The Case of the Giant Watcher

Preland image source.

Below is the second part of a science fiction story called "The Dead Widower Society". To read Part 1, click here.

The Case of the Giant Watcher
Isaac Asimov had just emerged from the headquarters building of Space Energy Missions. He tossed a bag in the back seat of his car and we headed back into Muttenz.

I asked, "What happened in there?"

He replied, "All went well."

In order to get back on the highway we again had to cross the police barricade that was holding back the news reporters who has gathered to cover the story of the mysterious "Arlesheim Elf". Asimov was waved off the road by a guard and he drove into the ditch which provided a clear path past the reporters and back onto the highway.

As we drove past the throng of reporters, I waved through the car window to the one reporter who I recognized, Cecilie Vedra. She glared at me, with a look of perplexed exasperation on her face.

A row of television cameras, all equipped with long telephoto lenses, pointed up the hill towards the Space Energy Missions campus. The cameras had been positioned on a small burm across the highway from the driveway in an attempt to capture images of the Elf. The previous day, news reports had spread around the world describing eye-witness accounts about a strange creature, or "elf", apparently having been found living in the long-abandoned Space Energy Missions headquarters building.

I'd rushed across the Atlantic and joined up with Asimov to investigate the "Elf". Now safely away from the press, Asimov said, "Thomas, meet Cyndir. Cyndir, I think you already know Thomas."

I heard a thin scratchy voice from the back seat, rather like parrot imitating the voice of a young woman. "I've followed his career with interest."

I turned my head and discovered a small humanoid creature sitting in the middle of the back seat. The "elf", Cyndir.

I could see that Cyndir's body was no bigger than that of a human eight year old. I immediately realized that Asimov had secretly carried the Arlesheim Elf across the parking lot and to the car, hidden inside Asimov's small suitcase.

Puzzled about the means by which Cyndir could have fit inside the small suitcase, which was no bigger than the size of a carry-on air travel bag, I asked Asimov, "Is Cyndir a shapeshifter?"

Asimov replied, "As a fully nanite-equipped Preland Overseer, Cyndir does indeed have shapeshifting ability."

I wanted to ask what an alien Preland was doing on Earth, but first I asked Cyndir, "Why did you allow yourself to be cornered by the authorities and be subjected to a media circus?"

Asimov explained, "After the Buld spaceship departed from Earth and all the teleportation terminals were shut down, Cyndir was stuck here. Cyndir needs help getting off of this planet."

Cyndir said to Asimov, "I'm most grateful for your assistance."

Asimov grumbled, "Don't thank me yet. Its not like I have a spaceship waiting to take you back to Hemmal."

Cyndir and Asimov then carried out a conversation in some odd language which I assume was of alien origin. I could not understand what they were saying, but I had the feeling that they were talking about me. Finally they seemed to come to an agreement and they fell silent.

Unable to further contain myself, I blurted out, "What is a Preland doing on Earth?"

Asimov was at that moment pulling into the parking garage of our hotel. I took another marveling look at Cyndir's alien face and the alien's big eyes, pointed ears and small chin.

I wondered if Asimov was worried that a surveillance camera or passerby would record or notice the Elf. I asked, "Are you going to use the suitcase trick again?"

Asimov parked the car and jumped out. He replied, "No need for that. When in disguise, Cyndir can pass as a young girl." Indeed, I now saw that Cyndir had morphed and taken on the appearance of a human child.

We went to the hotel restaurant and ordered lunch. Asimov insisted that we hoist our wine glasses. He proposed a toast, "To the safe return of Cyndir to the Galactic Core." Asimov had ordered a steaming hot mug of cocoa for Cyndir, which the alien dutifully lifted and clanked against our glasses. Cyndir set down the mug and never touched it again.

The Trysta-Grean Pact

I complained to Asimov, "I suppose it amuses you to keep me in the dark, but I might be able to help if you explained what's going on. I've never previously heard the slightest hint or rumor of Prelands visiting Earth. In fact, I thought the Pact between Trysta and Grean assured that Prelands would never be sent to Earth. I'm baffled and confused by the presence of a Preland on Earth."

I'd been told that Prelands don't eat in the conventional sense, but I was quite ignorant of Preland physiology. Asimov had ordered several appetizers, but Cyndir touched none of the food that was brought to the table. While Asimov and I ate, the alien tried to put me at ease.

Cyndir now spoke in a thin, girl-like voice, sounding rather like the output of a speech synthesizer. Cyndir gazed innocently at me and explained, "There's really not much of a mystery. I long ago came to Earth and now I'm ready to leave."

Asimov and Cyndir both seemed rather smug and quite relaxed. In contrast, I was anxiously expecting a visit from the police at any moment. I asked Asimov, "How did you casually carry Cyndir out of a building that was swarming with police and soldiers?"

