Jim stepped out of a passageway into a wide concrete enclosure. It looked like an underground parkade except that there were no lines painted to direct traffic or delineate stalls. Concrete walls, ceiling and floor were painted a bright white. Four large round lights, one in each corner, illuminated the area. There were three tunnels leading into this open space; Jim emerged from the middle one. He could hear footsteps emanating from the tunnel on his right.

A naked young couple were awaiting his arrival. A tall thin man with deep brown skin and straight black hair stood on the right. He reminded Jim of Australian aborigines that he had seen in National Geographic films.

Jim's attention was focused on the young oriental woman standing directly in front of him. Long, raven-black hair fell onto her brown shoulders. Sparkling oval eyes stared directly into Jim's.

"I don't know where I am," Jim thought to himself, "but I never want to leave!"

"Greetings, Aztalan," announced the woman in LOOP, smiling broadly.

"That is `Wintaka' to you, Nantica," said another female voice. Jim turned to his right and saw a native North American woman dressed in sealskins emerge from the walkway on his right. Jim studied her for a moment. From her clothes, accent and rounded features Jim concluded that she was an Innu. Clearly, Jim had learned something from attending all of those pow-wows and tribal council meetings as a child.

"My apologies," said the hostess, humbly bowing her head. "You must be Kylira."

She gestured toward the young man standing beside her.

"This is Monat. He will be your guide, Kylira."

Turning back to Jim the hostess continued.

"I have been asked to be your escort, sir."

Jim stepped forward, only to have the Innu woman grab his right arm and pulled him close.

"A word to the wise," she whispered into his ear while glaring at the woman in front of them, "leave nothing behind here, Wintaka."

Jim looked down at himself. Perhaps Kylira was referring to his pyjamas. He was wearing nothing else and carrying nothing at all.

Monat--"stallion" in LOOP--came forward and offered his arm to Kylira. The two strode across the open area. They exited via a door marked with an arrow extending from the middle of a box to its exterior. Jim stared at his hostess until he heard the door close behind Kylira and Monat.

"Jim," he began. "My name is Jim."

"Jim," repeated the woman awkwardly. Obviously, the name was foreign to her and meant nothing in LOOP. "Is that your whole name?"

"No. My full name is James Kolry McGuire."

The woman blinked her eyes twice and smiled wanly.

"It would be more appropriate if you used your middle name here," she opined. The suggestion seemed an odd one since "Kolry" didn't mean anything in LOOP either.

"Kylira called you Nantica," said Jim. "That is a strange name."

The woman giggled and shook her head.

"My name is Meeka," she corrected. Jim blushed. Meeka was LOOP for a female cat in oestrus. A sex kitten. A sexual tigress.

"Of course," Jim said, smiling shyly. He wondered what Meeka's parents were thinking about when they gave her that name.

"I am sorry for my lapses in protocol. Calling you Aztalan. This is my first time as a guide. We don't get many visitors."

"No need to apologize."

Meeka motioned Jim toward the door that Kylira and Monad had used. Jim groaned inaudibly when he saw Meeka turn sideways. As beautiful as she was from the front--her round hips, thin waist, pert breasts and long legs--Meeka was even more alluring from the side. Jim stopped staring at her jutting nipples only long enough to take in the smooth roundness of her buttocks. He wondered if he were dreaming. Yes, he must be dreaming. Such a woman could only exist in his dreams.

Jim walked beside Meeka, hunching his back in a vain attempt to conceal the growth in the front of his pyjamas.

"You have lived among the Terranians too long," Meeka commented. "You seem afraid here."

"Afraid?" What Jim was feeling was far from fear.

"Perhaps I am wrong again. I imagine you have a lot of questions."

"You got that right!"

As they reached the doorway Meeka turned to her guest.

"I think that you will have difficulty concentrating on the answers with this," she guessed, placing her index finger on the protrusion in Jim's pyjama bottoms. The secret was out. Jim blushed again, this time a much brighter shade of crimson.

"Perhaps we should attend to it first," suggested Meeka, smiling warmly.

"Uh, yes, well," stammered Jim, "I think I just need to use your men's room."

Meeka's smile vanished for a moment. Had he insulted her? Meeka's grin returned as she motioned him towards a pair of restrooms to their left. As Jim passed Meeka he accidentally brushed against her right nipple.

One washroom door was marked by a drawing of a vagina. The other was etched with a picture of a penis and a scrotum. Jim had no difficulty discerning which was the men's room.

Once inside, Jim took in his surroundings. There were no urinals or cubicles. On his left there were five sinks, each in front of its own wall mirror. Opposite these were five open toilets, separated only by handrails. Each handrail had a sideboard table folded down, out of the way. Jim wandered over to the first toilet, dropped his pyjama bottoms and sat down. He marvelled at the design of these receptacles. The toilets were not flat. Rather, their seats were moulded plastic, shaped to accommodate a man's legs. The seats tilted backwards with a padded back rest for one's tail bone. The bowls were large and sunken into the floor.

