Zombies of the Gene Pool

I'd better explain that to them.'

'I think they realize it.'

'Like hell they do. They're just sitting around playing dumb and hoping it will all go away. But it won't, unless they start cooperating very quickly.'

Marion's eyes narrowed. 'What does this have to do with John Brunner?'

'Nothing.'

'Then why are you going to call him at ten o'clock on a Sunday morning?' She wailed.

'Because I'm hoping that he has Jazzy Holt's phone number, and that he'll give it to me.'

'You are going to call Jasmine Holt?' gasped Marion.

'Not unless I have to,' said Jay grimly. He looked at his watch and sighed. 'I guess we'd better try to settle this thing now. Tomorrow may be too late. Could you round up the Lanthanides and bring them here?'

'Why would they want to do that?' asked Marion. 'Most of them hardly know you.'

'Tell them that we will meet here at eleven to resolve this thing. If they don't show up, I will consider that permission to report my findings to the police instead. And then I'll call a press conference.'

'You're going to do that? You? The person who wouldn't even tell the local paper about your award nomination?'

'This is different,' said Jay. 'Their sense of priorities is beginning to get on my nerves. And besides, I liked the man who was killed.'

Ruben Mistral might have objected strenuously to Jay Omega's proposed meeting, except for the fact that his body was still running on California time, so it still seemed the shank of the evening to him, and he wasn't sleepy. Besides, the threat of adverse publicity appealed to the practical side of Mistral's nature, and he agreed that some son of discussion would be prudent. Marion persuaded the others to come by ending her summons with the statement: '-And Ruben Mistral is coming.' With varying degrees of reluctance, everyone agreed to turn up at Jay Omega's room in one hour's time.

Jay spent the hour before the meeting online with the Fandango grapevine he had created in hopes that he might learn more useful bits of information about Pat Malone. He also made a phone call to Raleigh, North Carolina to check out a theory of his own. Marion read the time-capsule stories, with occasional snickers or caustic comments which Jay steadfastly ignored. Finally, though, ten minutes before the Lanthanides were due to arrive, he logged out of Delphi, switched off the computer, and turned to Marion. 'Well?' he said. 'Have you read them all?'

She looked thoughtful. 'Oh, yes.'

'What do you think?'

In most unscholarly terms, Dr. Marion Farley told him.

At five minutes to eleven the Lanthanides began to arrive. Jim and Barbara Conyers came first, bringing a bottle of wine, as if they were accepting a dinner invitation. Marion seated them on the double bed nearest the window, and left Jay to exchange pleasantries with them while she went to answer another knock at the door. George Woodard was there in his pajamas and bathrobe, giving a slumber-party air to the gathering. He was followed by Angela Arbroath, who was arm in arm with a dazed-looking Brendan Surn. Lorien Williams came in after them, appearing more tired than nervous. Finally Erik Giles and Ruben Mistral appeared, bringing along chairs from their own rooms.

'I'm too old to sit on the floor,' said Erik. 'Met Bunzie in the hall, and he agreed with me. Here we are. What's this all about?'

The Lanthanides turned expectantly to Jay Omega, who reddened a bit under their solemn stares. I guess you're wondering why I asked you here,' he said softly.

Jim Conyers scowled. 'I'm wondering why we bothered to come.'

'Well,' said Jay. 'Believe it or not, I mean well. I know that this anthology means a lot to most of you, and that you want the time-capsule retrieval to be remembered as a solemn and meaningful event-and not as the prologue to a sensational murder story.'

George Woodard yelped. 'Pat Malone was murdered?'

Mistral's response was more pragmatic. 'Who knows this?'

'The police. Maybe some reporters by now, but if you're lucky, they haven't made any connection yet between the deceased and the reunion. They will, though, if this thing goes into investigation. Especially if they find out that Pat Malone had come back to life for this reunion.'

'He's right,' said Ruben Mistral. 'We need to talk about damage control. Jim, you're a lawyer. What can we do?'

Jim Conyers shrugged. 'Cooperate, I guess. Once the medical examiner ran that tox screen and found a suspicious substance present in the deceased, there was no chance of stopping the investigation. The longer it drags on, the more publicity there's going to be.'

Erik Giles interrupted him. 'Could I have some of that wine, Jim?'

The others shushed him and went on talking at once, but Barbara Conyers flashed him a sympathetic smile and handed him the bottle and a plastic glass.

'What if we called a press conference and said we had nothing to do with it?' asked Angela Arbroath.

Jim Conyers shook his head. 'People might naturally wonder why you saw fit to call a press conference over the demise of a total stranger. And then you'd have to tell them it was Pat Malone, and then-'

'Was it?' asked Jay Omega.

'What?'

'Was the dead man really Pat Malone? Can anyone swear to that?'

The Lanthanides looked at each other. 'Well, after thirty years…' said Angela hesitantly.

'He was still pale,' George offered. 'And six feet tall.'

'I thought Pat looked like a frog in the old days,' said Barbara Conyers. 'Sort of saucer-eyed, you know, and loose-lipped. But we've all changed so much. I wouldn't have known any of you on sight.'

'It hardly matters,' said Erik Giles, taking a sip of his wine. 'He knew things about us that no one else could have known.'

'He enjoyed it, too!' said Woodard indignantly. 'He was going to make us all look like fools again. Just like he did to everyone in The Last Fandango!'

Ruben Mistral looked from Jay Omega to the laptop computer still set up on the table, and back again. 'What are you getting at?' he asked.

'I'm trying to help you people settle this, before we all become suspects for the local police,' said Jay. 'And I think George Woodard made a key point just now. The man who died was going to make fools of you all by telling things that you didn't want made public. I think someone murdered him to prevent that. So, if we knew what the secrets were, it might help us guess who killed him.'

Erik Giles smiled gently. 'You needn't do all this on my account, Jay,' he said. 'I know I invited the both of you here, but you needn't feel responsible for me. We're not such old fogies that we can't take care of ourselves.'

'It's the man who died that concerns me. One of your little secrets caused it.'

Angela Arbroath shook her head. 'The least important secret might have been the one he was killed over. How could you tell?'

Jim Conyers looked amused. 'You're not suggesting that we confide in you, are you? If we didn't trust one of our own, why should we let you hear our secrets? Assuming, of course, that there are any.'

'Well,' said Jay Omega, shrugging. 'I thought you might want to see the murderer punished. Or at least stopped from killing again. Especially since he killed a total stranger.'

Angela stared. 'What are you saying?'

He spoke slowly and carefully. 'That man was no more Pat Malone than I am.' He waited for the exclamations of shock and disbelief to subside before he continued. 'The man's driver's license said that he was Richard Spivey, from a little town near Raleigh, North Carolina. And I believe that to be true.'

'Richard Spivey!' cried George Woodard.

'Do you know him, George?' asked Erik Giles.

'I'd never seen him, but he'd been subscribing to Alluvial for years. Richard Spivey