Asimov lowered his voice and leaned close to my ear, "Cyndir could have gotten out of there at any time. The point of the media circus was to inform the Lunar Overseers that a Preland had been captured by the police."

I was puzzled by the fact that Asimov had referred to Cyndir as a Preland Overseer. In all my previous experience, the term "Overseer" had always been used in the context of the Overseers who were in command of the secret Observer Base on the Moon.

Believing that Prelands lived far away, on planets of the Galactic Core, I'd never imagined a Preland might visit Earth. Might Prelands also be divided into Observer and Overseer groups?

Before I could ask about Preland Overseers, Asimov explained to me that he had slyly carried out a swap inside Space Energy Missions. He had used the suitcase to carry into the building a collection of advanced Nereid nanites that were able to simulate a Preland. It was that synthetic Preland that had remained in police custody, acting as a decoy for both the police and the Lunar Overseers.

Cyndir eventually explained to me the function of a Preland Overseer on Earth. There was only ever one such Overseer at a time, tasked with making sure that all the other Prelands on Earth did not attract attention. The Prelands that had lived on Earth were dissidents and rebels, dissatisfied with their lives in the Galactic Core.

I asked Cyndir, "How do Prelands travel to Earth?"

Cyndir explained that under the terms of the Trysta-Grean Pact, no more Prelands would come to Earth. However, in the past, the advanced alien technology of the Nereids had made it possible for Prelands to reach Earth, either by spaceship or by direct interstellar teleportation.

Asimov kept my glass filled and we proceeded to have a rather inebriated and celebratory meal that lingered well into the afternoon. Asimov and I sat there drinking champagne and listening to Cyndir tell startling stories about life in the Galactic Core until Cecilie showed up.

Cecilie Vedra, a reporter from New York, had tracked me to my hotel. She sat down at our table and said to me, "I had a devil of a time finding you."

I asked, "Are you enjoying your vacation?"

She thought I was mocking her and she snapped, "I can't start my vacation until this Elf business is resolved."

I said, "I thought you'd decided that the Elf stories were nonsense."

She nodded thoughtfully, "That was before I met you on the flight over here and heard your stories about time travel and alien visitors on Earth."

Asimov asked, "Thomas, are you going to introduce me to this charming young lady?"

Cecilie said to Asimov, "My name is Cecilie Vedra. I'm a reporter." She turned back to me and asked, "What were you doing at Space Energy Missions?"

I was uncertain what to say, not wanting to irritate Asimov. I looked towards Asimov and he made a zippering motion across his lips.

Cecilie noticed my eyes flick towards Asimov. She turned to Asimov and said, "You seem strangely familiar. According to the police your name is Henderson."

Asimov chuckled, "Police incompetence is legendary." He asked Cecilie, "Would you like some champagne?"

Cecilie replied, "No, thank you. I'm working, and none of this makes any sense. She pointed to Cyndir and asked, "Who is this?" Cecilie chided me, "Or what...maybe a time traveler or an alien?"

Asimov lied, "She's my daughter and none of your concern."

Cecilie asked skeptically, "Does your daughter have a name?"

Asimov pretended to be offended by Cecilie's question, "Have you no shame? When will reporters learn to stop involving innocent minors in their reporting?"

Cecilie said, "Mr. Henderson, my instincts tell me that there is nothing innocent about the way you waltzed into and out of Space Energy Missions today. Tell me, what was going on in there? Did you see the Elf?"

Asimov carefully avoided giving a real answer to Cecilie's simple questions. "All I know is that the police loaded some guy that they call 'the Elf' on a helicopter and flew away."

Cecilie nodded, "Yes, apparently the Elf is now being held at Witzwill."

Asimov suggested, "Maybe you should drive over there. The police might hold a news conference."

Cecilie shrugged. "There has been no such announcement. The police are as tight lipped as you are. Are you staying at this hotel?"

Asimov was evasive. "Why do you ask?"

Cecilie explained, "There's nobody named Henderson staying at this hotel." She turned to me, "But Thomas does have a room reservation here for tonight. That's how I traced you here."

Speaking in an acid voice, Asimov mocked Cecilie, "You’re a marvel of investigative efficiency. Do you work for the New York Times?

"I write for the Port Jefferson Echo."

Asimov snickered disdainfully, "I've never heard of the rag."

Cecilie glared at me. "Thomas, I thought we had become friends, but I suppose you have no intention of telling me the truth." She stood up.

I knew little about Cecilie besides the fact that her name and appearance matched that of a fictional character in a book that I had read in a previous Reality. I was torn between my desire to learn more about her mysterious origins here in our Reality and my competing need to not anger Asimov or disrupt his plans for helping Cyndir.

Cecilie said to Asimov, "I can tell when I'm not welcome." She then spoke to Cyndir, "You're a very quiet child. What's your name?"

