David Palmer - Emergence

And still dead.

Worse, little nagging voice in back of head keeps suggesting may not have been completely unavoidable. Maybe subconsciously wanted to let programming run amok because had me cornered. Don’t think so, but disquieting notion.

In any event, will not happen again. Been drilling past ten days with modified kata, sparring routine. Working to eradicate all automatically lethal responses. Programming deep-seated; will take time to effect changes. But am walking time bomb as things stand; waiting to explode, hurt, kill people upon cue — even inadvertent cue! Lots of work involved, and accomplishment not without risk.

But necessary: Intend never to kill again …!

Have gone through Mount Palomar facilities with great care. Nothing about contents to suggest AAs’ presence in recent past. But sweep not entirely unproductive: Found Cal-Tech staff directory in one office — containing name, address of Tarzan File AA living in Pasadena! Will follow up on that tomorrow morning, unless…

Posterity, you simply won’t believe what Adam did today. Remember bundle of tubing, cloth, traveling on trailer roof? Well, found out what it is.

I had complained, following search of observatory, that if AAs’ secret rendezvous only hundred yards off road, would never find it in densely wooded, mountainous terrain. Suggested we track down U. S. Geological Service and Forest Service section maps; uncouple trailer, explore logging roads in van alone. Might turn up something.

Adam agreed in principle, but said had better idea — and did… !

Whereupon, removed mysterious bundle from trailer roof and, in space of probably 30 minutes, unfolded, unrolled, then assembled airplane — full-sized, man-carrying, aluminum-tubing-and-fabric ultralight. Disappeared briefly into trailer; emerged carrying breadbox-sized, metal-bound wooden case from which took miniature engine, propeller, snapped into place.

“Another benefit of growing up rich and neglected.” Eyes twinkled as mixed gas, oil; filled tank. ” ‘ Mom , all the other kids have ultralights this summer!’ It was an election year, you see; she didn’t have time to check into the story — which was true…” continued impishly, squirming past fuselage tubes, settling into pilot’s seat; fastening five-point harness; strapping on helmet; checking control surface movement as wiggled stick, pedals, “… depending on what neighborhood you canvassed and what numbers you considered a representative sample.”

Yanked on pull-cord; engine snarled into life with literally deafening racket (started life as two-stroke motorcycle engine; Adam, per usual practice, modified for additional power, reliability; replaced muffler with “tuned” megaphone exhaust — result sounded like steroid-fed chainsaw). I jammed fingers in ears. Tora-chan dived under trailer; nothing showed but two orange-glowing spots of outrage. Terry’s reaction, on other hand, surprisingly mild: Merely flapped wings to indicate disapproval — usually that much noise inspires feather-head to go for help.

“Actually,” Adam yelled, pulling down goggles, “I think she thought an ultralight was about three feet long and flown by radio-control.” With which he rammed throttle to stop, pulled back stick, accelerated to about human running speed, lifted gently from parking lot, soared out over Cleveland National Forestlands, leaving me standing wide-eyed, chin resting on toes.

Managed to follow part of flight with binoculars: Brightly colored midge visible for many miles from catwalk encircling 200-inch reflector’s dome. Adam checked every logging road, cowpath, nature trail within 25-mile radius of observatory. Looked especially closely for indications of isolated structures — facilities not accessible by road, or whose construction and/or placement suggested attempted concealment.

Gone three hours, but eventually floated lightly from sky, touching down at walking pace, gently as falling leaf. Killed engine, removed helmet.

“If they’re out there, they’re well hidden,” he shouted into silence; then added more softly, “Am I talking too loudly? I usually do after flying this. You’re supposed to use acoustical earplugs, but I always forget.”

Too close to dark to continue by time he returned, so spending night in observatory parking lot.

Adam glowing all over; simply irrepressible: bursting with puns, teasing, good humor — never seen anyone appreciate own cleverness so much…

Oh, well, minor irritation, really. Of more concern is change in self: Since watching Adam fly ultralight, have felt unaccustomed longing, yearning, wish, want, desire, yen, attraction, need, craving — no-holds-barred pathological obsession! For first time, understand Mr. Toad’s reaction to initial sight of motorcar…

Oh, Posterity, been such exciting two days…! But shall adhere to histographers’ discipline; set down events as transpired, without giving hints, muddling chronology — possibly losing later-important details in process.

So: Departed Mount Palomar early this morning; set course for Pasadena. Got as far as Riverside before routine shattered:

Adam rounded corner in usual gentle fashion — and small child on bicycle shot from behind abandoned car, directly into path, mere yards from bumper. Adam yanked steering wheel; almost simultaneously locked up brakes. Somehow missed child; stopped partially jackknifed on spot had occupied heartbeat previously.

Kid continued across street, darted between two buildings, out of sight.

As one we sprang from van, landed running. Adam, well in lead, covered good 200 yards, calling out reassuringly, before misjudging height of obstacle, snagging toe midvault, crashing heavily to ground. And since karate training still not implanted in reflexes, fell wrong: on left elbow. Bone’s snap even louder than anguished gasp, curse.

Arrived on scene. Cautioned, “Don’t move”; restrained bodily. Adam’s karate discipline manifested then; late, but still useful: White, sweating but calm, lay still as examined. Explored as gently as possible, but still elicited grimaces, gasps. Upper arm visibly shorter, plus had grown extra elbow.

“Humerus,” was verdict.

Even in agony Adam couldn’t resist: “Not to me,” he puffed through gritted teeth. Then spark faded, leaving only pain: “I thought so. Can you set it?”

( Rollo could, mocked little voice inside skull. But ignored it; concentrated on Adam [fixing broken arm challenge enough without compounding problems by indulging in guilt trip].)

“I know how to do it; I’ve never set one myself, of course. And you aren’t going to enjoy it. The ends are overriding; you know what that means.”

Adam knew. Grew even whiter.

Helped him to feet, supporting arm to immobilize. Returned to trailer. Strapped upper arm temporarily to torso then adjourned to nearest hospital. Located plastic splint — and mouthpiece.

Helped Adam onto table, strapped down. “I don’t know anything about anesthesia. I’m more likely to kill you that not if I give you anything.” He nodded, staring at ceiling, already sweating in anticipation.

“Now, the only way I can overcome the muscle spasms holding those bone ends overlapped is by tapping my hysterical strength. Once I start, I’ll have to forge ahead and finish in one pass, regardless how much it hurts. Otherwise I’ll burn out and you’ll end up with a short, crooked arm, or worse.”

“I know,” he replied tightly. Inserted mouthpiece, set teeth. Took deep breath, closed eyes, indistinctly grunted, “ Do it!”

Placed knee in armpit. Grasped elbow firmly in right hand; clamped forearm under own armpit. Placed left hand over break, and…