At The President's Soiree

At The President’s Soiree

      By Stefan Markos

Roderick wriggled a bit on the clammy fake leather sofa cushions, and scanned the partygoers in the room around him. A lot of familiar faces from the department, but not what he’d call friendly faces. He wasn’t here so much because he wanted to attend, as it would have been unwise not to attend. This was New Year’s Eve at the president’s home, and everybody who was anybody on campus had been invited.

Not that he really felt that he was anybody. Although he was technically faculty in an important department, he didn’t totally understand getting the invitation. He only knew it wouldn’t be politic to turn it down, however uncomfortable he would be.  All he needed right now was to be branded “antisocial” and “not one of the team,” although as adjunct instructor he felt almost like a backbench team member anyway.

He strongly suspected that it might have been through the influence of Dr. Richard Head, the Golden Boy of the Physics Department. The man couldn’t resist gloating, and this would give him a whole evening to do it.

Things had been a bit better when Roderick still had Elena, who was a little more the party type. He suspected that the main reason he had originally been welcome at these occasions is because they all enjoyed having her there. He just somehow couldn’t get out of his funk since she left. No doubt everyone here saw him as some sort of a wet blanket.

It wasn’t helping that his research proposal didn’t get funded. A government that was only interested in funding things to benefit big business wasn’t too likely to be keen on a highly controversial, cutting-edge physics project. He had tried pitching matter transmission as something with huge potential for commerce as well as science, but it was just too far out for the people controlling the grant money.

No, Head’s project was more what they were interested in,  essentially coming up with proof that outfits like Consolidated Amalgamated Enterprises weren’t going to ruin the planet with their operations if they got to do whatever they wanted. His grant proposal had breezed right through, which was why Golden Boy wanted to gloat.

This was more than petty rivalry. If Roderick couldn’t get his project funded, he couldn’t complete his dissertation. No doctorate, no professorship. He supposed that he would go on through the 2089-2090 academic year as an adjunct, and probably indefinitely beyond that. They did want his knowledge and teaching skills, especially since they got them on the cheap.

So, he could work. He could go on looking for funding. Maybe he could try to fill the empty place in his life that Elena had left, though he doubted it. He looked at Head and his circle of admirers, especially the women. He couldn’t quite make out what the good doctor was saying, but everyone seemed to find it highly amusing. People kept asking, “Hey, Dick, need another drink?” He didn’t turn any of them down.                                                 

To top it all off, Head was sitting on the president’s prize sofa. Nobody sat there except the president and his most special guests. It was an antique with brocaded silk upholstery,  

undoubtedly stuffed with horsehair. Who knew how much it was worth?

Roderick looked at his watch, then his phone. They were nearly synchronized, and they both told him it was almost midnight. Well, he could go through the motions of welcoming in 2090, then say his goodbyes and head home. It looked like he would just have time to use the bathroom before the ritual countdown started.

He went down the hall and found the bathroom door closed. From the sounds coming through the door, it was occupied by both a man and a woman, and they were not using the room for its usual purpose. Roderick was annoyed on two counts. One, it reminded him that he had been celibate for way too long, and two, his bladder was signaling that things were getting very urgent.

He heard two simultaneous, gasping shouts, followed by laughter. The door flew open, and the occupants stumbled out.

“All yours, Pal,” said the man.                                                                                                                      

Roderick rushed in and opened his pants barely in time. He looked at his phone. Less than a minute. Then, the sound of voices: “Ten! Nine! Eight...”

He was almost through. Maybe he could make it into the living room in five or six seconds… Suddenly, complete silence. He looked at his phone. The Date/Time read “1/(flashing)00/0000 00:00:00.”

           His watch, a vintage mechanical chronograph, performed as expected. The hands reached midnight as the day and date began to read Sunday, January 1.

           He rushed into the living room. It was empty. Really empty. Not only of people, but of furnishings. No chairs, no lamps, coffee tables or pictures on the wall. Even the president’s antique couch was gone. So was the fabulously expensive, exotic potted plant that had sat at one end of it. Was the whole house like this? What had happened to the phone? He thumbed the screen and the control buttons, attempting to reboot as he walked back toward the master bedroom, trying to see if he could find someone, anyone.

           “It’s no use,” said a woman’s voice from the bedroom, “The electronics got fried by the EMP when we pulled you through.

          “But, we’ll replace it after you get back. And, you might want to fasten your pants.”

           Roderick was standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, looking down at his fly. The woman was under the covers in a king size bed, with some clothes on the floor next to it. Right next to the clothes was an ice bucket with a large bottle sticking out of it. He was embarrassed by the open fly for some reason, but felt it would be just as embarrassing to close it. He hesitated.

           “Or,” she grinned, “You might not want to bother.”

           She threw off the bedclothes and patted the mattress beside her. It was obvious that the discarded clothes were hers. He had lots and lots of questions, of course, but decided to put first things first.