Cyndir said nothing and just sat there staring insolently at Cecilie. Asimov said rather bluntly, "Ms. Vedra, you've over-stayed your welcome."

I was tempted to tell Cecilie at least part of what was going on, but she turned and walked away.

Asimov said to me, "Thomas, you never cease to annoy me. You're the bane of my existence!" He demanded, "What is your relationship with this cub reporter?"

I shrugged, "We met on the flight over from New York. What intrigues me is-" I wanted to tell Asimov about the fictional Cecilie Vedra character, but he cut me off.

Asimov roared, "I don't care about your fascination with this woman. Cyndir needs our help and I'm not going to let your silly romantic dalliance disrupt my plans."

I wondered why Asimov assumed a romantic relationship existed between Cecilie and myself. For a moment I considered following Cecilie and telling her the truth about Cyndir. I believe that everyone should know the secret history of Earth and learn the truth about alien visitors on this planet.

Cyndir said, "Thomas, please help me get back to my home world. I've over-stayed my welcome on this planet."

I decided that I should investigate Asimov's scheme, thinking that if I went along for the ride then I might be able to obtain some physical evidence of alien visitors to Earth. I could not even contemplate turning Cyndir into such evidence against his will, but maybe I could get my hands on some piece of alien technology.

I asked Asimov, "Why criticize me for talking to Cecilie when you created this whole media circus in the first place?"

Asimov explained, "The Lunar Observer corps has been decimated. It is now almost impossible to attract the attention of Moon Base. Rumors had circulated of a Preland living on Earth and I planned to use the news media to put a cap on those rumors. I had everything under control until you led this Vedra woman right to me and Cyndir. You're a bad luck charm, Thomas."

I muttered, "I don't think luck was involved."

Asimov blustered, "I was trying to be polite. Bluntly, talking to a reporter was foolish and-"

Cyndir put a hand on Asimov's arm and interrupted his shouting with a calm statement, "Now hold on, Isaac. I think Thomas is trying to tell us something important, but you just keep shouting him down."

Asimov shrugged, "Thomas always harbors some silly fantasy about how each and every event in his life was foreseen by his mother. Next he'll tell us that we're not doing things the way 'we're supposed to' and that we're messing up the timeline. He's obsessed with fantasies about time travel. He even claims that I've traveled through time. It's all nonsense."

Cyndir said to me, "Thomas, I know that time travel is no longer possible. The Huaoshy recently altered the dimensional structure ofthe universe so as to make further time travel impossible, but Earth, as we know it, came into existence through the actions of time travelers, including you, Grean, your parents and an analog of Asimov who existed in Deep Time."

Asimov rolled his eyes disdainfully. "If I have to listen to this from both of you I'm going to need more champagne." He signaled a waiter and ordered another bottle.

I asked Cyndir, "How is it that you know so much about time travel?"

Cyndir explained, "I met your mother long ago and we became close friends."

I became excited and demanded, "What did she tell you about the future? About my future? Did she foresee us here together?"

Asimov complained, "There he goes." He took the fresh bottle of champagne from the waiter. "Thomas, not everything is about you." Asimov poured our glasses full.

Cyndir shrugged, "Sorry, Thomas, but I agree with your mother. It is important that you not know too much about your own future."

Frustrated, I still wanted to learn something useful from the little alien. I asked, "Tell me this; how might it be possible for a fictional character from Deep Time to become a real living person here in this Reality?"

Cyndir enigmatically replied, "It is also best that you not know too much about Cecilie."

Asimov exploded, "Cyndir, are you saying that you knew all along that Thomas would show up here in Switzerland and get this meddling reporter dogging our trail?"

Cyndir gave a brief nod and quietly retorted, "Isaac, since you don't believe in time travel, why bother asking such a question?"

Asimov drained his glass and said, "I just need to know how crazy you are and how much drinking I need to do to drown my sorrows."

In the face of Asimov's testy exasperation, Cyndir was a steady ray of calm rationality. "I ask that we work together towards the goal of finding a way to return me to Hemmal. For now, Isaac, Thomas, I request that you put aside your long-simmering debate about time travel."

The next day, Asimov, Cyndir and I flew back to the States. Asimov took pity on me and paid my air fare, all the while criticizing me for being a failure as a capitalist and a human being.

I muttered, "I've been dating two women and for the past year they've taken every cent I earned."

Asimov looked at me in dismay. "You're supporting two women at the same time? As a truck driver?" Asimov asked Cyndir, "Can you see what's wrong with this picture?"

Cyndir shrugged, "I've never understood money, myself. Maybe capitalism is a genetic disease of the human species."

Asimov said, "Bah! You were both spoiled at a young age. In my youth I worked...I was putting money into the cash register from age seven on."

In the Asimov Reality

I pulled out Asimov's business card and asked, "Is this website your latest money maker?"

