Dugger wrote a high-tech yarn from the point of view of an alien PFC. He was drawing on his army experiences. I remember laughing a lot when he read it. Dugger had a keen sense of irony.' He paused for a moment, remembering his friend. 'Let's see, who have I forgotten? Woodard. I can't remember Woodard's story. I