Jim remained on the toilet for a few minutes, trying in vain to urinate. Obviously, other measures were in order. Jim considered his options. There were no shower stalls in this bathroom. A cold shower would have done the trick here. Perhaps he could go over to one of the sinks and give himself a cold sponge bath. Or he could take matters in hand. But masturbating would leave him sweaty. That, in turn, would make a sponge bath necessary anyway.

These solutions were all temporary. The sight of Meeka would, undoubtedly, cause the problem to arise once again. Still sitting on the odd-looking toilet, Jim recalled the last time he faced such a dilemma. Five years earlier he had accompanied his grandfather into Gopher Brook to do some shopping. Jim and Sarah had been arguing for days; this shopping trip gave him a welcome opportunity to get out of the house. It was a hot summer day. Jim stared at Elizabeth Baker as she walked down Front Street in shorts and a tube top. Liz look very good that day. As Jim stared lustfully at her Grandpa McGuire touched his arm to catch his attention.

"Thirst is as precious as water," Grandpa advised him. "Don't waste it."

It was good advice then but now that Sarah was gone what would he be saving himself for? No, this couldn't be a matter of fidelity or preserving resources. It was a challenge. A mental challenge. Just as he had forced himself not to think of how unsightly the Protoplasms had been he must now force himself not to think of how alluring Meeka was. It must be possible. Nudists could do it. Actors performing in love scenes had to manage it. Gynaecologists did it routinely. But which approach would work for Jim? How could he look at Meeka--a walking wet dream--and not think of sex? It was like trying not to think of a purple dinosaur; the power of suggestion would be working against him. He would simply have to concentrate. But on what? Perhaps he should think of someone who was ugly. Old Lady Larkin, the Gargoyle of Gopher Brook, used to teach English at GB High School. Her male students had an extra year of sexual latency. Sister Saltpeter, Morley called her. She could shrivel hard-ons at a hundred paces. Catholic priests carried pictures of her in their wallets; if she couldn't keep you celibate nothing could.

But no, Jim knew that this tactic wouldn't work. One look at Meeka would certainly banish the thought of every other woman Jim had ever seen.

He wondered if this might all be a dream. Surely Meeka could not be real. She had to be some kind of composite of every beautiful woman he'd ever seen. The face of Nancy Kwon, the body of Morgan Fairchild, the brain of Madame Curie and the heart of Jane Fonda. In his time Jim had seen many women who looked beautiful. He had married one who was beautiful. But Meeka was beauty itself.

The side table attached to the toilet caught his eye. Jim reached over with his right hand and pulled it up in front of him. Clever idea, thought Jim: a reading table to rest your newspaper on while you sat on the toilet. Jim craned his neck to survey the room, looking for something to read. No luck. He turned his attention back to the table top, running his hand over it. Wait a minute, what was this? He could lift the front edge of the table top up and backwards, revealing a screen on its underside. There was a string of control buttons along the bottom and a keypad of buttons on the right side. Jim pushed the largest button. It was a television! The news. A naked reporter stood in front of a doorway.

"All of Neutralia is bustling with anticipation," she began, shifting weight from her right to her left foot. "After two thousand years the Great Debate has revisited us. Reports are that the Wintaka contingent has arrived. While we do not have their biographies we do know their opponents. They will face the two best that Neutralia has: Saga and the redoubtable Kempaka."

The announcer's voice turned solemn.

"Of course," she continued more slowly, "this means that the cycle is near completion. The Wintaka are failing in their chosen task. If this is true none of the Terranians will graduate from fear to hope. Another transplant will be necessary. Another cycle must begin."

While he did not fully understand the news Jim was sobered by its tone. He knew that he was here to attend an important discourse. The weight of the moment quelled his sexual arousal. At least he could face Meeka now. He rejoined her outside and apologized for any embarrassment. She looked at him quizzically, raised her eyebrows and shook her head in bewilderment.

As they walked towards the exit the two lights at the far end of the room went out. When the door opened before them the other two lights were extinguished. In front of them was a long, brightly lit hall with several open doorways; behind them, only darkness. The first room on the left was a small concert hall. Musical instruments laid on their rests. The first room on the right was an artists' garret. There were unfinished sculptures on scaffolds and paintings in progress resting on their easels. Brushes and paints lay on tables. A large screen took up each of the three walls that Jim could see. Both rooms were unoccupied.

"People are too distracted for art or music right now," Meeka explained.

"Because of the debate?"

Meeka nodded. The two could hear voices coming from the second room on the right. Each expressed an opinion in the form of a question.