Asimov handed me his iPhone. "Check it out. That website is a marketing device. Put in the password 'gaLAXy' and you'll get access to the mystery novel that I wrote on a six figure advance."

Curious about how Asimov was keeping secret his second life on Earth, I asked, "What name are you now using for publication?"

The password-protected webpage opened and I saw: "Assassin from Hemmal" by John Doe and Saul Greek.

I looked at Asimov in astonishment, "Hey, you stole my pen name!"

Asimov chuckled, "That name creates a ready-made cover identity for me."

I scrolled down into the story and quickly confirmed that it was about a Preland visitor to Earth. I asked Cyndir, "Have you seen this?"

Cyndir nodded, "It was Isaac's act of shopping that novel around to publishing houses that created the rumors of a Preland being on Earth."

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Asimov said to me, "When I went with your clone, Parthney, to the Andromeda galaxy, we met some Nereids who told us about helping Preland rebels travel to Earth. How could I resist writing a story about such a marvelous topic?"

I finally understood. "So, it was your writing obsession that brought Cyndir to the attention of the Lunar Overseers and tossed him into the frying pan."

Cyndir nodded and said, "And now Isaac has agreed to help get me out of the frying pan. I'd appreciate your help in the matter to, Thomas. When I'm safely off of Earth then you will be free to tell my story to the world, but for now I suggest that you avoid further provoking Ms. Vedra's curiosity."

I read "Assassin from Hemmal" while we flew across the Atlantic. I was startled by how much information about the alien Prelands and the entire secret history of the Earth was in Asimov's story. Would the Lunar Overseers allow this information to be published, even as fiction?

While we rode in a limousine from the airport to Asimov's home, I asked, "Who is your co-author?" Based on the writing style, I had a suspicion about the identity of "John Doe", but it was too outrageous to contemplate.

Asimov replied, "He's someone who wants to remain anonymous."

I suggested, "Then he shouldn't have used his own first name. His writing style is quite distinctive. His fans won't be deceived."

Asimov smiled broadly. "His fans will be intrigued and our profits will soar."

Late in the day the three of us reached Asimov's home, what I discovered to be a large and luxurious mansion. Out of respect for his privacy, I'll not identify which state he now resides in.

Rather envious of Asimov's apparent wealth, I commented, "You seem to be doing remarkably well for a dead man."

Cyndir said, "I'm going to use my feeding station then go to bed." Cyndir disappeared into the depths of the house.

I asked Asimov, "Feeding station? I never understood how Prelands eat."

Asimov explained, "They make use of nanobots that carry microscopic nutrient particles into their bodies."

We were wandering through the rooms of the house and I discovered a large book shelf that held the complete published works of Asimov. I ran a finger over the edge of a shelf and found not a speck of dust. I asked, "Cleaning nanites?"

Asimov nodded, "I learned a hundred uses for nanites when I was on my voyage among the stars."

"Even how to make a simulated Preland?"

Asimov sat down in a large comfortable chair and told me about how he had come to be equipped with nanites. His account included an explanation of how he could replicate nanites. He'd used that ability to make the simulated Preland that had taken Cyndir's place in Switzerland and remained in police custody.

I was skeptical about Asimov's tale. "I can't believe that you so easily programmed nanobots to simulate a Preland."

Asimov shrugged, "Of course I didn't do the programming, but I don't have to know how to program when I use my iPhone, either. Speaking of which, are you done using my phone to read Assassin?"

I handed the phone back to Asimov. "I've read enough."

Asimov was hurt, "You don't want to read the thrilling conclusion?"

"Frankly, I got bored with your droning verbosity about 400 pages into the story."

Asimov laughed, "The publisher insisted that I insert all those romantic interludes. The original version was only half as long."

I asked, "So who gave you the means to simulate a Preland? If the Prelands had that kind of advanced technology then Cyndir would not be stuck here on Earth."

Asimov leaned back in his recliner and put his feet up. "The Nereids have amazing technology. They've been visiting Earth for millions of years. Of course, since implementation of the Trysta-Grean Pact they have to stay clear of Earth. But why should it surprise you that they arranged to provide a few select earthlings with some of their advanced technologies?"

"I'm beginning to understand." I speculated out load, "John was also the recipient of Nereid nanite technology. That's how he can still be alive and writing."

Asimov cautioned me, "I refuse to tell you that tale. Suffice it to say, John is the Dead Widower. He recruited me into his club and we had a blast writing Assassin from Hemmal. We're working on the sequel."

Asimov's home was pleasantly decorated and showed the touch of a woman. When I asked, Asimov explained that his girl friend was visiting relatives, but she would soon return home.

The next morning we assembled in Asimov's kitchen. While Asimov and I ate, Cyndir explained some of the secret history of Preland visitations to Earth. Cyndir told me that thon (I'll use the pronoun "thon" to refer to hermaphrodites) had lived on Earth for many millennia.