#                                                     #                                                         #

He finally opened his eyes and said, “That was wonderful,…”

           “Belaisia. Aren’t you glad they decided collect this way instead of the clinical way?”

           “Collect? Belaisia, who are you and what is going on?”

She grinned and glanced at the area below his waist.

           “Well, I know one thing that’s going on right now. Tell you what. One more time, then I’ll tell you everything. Agreed?”

           For some reason, Roderick agreed.

           Afterward, Belaisia snuggled up to him and kneaded the back of his neck.

           “Comfy? The explanation will take a while, and I’ll answer your questions as fully and honestly as I can.”

           Roderick relaxed a bit.

“How about if I start you off with some questions? What happened to all the people at the party? What fried my phone? This almost has the signs of some sort of time travel.”

           Belaisia looked a little more serious.

           “You believe that’s possible.”

           “I know it’s possible. The problem is working out the practical details.”

           “Well, Doctor Roderick, we’ve worked out the practical details.” She sat up and extended her hand. By reflex, he shook it.

           “Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Special Operative Belaisia of the Interstellar Institute, and I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

           “Pleased to meet you too, but I’m afraid it’s not ‘Doctor’ Roderick.”

           She put her hand to her mouth. “Oops. I forgot. Not quite yet anyway.”               

Though puzzled by her reaction, Roderick pressed on.

           “But what exactly is this Institute? I’ve seen a storefront office, just off campus, with that name on it. It’s right next to the UFO Society, as a matter of fact.”

           “And I’ll bet most of your colleagues take it just about as seriously,” she answered, grinning.

           “Exactly. In fact, one rather sarcastic individual suggested I go there to apply for a grant after the government turned me down.”

           Belaisia chuckled..

           “Dr. Richard Head, I take it.”

           “How did you know?”

           “Oh, we’ve got him profiled. He’s exactly the sort we won’t fund. Nothing he does will benefit Galactic civilization. When he came in to see our office, he saw absolutely nothing that would impress someone like him.”

           “Galactic civilization?”

           “That’s why we’re the Interstellar Institute. And that’s why we’re interested in you.”

           “Because of my matter transmission research?”

           “That’s one reason. Another reason is that you have a rather special type of brain. Let me show you something.”

           She reached under her pillow and pulled out something that looked like Roderick’s phone, only larger. She snapped it open.

           “What do you see?”

            He stared at the screen, at first mesmerized. The longer he looked, the more things fell into place. He saw currents, swirls, eddies of colored streams. He touched the screen to enlarge the images, and started seeing buildings and people.

           “It’s space-time, right? Almost a god’s-eye view. Does this trace the past and future of everything on the screen?”

           Belaisia nodded, grinning.

           “Ninety-nine-point nine percent of people can’t pick all that out. As I’ve said, you’ve got a special brain, one that may be part of the next step in human evolution. That’s why I’m making the collection. With your permission, of course.”

           “For what am I giving permission? What’s this collection you’re talking about?”

           She snuggled up and fondled him, then looked into his eyes.

           “Rod, do you have any children? You were married for a while.”

           “Elena didn’t want any. The one time she conceived, she had an abortion. And, she did it without talking to me first.”                                           

“You could have made a better match than Elena.”

           “I didn’t think so at the time.”

           “Ah, you’ve gotten so many negative messages about yourself.” She shook her head. “And you’ve believed them all.”

           Belaisia sat up, reached over the side of the bed and brought up the bottle. She handed it to Roderick. It looked to be some kind of bubbly. He undid the wire seal, gave the cork a push, and it flew away with a pop. There didn’t seem to be any glasses. He offered it to Belaisia. She held up a hand and shook her head. He took a deep pull.

           She looked at him closely for a second, then asked, “How would you like to have multiple sons and daughters? How would you like for them each to have a life and a career so great that you can barely imagine?”

           It was starting to dawn on him.

           “So what you’re collecting is my seed.”        

           “Exactly.  And the resulting children will have, loving homes, a brilliant education and a mind—boggling professional life.”

           Roderick frowned, and took another drink.  

“You said ‘multiple’,” he said. “Are we talking eugenics here?”

Belaisia grimaced, and shook her head.

“No! I think we both know that’s a crock. I’m talking about

recruiting the best possible candidates to carry out the mission of the Institute.”

           “Which is to serve this Galactic civilization you mentioned?”

           “First of all, to get it up and running. If humanity is to survive and flourish, it has to spread out to the stars and become Galactic Humanity.”

           He didn’t hesitate.

           “You’ve definitely got my permission. And, the way you describe the Institute, I’d like to do more for it.”

           “You can. First, get your project funded and get started on it. We need that matter transmitter.”

           He reached for the bottle and took another swig. “That I’ve been trying to do for some time.”

           She grinned. “But, you haven’t applied to the Institute yet. I suggest you do it. And, you might recruit us some more talent. You work on a university campus. Think you could find any engineers or space pilots?”                                                                                 

His head was reeling, and not just from the wine. Was he actually going to get his project funded?

“I believe I could,” he answered. But, about this collection — how exactly are you going to do this?”

