Zombies of the Gene Pool

Years later, after she had run into Brendan Surn at a few conventions and seen him besieged by soul-starved young strangers, she saw things from the other side, and she realized that touching people through their books was the best that most authors could do. Anything else was a letdown. By then she had also realized that the Dickinson quote about books being frigates was meant perhaps as a gentle warning from the author, telling her not to stray too far from life. She saw Miranda Cairncross years later, a frail old woman who had been brought to Worldcon to receive a plaque. Angela decided that the best way to thank her would be to leave her in peace.

'Yes,' she said to Lorien Williams. 'So you went to see Brendan Surn, thinking that he would be your friend.'

'I guess so.' Lorien was close to tears. She glanced over at the staring figure of Surn and continued, 'When I got to his house, the place was a mess, and he didn't seem to know how to cook or anything, so I said to myself, I'll just stick around until his household help comes back. But they never did! I think his maid must have quit, and he never got around to advertising for another one.'

'So you stayed?'

She nodded. 'I didn't know what else to do! I mean, I couldn't leave him. I guess I could have later, after I learned how to manage everything. I could have hired someone, I guess. But he seemed to need me. And I didn't know what else to do with myself anyway.' Her voice broke. 'But it isn't like I thought it

would be! Sometimes, when he's wet the bed again or burned up another teakettle trying to boil water, I'll say to myself, This is the man who wrote Starwind Rising. This is a being of greatness. But he isn't! He's just an ordinary, sick old man. And I feel trapped.'

'Did you become friends?'

Lorien shook her head. 'He's never reacted to me the way he did to you today. I think I'm just a convenience for him, not a person!'

There is no frigate like a book, thought Angela. Aloud she said, 'Fans are not friends, dear. It can be dangerous to forget that.'

Jay Omega didn't even look up when Marion entered the room. He was staring at the screen of his computer as if it were showing Indiana Jones movies. 'Your ferret is reporting in, sir,' said Marion, tapping him playfully on the shoulder.

'Shhh!' he said. 'I'm talking to somebody.'

Marion looked around the otherwise empty room. 'Who? Friend of Curtis Phillips?'

He slumped back in his seat and looked up at her. 'No. Not a demon. A guy out in California, and one from North Carolina. Whole crowds of people. Look at this.' He tapped a block of text on the screen.

Leaning over his shoulder, Marion read aloud: 'To J. O. Mega. From Kenny in Cupertino. Called Ethel Malone's number. The woman who answered says Ethel is in a nursing home, and that she's her grandniece. She says her Great-Uncle Pat died in 1958. Thinks they have a death certificate around someplace. Physical description: 6'2' (she thinks); green eyes; black hair; very pale. Says she sometimes gets crank calls from fans. Asks that fans not make pilgrimage to her house, as she barely remembers Great-Uncle Pat. Wants to be left alone. She sounds cute, though. I'm thinking about asking her out. -Kenny.'

'Let me type a reply thanking this guy for his trouble,' said Jay. 'Then you can tell me what you found out, Marion. By the way, have we eaten dinner?'

Marion reached for the room service menu. 'I thought you'd never ask.'

When she came back from ordering a couple of chicken dinners, Marion turned back to Jay. 'So, did he fake his death certificate so that he could get rid of his wife as well as his friends?'

'I don't think so,' said Jay. 'A guy from Mississippi went down to his local library and found an obituary for Pat Malone in an old newspaper on microfilm.' He grinned. 'Somebody who called himself Jim Hacker offered to break into the records of the University of Washington medical school, but I declined.'

'Good. I'm sure the dean of engineering takes a dim view of professors being wanted by the FBI.'

'I also got some interesting reminiscences from some old-timers that didn't quite square with things here. I get the funny feeling that the Lanthanides are still playing 'you and me against the world.' By the way, can you get me a copy of the time-capsule stories?'

Marion looked smug. 'I already did,' she said. 'I asked Geoffrey Duke to make one for me. I thought it might be useful in case I decide to do an article.'

'Good. Have you read them yet?'

'Of course not. I've been running errands for a certain engineer with delusions of grandeur.'

'Oh. Well, sometime tonight I wish you'd take a look at them.'

'Don't you want to see them?'

Jay shook his head. 'No. I need you to read them in that sharklike way that English majors read things. Analytically.'

'I see,' said Marion dryly. 'I'll try not to mistake that for a compliment. Anything else?'

'You have read the Lanthanides' published work, haven't you?'

'I just finished teaching the early science fiction course, remember? Of course, I have!'

'I thought so. Good. That ought to wrap it up.'

'So what do you think about all this?'

'You first, Marion. Any news?'

Marion nodded. 'Angela Arbroath says that Elavil is used to control depression, among other things, and Jim Conyers phoned his friends in law enforcement, and was told that the case is a suspected homicide, and that the investigators will be back sometime tomorrow to question everybody. Something called an MAO inhibitor got added to Malone's medicine. Apparently, a tablet had been crushed and added to his drink.'

'MAO inhibitor. I know what that is. My Uncle Ewen… Well, anyway, that's interesting. Anything else?'

'The police have the deceased listed as Richard Spivey.'

'Good,' said Jay. 'And do they think he was Pat Malone?'

'The Lanthanides? Yes. Angela says he had to have been. He knew stuff that only one of the Lanthanides would know.' She ticked off the members' names. 'Dugger's dead, Deddingfield's dead, Curtis Phillips is dead, and all the rest of them are here. Besides, if he wasn't Pat Malone, why would any of them kill him?'

'I wondered that,' said Jay Omega. 'And I don't know. But I rather think that they do.' He looked thoughtful and then embarrassed. 'Marion, did you bring my SFWA directory in that rat's nest of bibliographic papers you insisted on packing?'

'Yes. And don't say it was a waste of time, because I still might interview one of the Lanthanides for an analysis of early S-F for one of the journals. Maybe.'

'You probably won't, but I'm not complaining about the fact that you brought it. I just need my directory.'

Marion retrieved the booklet containing the membership list of the Science Fiction Writers of America and resisted the urge to fling it at him. Jay began to flip through the dog-eared pages. Several entries were marked with comments (e.g. 'Sent thank you note') and a few had telephone numbers written after them in pencil. 'She's not in here,' he muttered.

'What are you up to now?' asked Marion.

Jay continued to thumb through the booklet. 'Who is the most famous person I know in science fiction?'

Marion searched her memory. 'Well, you shook hands with Arthur C. Clarke once.'

'No. I mean the most famous person that I can impose upon.' He handed her the booklet. 'And your choice is limited to the people I have phone numbers for.'

Marion began to flip through the pages, going from back to front. 'You served on a committee with him once… didn't we meet her at a con last spring?' Finally she stopped turning pages, deliberating over one entry.

'Did you find someone?'

She took a deep breath. 'John Brunner is an extremely nice person, and he seems to like you,' she said carefully. 'But since it is about three o'clock in the morning where he lives in Britain, I'd advise against presuming on his benevolence.'

'Good point,' said Jay. 'I suppose I could wait until five a.m. to call him. That would make it ten on a Sunday morning where he is. But I wanted to get this done tonight.'

'Get what done?'

'Look, if the Lanthanides don't get this solved very quickly, there will be all three rings of a media circus. I think