I was skeptical, but Asimov told me that he had used nanite probes to perform some tests which indicated that Cyndir is at least 5,000 years old. That revelation was just the beginning of what I would soon learn about Cyndir. As the afternoon wore on, I began to understand the long and twisty tale of how Cyndir had been trapped on Earth and was now struggling to find a way to depart.

Over dinner we discussed possible ways to return Cyndir to his home world, the distant planet Hemmal. Cyndir said, "As I've told you, there was at one time a rather thriving Preland colony on Earth. Something Noah once said makes me wonder if they might have left behind a hidden spaceship."

With dismay in his voice, Asimov asked, "Noah? The biblical Noah?"

Cyndir nodded, "Yes, that Noah. Why should it surprise you to learn that a long-lived biblical figure was really a Preland in disguise?"

Both Asimov and myself had thought ourselves fairly well informed about the comings and goings of aliens on our little world, but we were both surprised to learn about a long Earthly history of Preland visitors.

Asimov said, "One reason I'm surprised is that Noah was never described as being a four foot tall girl."

Cyndir laughed. "Don't let my appearance deceive you. As the Preland Overseer on Earth, it was never my job to interact with humans. You make the mistake of assuming that all Prelands share my body form. However, there are Prelands on many different worlds of the Galactic Core. Some are giants compared to the Prelands of Hemmal and they are similar in body size to humans."

I asked, "How long ago was the Preland colony on Earth?"

Cyndir explained, "Oh, long before my time. Before the human species had evolved. Back then, travel to and from Earth was fairly relaxed. There were about a thousand Prelands on Earth during the peak of the colonial period."

Asimov wondered out loud, "Do you suppose that a Preland spaceship could remain hidden on Earth for a million years?"

I asked, "And still be functional today?"

Cyndir shrugged. "Why not? In fact, now that I think on it, I'm reminded of something else I heard from Noah just last month-"

Asimov barked out, "Noah is an alien who is still alive and on Earth?"

Cyndir cringed like a little girl. "Don't get mad at me. Noah is the last Preland on Earth...besides me, of course. And the biblical flood mythology originated from an actual Earthly event that was, oh, about 10,000 years ago."

Asimov leaned forward and demanded, "What mischief was Noah up to when thon became a figure of myth and legend?"

Cyndir replied, "That's the wrong question. You know the biblical tradition that there were "Watchers" who interacted with people like Noah."

Asimov asked, "The Watchers? Do you mean the Observers who are stationed on the Moon?"

Cyndir shook thons head. "The Preland colonists on Earth mostly predated the Lunar Observer Corps. However, the Nereids, having allowed some Prelands to live on Earth, needed a way to keep those settlers in line. That was the task assigned to Preland Overseers like myself."

I asked, "Am I to conclude that the long-lived biblical figures were all Preland colonists?"

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Cyndir looked me in the eye, "Well, of course, the man you know as Ekcolir, your biological father, became the biblical figure Enoch, traditionally described as the great-grandfather of Noah."

I jumped out of my chair shouting, "What are you talking about? Are you implying that Ekcolir is genetically related to Noah? That I'm Noah's great-uncle?"

Ignoring my angry dismay, Cyndir bravely continued, "As you know, Ekcolir lived for a while on Earth about 20,000 years ago. He did insert a bolus of Preland genes into the population of Earth, genes that were still inside the people who your mother lived among in Phasi about 10,000 years ago."

The Phasi Intervention

Asimov asked, "What does Ekcolir have to do with this Preland named Noah? Are you saying that Ekcolir also 'inserted genes' into the Preland population of Earth?"

Cyndir replied, "Ekcolir had a mix of human, Preland and Asterothrope genes. Do you assume that he could only mate with Trysta?"

I found it hard to believe any of what Cyndir was saying about my father's exploits as a time traveler becoming the basis for a biblical story. I muttered, "You've never explained what Noah was doing on Earth."

"Nothing much. Prelands like Noah were always quite interested in the Earthlings who inherited large amounts of Preland gene combinations. I suppose it was inevitable that rumors spread of a 'chosen people' who were watched over by celestial beings. But that is another story. It is only to be expected that Noah would be on hand to monitor Trysta's activity at Phasi."

Asimov growled, "I'm still waiting."

Cyndir rather sheepishly continued, "I must speak the truth. Noah was a Preland colonist who knew Trysta during the time of her Phasi intervention."

I felt like Cyndir was just making up stories that would provoke both Asimov and me. I challenged thon, "How do you know all this lore?"

Cyndir shrugged, "You are familiar with how the Lunar Overseers watch over and supervise the Observers who are stationed on the Moon. I had a similar role. In your terms, I'm the last Preland Overseer for Earth."

