Zombies of the Gene Pool

close to the lake, you know. Besides, honey, the boat trip makes better copy,' he told her. 'But anybody who wants to hitchhike back has my permission.' With that he handed the jar back to Geoffrey Duke for safekeeping, then turned and ambled back down the hill toward the river. After a moment's pause, the entire troop of muddy followers plowed along after him.

Chapter 12

He wanted to pound on their doors, call them out

in their housecoats and frowsy pajamas,

and tell them in clear words

that time buries itself like a river under a lake

that river feeds, that though the past is irretrievable,

nothing left down there is gone.

– DON JOHNSON Watauga Drawdown

Jay Omega and Marion Farley were not invited to the remainder of the afternoon's events. When the three boats had safely moored again at the Mountaineer Lodge boat ramp, Ruben Mistral gave everyone an hour's break to get cleaned up from their muddy trip upriver. At that time, he informed the Lanthanides, they were to assemble in the downstairs conference room to witness the official opening of the time capsule, to be followed by interview sessions with the journalists. The editors who did not want to observe the publicity marathon in action were urged to attend a private screening of Ruben Mistral's latest movie, Laser Nova, after which photocopies of the time-capsule contents would be issued to them, and they would be returned to their hotel in Johnson City to prepare for Sunday's auction.

'You ought to try to talk to Ruben Mistral sometime this weekend,' Marion told Jay. 'Did you bring along a copy of Bimbos of the Death Sun? Maybe he could help you sell the movie rights.'

Jay shook his head. 'Just what I need-to be famous for writing Bimbos of the Death Sun. It was bad enough when it was a paperback original that no one could ever find.' 'But think of the money, Jay!'

'Think of the dean of engineering, Marion. Try to get tenure with something called Bimbos of the Death Sun on your vita!' He smiled at her expression of disappointment.

She sighed. 'Tell me about trying to get tenure! My department hires two tenure-track people for every one position. I wish I could have become a professor in the good old days, like Erik Giles did. Back then you got tenure more or less automatically, just for hanging around for a few years without screwing up. I don't know if he's ever published anything. Whereas I have to spend every waking moment grubbing up some obscure footnote-'

'I see,' said Jay. 'So you think that if I could make a career out of science fiction I could escape all that hassle.'

'You could. Ask Isaac Asimov about academia some time.' Jay smiled. 'Ask practically everybody else about low advances and an uncertain income. Anyway, thanks for trying so hard to make me famous, Marion. But it takes more than talent to be Ruben Mistral, and I don't think I've got it. Anyhow, we have more important things to do. Can you find the hotel manager and see what he knows about Malone's death?'

'I suppose so. But is this really any business of ours? Shouldn't we at least consult Erik before we do anything?'

'I talked to Pat Malone late last night after the party. I kind of liked him.' He grinned. 'Maybe I'm becoming a Pat Malone fan. Anyway, this is between me and him. Will you help?'

'I said I would.' Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'What are you going to do?'

'I'll be up in the room mobilizing the troops.' Marion hesitated. 'Look… you're not going to get arrested for breaking into the files of the U.S. government, or AT &T or anything. Are you?'

'Me? A hacker? Not a chance. Besides, I doubt if government records would be much help. What we need is a lot of people from a lot of different places to make phone calls for us and ask the pertinent questions.'

'And what makes you think that a bunch of fans from all over the country would be willing to help you out in this investigation?'

Jay grinned. 'Are you kidding, Marion? These are people who will argue for days over the meaning of a phrase in a Star Trek episode, and I'm going to give them a chance to solve a mystery concerning fandom's greatest nemesis-Pat Malone! If what you've told me about fandom is correct, I think they'll jump at it.'

'They probably will,' sighed Marion. 'It is, after all, gossip that can be rationalized as a public service inquiry. Go to it! You'll put the KGB to shame.'

The ceremony for the opening of the time capsule was set for four o'clock. The small conference room seemed to be lit by lightning, so frequent were the flashes from the photojournalists' cameras. The Lanthanides posed separately, together, and in a series of group shots clustered around the now-unmuddied time capsule. The huge glass jar had been cleaned with a succession of wet Mountaineer Lodge towels before the meeting began, and it now occupied the place of honor on a table in the front, covered in a shining white dropcloth.

'I suppose he couldn't find any red samite,' muttered Lily Warren, who was unfavorably reminded of the Grail legends.

Ruben Mistral waited until the flashes dwindled to an erratic few before he took his place as master of ceremonies of the Grand Opening.

'Ladies and gentlemen,' he intoned solemnly. 'We are about to engage in time travel. Remember that a Greek philosopher-I forget which one-said that time is a river, and that you cannot stop time, because you can never set your foot in the same place twice. But today we found that river of time, just as it was thirty years ago, before the lake was created, and we embarked on that river in search of-' he smiled at his own conceit '-in search of our lost youth. Those were the days when we were fans, idolizing the tale tellers and the dream merchants, and we put all our hopes for the future-our writing, our precious brain children -into this one fragile vessel and sent it forward to the future to wait for us.' He patted the lid of the time capsule.

'For thirty-five years it has waited. Through war, and flood, and the untimely deaths of some of our beloved comrades, this little vessel of silicon has held our brightest hopes. And today we went back to get it. The time has come to open it. Ladies and gentlemen, it is a solemn moment when one comes to terms with one's youth. May I have a moment of silence, and the assistance of Brendan Surn, in opening this reposit of our youthful ambition?' He was gratified to see that a number of reporters appeared to be taking down his speech in shorthand. In the back of the room, camcorders were rolling.

After a moment's hesitation, Brendan Surn, assisted by Lorien, made his way to the table where the time capsule sat, gleaming under the camera lights. Mistral removed the cloth, revealing a jumble of papers and other objects crammed into the translucent pickle jar. He motioned for Surn to take hold of the side of the jar, while he gripped the other side. 'It may have rusted shut,' he explained to the assembled witnesses.

On cue Geoffrey Duke advanced from the sidelines holding a flat rubber mat, which was in fact a large jar opener. He tapped expertly on the top of the lid and then applied the opener, wrenching it with considerable force. After two more tries, the lid opened, amid cheers from the audience. With a little bow to Mistral, Geoffrey made a hasty exit, leaving his boss to tilt the jar forward to give people another view of the contents.

'I suppose I'd better take this stuff out,' he murmured. 'I hope I can remember what all of it is.' He reached into the jar and pulled out a propeller beanie. 'I believe that was yours, George.' In carefully neutral tones he read the attached tag. 'By 1984, all the world's intellectuals will be wearing these.'

George Woodard hunkered down under waves of laughter. 'We were kidding!' he protested.