She grinned and pointed below her waist.

           “It’s done! I’ve got enough for our doctors to extract.”

           “Doctors? Extract? Belaisia…this is all so cold and… mechanical…”

           “In a way, you’re right, I suppose you could say that I’m somewhat mechanical, although there’s more to it than that.”

Roderick sat bolt upright and almost dropped the bottle.

“You mean you’re a robot! I’ve been doing it with a machine?”

She looked almost hurt.

“Roderick, please. I do have thoughts and feelings, believe it or not.”

“Sorry, but what about my feelings? Will I get to see these kids grow up? Will I even get to meet them?”

           She smiled wistfully.

           “There’ll be more kids. And, there will be someone more suitable then me to raise them with. I promise.”

           She gave him a long, passionate kiss, then pulled a phone out from under a pillow and handed it to him.

           “Here’s your new phone. Don’t turn it on till after you get back.”

           Hesitantly, he accepted the phone. She touched her forehead to his.

           “Roderick, I’ll never forget you. But, a quick goodbye would be best.”

           #                                       #                                                         #

           Roderick found himself walking down the bathroom hall in the president’s house. Had it all really happened? Then, he reached down and checked his pants pockets. His undershorts were stuffed in one and his socks in another.                                                                                               

He took out his phone and turned it on. The day/date/time said 11:56 p.m., Saturday, December 31. But, his watch showed that it was near 3:00 a.m., January 1.

Also, it felt like he really had drunk all that wine. His bladder was threatening to let go at any second. He heard the noises coming from behind the bathroom door, but opened it anyway. The lovers were going after it in a seated position on the toilet stool.

Apparently, they didn’t notice the intruder. Roderick stepped up on the edge of the tub, raised the outside window, and let go his all.

The lovers finished a little before he did, then bolted out the door when they suddenly noticed they had company. They didn’t get too far down the hall before they tripped and fell, since their pants were down around their ankles.

Roderick checked his phone. 11:58. He’d be in time for the countdown.

Things had progressed somewhat in the living room since he last saw it. Golden Boy and the president were still on the sacred sofa. The former was looking somewhat the worse for the liquor, and the latter was looking rather uncertain and apprehensive. The sycophants were all standing around looking a bit jaded, or perhaps regretful that they had kept the drinks coming.

Roderick edged in a bit closer. He glanced at his phone. 11:59 and about a half. Head was definitely looking green around the gills. Someone called out, “Countdown!”

The chant started, “Ten! Nine! Eight…”                                           

Roderick did not join in, nor did the young woman that he found standing next to him. She looked familiar, somehow. Like him, she was watching the show on the sofa. She was smirking, and perhaps he was, too.

Head’s eyes and cheeks suddenly bulged, and he slouched sideways against the arm of the sofa. He rolled over with his face overhanging the potted plant, and threw up into the pot. He then went limp, face down, his legs across the president’s lap.

Roderick and the young woman were the first to step forward. They shook him.

“Sir!” she called, “Are you all right?”

“Dick!” said Roderick, shaking him, “Dick Head!”

Head groaned, stirred, then rolled over and fell off the sofa. There was a huge wet spot on the front of his pants, matched by one on the sofa upholstery. The president turned pale, then red, then purple.

“My Second Empire couch! My Rothschild’s orchid! Get him out of here! Everyone get out of here!”                                                                                                   

#                                              #                                                         #

Roderick and his new companion obeyed. As they strolled down the sidewalk, she looked at him and gave him a mock quizzical look.

“What was it that you called Doctor Head a while ago?”

“I simply addressed him by name, dear lady.”

They both broke down laughing.

“He was going to give me a ride home, but I don’t really live that far from here.”

“Me, neither. How about if I walk you home?” It occurred to Roderick where he had seen her before.

“You were in my Physics for Engineers class the semester before last, weren’t you?”

“That I was, Doctor Roderick.”

“Actually, I’m not ‘Doctor’ Roderick,” he said, “And my friends call me ‘Rod’.”

“I’m Clarinda Jones, Rod. My friends call me Clara.”

“So, how close are you to graduation? Have you zeroed in on a career yet?”

“I tried to get on with the space program, but they won’t take me. Doctor Dick Head said he had some influence there, and that he could help me get in. I suppose that’s why I accepted his invitation tonight.”

“So, what position exactly are you after?”                                                                            

“Space pilot. I’ve actually flown in space and passed all the aptitude tests. I just can’t get in.”

“Are you busy tomorrow, Clara? I’m thinking there’s an interesting organization I’d like to check out, and I’d really enjoy your company. It’s called the Interstellar Institute.”                      

 Clara grinned, “I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never quite had the nerve to go in there by myself. It sounds like fun, and I think you’d be really good company, Doc… excuse me, Rod.”

She shook her head, smiling.

“You know, it just seems to me that everyone should call you ‘Doctor’.”

Roderick smiled back.

“Thank you, Clara. But, not quite yet.”

END