Cyndir pointed towards the sky and continued, "The Overseers on the Moon have long suspected that I never left Earth and remained on planet in violation of the Pact between Trysta and Grean. When pre-publication copies of Isaac's book circulated, new rumors reached the Lunar Overseers. They began actively looking for a hidden Preland on Earth. Now that I've completed my work on Earth, I decided to make use of the good Dr. Asimov to help me close out the Preland chapter of Earth's history. Anyhow, I know everything that was ever done by the Preland colonists who were on Earth during my tenure."

Asimov growled, "Get on with it."

Cyndir giggled, in a scratchy synthetic way that failed to disguise thons mirth. "Why does it bother you so much, Isaac? Yes, the biblical story about Noah originated with a thousands of years old Preland named Noah who knew Thomas' mother and who witnessed the great flood of the Black Sea."

Asimov grumbled, "Bah! Where is your proof?"

Cyndir daintily pointed a finger at Asimov and for a minute Asimov's face seemed to go blank. I only saw a wisp of what looked like smoke shoot from Cyndir's finger to Asimov. I suppose that during that time, memory nanites went from Cyndir into Asimov's brain. Asimov, muttered, "Very well, but I still want independent confirmation from Ivory!"

I cut in and said, "Now hold on. Am I supposed to believe that the whole Noah's flood story reflects the submersion of Phasi over 10,000 years ago?"

Cyndir nodded. "Yes, indeed. When your mother was warning the people of Phasi to move to higher ground because a flood was immanent, Noah arrived in town. I did not reach the area until later, but I imagine that Noah and Trysta quickly formed an alliance, with Noah telling the locals that they should believe Trysta's words and prepare for a flood. Thus was born the Noah myth, which became greatly embellished and twisted through many millennia of oral story telling."

By the third day after our arrival at Asimov's palatial home in the States, the three of us had grown bored with the unsolvable problem of how to get Cyndir from Earth to Hemmal, some 15,000 light years distant in the Galactic Core. Although they were both reasonably polite, Asimov and his alien guest, Cyndir the Preland, seemed to be increasingly getting on each others nerves.

With steadily mounting tensions in the house, I took to going out for long walks. I spent much time wondering about all the famous people Cyndir must have known during thons long life and thons thousands of years living as an alien visitor on Earth.

As a scientist, Asimov could not pass up the opportunity to carefully study Cyndir. Asimov's poking and prodding (mostly by nanite probes, but occasionally with his fingers) seemed to vastly irritate Cyndir. In the late morning of that day, returning from an extended morning walk, I came upon Asimov while he was performing an endoscopic examination of Cyndir's respiratory tract.

I looked over Asimov's shoulder at the video display that was showing Cyndir's insides. Asimov commented, "Preland lungs are essentially vestigial respiratory organs. Amazingly enough, the respiratory tract has been adapted to a reproductive function." He pulled open Cyndir's shirt revealing thon's skinny chest. Asimov continued his lecture, "Prelands have no external mammary glands." He was massaging Cyndir's chest and, slowly, what seemed to be a gaping wound opened up in the middle of thon's chest.

Cyndir shouted, "'top 'awing ah ma ches', I'aac!"

At that moment, I seemed to hear a faint squeak, something like a wounded squirrel's cry of distress. I turned my head. That strange sound seemed to have come from an adjoining room. Asimov's home was a rambling mansion with many rooms that I'd never entered. My attention was quickly drawn back to Cyndir.

With the endoscope snaked down Cyndir's throat and the poor Preland emitting garbled squeaks of protest and clawing at Asimov's much stronger arms, I shouted, "What are you doing?" In my panic, I briefly imagined that Asimov had made a surgical incision into Cyndir's chest.

Asimov then gently pulled open the slit that he had revealed, a ghastly pink-rimmed gash that opened into Cyndir's chest. "The Preland pouch. Like marsupials the Prelands carry their newborns around in a pouch and feed them using internally directed mammary glands."

Asimov completed his examination. With a flourish, like a performing magician, Asimov pulled out the endoscope. "As you saw, the trachea connects through the vestigial lungs to the ventral opening of the pouch."

Cyndir buttoned up thons shirt.

Amazed by what I'd seen, I asked, "With no lungs, how do Prelands get oxygen into their bodies?"

Asimov shrugged, "Cyndir tells me nothing, so I have to figure everything out for myself. Although, Cyndir did finally relent and admit that I'd managed to figure out the mystery of the Preland digestive tract."

Cyndir complained rather bitterly, "But, of course, Isaac's first priority was probing my gonads."

Asimov nodded and a sly smile crossed his lips. He asked me, "Did Trysta ever explain the reproductive biology of Asterothrope hermaphrodites? No? It would be interesting to know how closely their reproductive physiology mirrors that of the Prelands. In any case, the fundamental problem for Preland reproductive physiology is how to produce both male and female gametes in the body of a simultaneous hermaphrodite."

Cyndir told me, "You should have been here yesterday when Asimov performed a vaginal/rectal exam on me."

I swallowed hard and said, "I'm glad I missed that. Seeing your chest pouch was enough for me. Still, how is Asimov forcing you to submit to these examinations?"

Asimov blustered, "Don’t listen to Cyndir, thon is enjoying the attention and serving as a biological puzzle for me."

Cyndir morphed from thon's natural Preland form back to the form of a human girl. "Thomas, don’t listen to him, protect me from this dirty old man!" I was alarmed by Cyndir's words and only partially calmed when thon winked at me.

I asked, "As simultaneous hermaphrodites, Prelands can self-fertilize?"

Cyndir laughed in a rather artificial and self-conscious way, "Technically, yes, but we are designed for mixing gametes from two parents."

Asimov continued in his most professorial voice. "During Preland embryogenesis, one gonad migrates and connects to the urethra, ultimately acting as the source of male gametes, although at most only about a dozen can be released at one time. The other gonad is connected to the uterus and provides fairly conventional mammalian eggs. It is a mystery how such an inefficient production of male gametes can succeed in maintaining the population."

Cyndir sighed and rather impatiently explained, "It is theoretically possible for Prelands to physically mate, but on Worlds like Hemmal all Preland reproduction is technology assisted."

Asimov continued his lecture, for my benefit. "Every aspect of life for a Preland is artificial. They don't eat in the conventional sense. Nanites shuttle nutrient molecules to their crop. Should there ever be any unabsorbable debris in the crop, the nanites shuttle the garbage out, up through the mouth or nostrils. The small Preland 'digestive tract' is incapable of digestive functions and ends at the dead end crop."

Now intrigued, I had to ask, "So, what was the 'outcome' of the rectal exam?"

Asimov quipped, "The designers of the Preland body apparently lived by the motto: 'waste not, want not'. Prelands retain the rectum, but it is almost morphologically indistinguishable from the small Preland vagina. In fact, both openings provide access to the single fallopian tube and ovary."

Cyndir complained, "And having discovered this fact, Isaac can not resist offering up an endless stream of anatomical puns and jokes."

For my "benefit", Asimov proceeded to rattle off a series of his favorite Preland anatomical jokes, most in the format of sly limericks best not included in a family-friendly website. I interrupted Asimov's "humorous" performance and returned the conversation to the matter of Preland respiration.

Using deductive logic, Asimov proceeded to hypothesize that a large surface area was needed for respiratory gas exchange and, in the absence of lungs, only the skin remained as the possible respiratory organ. Asimov brought out a microscope and he confirmed that Preland skin has an intricate system of microscopic respiratory pores. He commented, "Over most of the body, the Preland hair follicles produce almost no hair; they remind me of the air tubes in the cuticle of insects."

Asimov thus solved the riddle of Preland breathing. Cyndir was then willing to comment further on the matter. "Some human populations on Earth have genetic diseases that are caused by the Preland gene combinations that they carry."

Asimov was intrigued. He asked, "Such as?"

"The classic example is cystic fibrosis. The protein coded for by the gene that is defective in that disease, the CFTR, long ago lost its original biological function in the modified Preland respiratory and digestive tracts. However, that protein took on an important new function in the Preland brain region devoted to telepathic communication."

Asimov prompted, "New function?"

Cyndir elaborated, "When expressed in the cell surface membranes of Preland neurons, the CFTR protein couples to nanites and acts as a sensor of cell membrane potentials, allowing for quick and efficient transmission of thoughts between Prelands."

I commented, "I'd heard that Prelands are mute, but you speak."

"Prelands retain some capacity to draw air into the chest crop, but have essentially no natural capacity to produce a voice and achieve speech. In my case, as a Preland Overseer stationed on Earth, I was structurally modified and trained so as to permit me to speak. The Preland giants who established their colony on Earth long ago rejected Preland ways and had engineered themselves for human speech. As the Preland Overseer, I was given the ability to speak to the colonists. Of course, all Prelands can also communicate by means of technology-assisted telepathy."

Asimov asked, "Does telepathy also work between Prelands and Humans?"

An impish grin came to Cyndir's elf-like face and thon replied, "That's for me to know and you to wonder about."

Asimov pushed the matter, "But this might be the answer to our puzzle of how to get you a ride off of this dreary planet."

Cyndir seemed to come alive at the idea. Thon asked, "What are you imagining, Isaac?"

Asimov slyly said, "That's for me to know and you to wonder about."

Cyndir begged and applied thons most grating and wheedling voice. When Asimov still refused to explain his solution to Cyndir's problem, the alien said, "I suspect that you are just teasing me and trying to keep my hopes up."

Asimov laughed diabolically. "Shall we ask Thomas if he agrees with your pessimistic assessment of my problem solving ability? Thomas knows me well, having for several decades carried around memory nanites holding a record of my mind."

Both Asimov and Cyndir turned their gaze full upon me. I remain embarrassed by how I had spent so many years spinning my wheels and pestering Asimov during my decades of carrying around a nanite replica of Asimov's mind inside my brain. I'd mistakenly assumed that I needed to work closely with Asimov to prepare for the arrival of the Buld spaceship on Earth. Of course, I had been completely wrong about that and I had only managed to alienate and annoy Asimov with my absurd and persistent attempts to attract his attention. However, at that moment I wondered if my obsession with Asimov had actually been engineered to lead me to his home, with he and I confronting the puzzle of how to send Cyndir back to thons home planet.

In an instant I became aware of an explanation for Asimov's behavior. For a brief moment I looked at him sharply and wondered if telepathic contact existed between he and I. I said, "I suspect that Dr. Asimov has thought of an elegant solution to your problem, Cyndir."

The Preland looked at Asimov and demanded, "Then tell me!"

Asimov only grinned. During our transatlantic flight back to the States, Asimov had spoke to me about an upcoming meeting of his "club", the group called The Dead Widower Society. At that moment, with Asimov giving me a sly smile, I then remembered that a meeting of the Society was scheduled for the very next day at Asimov's house. I continued, "He probably wants a bigger audience for the dramatic revelation of his solution to this mystery. I suspect that he will make all known if you can wait just one more day."

Asimov laughed loudly and nodded, "Indeed, Thomas has hit the nail on its head!"

And so it was that on the following day, members of The Dead Widower Society began to assemble at Asimov's house. First to arrive was a couple that I'll identify only as Peter and Jane (as in "Jane Doe"). They brought with them their two children, a twelve year old son and a ten year old daughter. The children had previously visited Asimov's house and they immediately went into the well-equipped entertainment room and were hardly seen the rest of the day. Asimov had hired a cook for that evening who served double duty by watching the children when not cooking.

I discovered that all of the members of the Dead Widower Society are trying to live out "normal" lives on Earth and they want no special attention from their fellow earthlings, even though they are all heavily laden with alien genes.

Peter began telling me the amazing story of his life. Peter is related to me through my mother and her descendants who were fathered by Deomede. Deomede is another Ek'col, the analog in this Reality of my father Ekcolir.

Peter was regaling me with the ribald story of how he had met Jane when the doorbell sounded again. Asimov went to the door and came back with two new guests who he introduced only as John and Henrike. John was blind and Henrike functioned as his eyes and general assistant.

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I quickly found out that John, as the founding member of the Dead Widower Society, had coined the name "Dead Widower", applying it to himself after the deaths of both he and his wife. I was just hearing John's account of how he had survived his own death when another guest rang the doorbell.

The next Society member to join the party was Marta, brother of Peter and the mother of Ivory Fersoni. Trysta Iwedon was the grandmother of Marta and Peter, so they both carried plenty of Asterothrope genes. However, like Peter, Marta looked perfectly human, her body having been carefully pushed into human form by nanites so that she might live as an earthling without attracting unwanted attention.

Returning to Earth after his intergalactic travels, Asimov had been contacted by John. John, like Asimov, is an author of fiction novels, and they formed the core of the Dead Widower Society which was originally conceived as a club for mystery writers. I'd previously read most of their forthcoming collaboratively written book, "Assassin from Hemmal".

Asimov had returned to Earth knowing that Peter and Marta were living somewhere on Earth. Feeling that they would be good additions to John's new club, he systematically hunted them down. Asimov put it this way: "Why restrict the Society to writers of mystery fiction when we could expand the scope to include people who knew the secret history of Earth?"

At first, Asimov had mistakenly assumed that all of the Atlantis Clones had departed from Earth aboard the Buld spaceship. Then, suddenly, that assumption had been disproved.

The proof appeared right before my eyes. Last to arrive before dinner was Anney, one of Ivory's "clone sisters". She walked into the room, set down a small suitcase and shared a passionate kiss with Asimov. I at first mistook Anney to be Ivory. My jaw dropped and I whispered, "Ivory?"

Not recognizing me, she asked Asimov, "Who is he?"

Asimov introduced us and upon hearing my name she said, "Oh, hello, I've heard all about you from Ivory."

Marta

Anney's membership in the Dead Widowers had come about in an unusual fashion. One day she had simply shown up uninvited at Marta's door step and crashed the Society's meeting for that month. Asimov describes Anney as "spooky" because of her ability to access sources of information that lie beyond normal Space and Time, in the Sedronic Domain. Rather than being recruited into the group by Asimov, she had sought out the Dead Widowers. Asimov and Anney had quickly fallen in love and started living together.

With the arrival of Anney, the Dead Widowers were all assembled and Asimov proceeded to provide his solution to Cyndir's dilemma of how to return to the distant planet Hemmal.

Next: part 3... The Case of the Telepathic Teetotaller.
To read Part 1, click here. 

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