"What do they hope to attain?"

"Can't they just accept the end of a cycle?"

"They've been living among the Terranians so long; should we still consider them Neutralian?"

"Can we be divided again?"

"How many Neutralians will sacrifice themselves to a Wintaka dream?"

When the occupants of the room saw Jim standing in the hallway all conversation stopped. There were eight middle aged people-- five men and three women--inside. All were naked. Each of them stared at the newcomer for a few moments and then cast their glance downwards. Jim instinctively stood taller and puffed out his chest. He tried to appear indignant yet dignified--a difficult pose in pyjamas.

Jim and Meeka proceeded to the second doorway on the left. Jim stopped, stunned at the sight of three men having sex with a woman inside the room. Meeka smiled.

"At least not everyone is overly concerned about the debate," she observed.

Jim frowned at the spectacle. It didn't seem to be a gang rape but it was three men and only one woman.

"Should we notify the--"

Jim couldn't finish his question because he couldn't think of the LOOP word for "police". In fact, he wasn't sure there was a word for "police". Or "authorities". Or "law". He completed the question as best he could.

"--people who enforce the rules?"

"Rules?" wondered Meeka. "There aren't any rules here. And certainly no one to enforce them!"

"So this...this is...okay? Three men, one woman?"

Meeka laughed.

"It is the natural order of things," she answered matter-of- factly.

"This is natural?"

Meeka grinned as she considered about what to say next. She adopted a peripatetic approach.

"Kolry, have you ever thought about how men and women have evolved?"

"What?"

He had not.

"You do know that it takes women longer to be satisfied than men, don't you?"

"Uh, yes, I know that."

"Doesn't that seem strange to you? Haven't you ever wondered why women and men would evolve this way? So differently?"

"No, actually, I haven't."

"When our ancestors lived in caves it was important to increase the size of the tribe. It was a matter of survival. Only larger tribes survived."

"So what's that go to do with what's going on here?" Jim wondered.

"The tribe could not afford to see a fertile woman attached to only one man--especially one who might turn out to be sterile. Or one who might not be in the right mood and in the right place at the right time."

"So each woman has three husbands?"

Meeka shook her head.

"Not enough men for that. Nor would that keep the men happy. No. When a cave woman was in the mood she would gather up as many men as she needed from those men who were willing. The next day those same men would be available to another partner."

Jim contemplated the arrangement as they strolled down the hall. It sounded like a typing pool. A few questions arose.

"What about diseases?"

"It was important to avoid newcomers. This is why the cave people were so suspicious of strangers. One stranger could infect the whole tribe. Doom it to extinction. This fear lasted until we found a cure for these diseases."

"What if it was the woman who wasn't fertile? Would she be...abandoned?"

Meeka laughed at the question.

"On the contrary, she would be very popular. Especially when the other women were pregnant."

"What about children? How would a man recognize children as his own?"

"Those men who liked children could play a fatherly role to all of the children in the tribe."

"Okay. But why did none of the tribes stick with this arrangement? I mean, some had one woman with several husbands. Others had one husband with many wives. Polygamy. Most tribes became monogamous, one wife, one husband."

"Two reasons: jealousy and disease. Some men resented not being chosen often enough. As for disease, some warlike tribes relied on capturing women to increase the size of the clan. These tribes chose unnatural permanent pairings so that infections would stay within families. The tribe could live on."

Tribalogamy. Jim remembered reading about it in the LOOP dictionary. The idea of sharing a woman with other men would take some attitude adjustment. On the other hand, having sex with a different woman every night...

Jim and Meeka strolled around the halls, peeking into one room after another. Exercise rooms, television rooms, workshops, furnace and air conditioning rooms, schools filled with children playing with computers. Gaming parlors, dance halls, party rooms, communal cafeterias, restaurants with private booths. Hospital rooms and bedrooms.

"Everything is so different here," Jim remarked after an hour of this tour.

"Only one thing is different," Meeka responded. "Hope. Instead of fear."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand."

Meeka looked at him, amazed that he comprehended so little.

"Terranians motivate each other by fear. Armies, guns, rules, courts, prisons, brute force, taboos, ostracism and loss of status. There is the feeling among Terranians that behaviour must always be regulated. In fact, even sex is used as the final sanction."

"The final sanction?"

"Any Terranian, male or female, who does not look, act and speak in a certain manner will not find a mate. Courting habits are strictly defined. Those who stray from that norm risk becoming a pariah. Those who deviate are defined by their deviance. Individualism is rarely tolerated, especially in the realm of mating behaviour. Freedom is something Terranians demand for themselves but will never tolerate in others."

Meeka had not parroted these sentiments like a cadre, giving the party line on an issue. These thoughts were her own. She had spoken slowly, formulating her opinions into words as she expressed herself. Jim's admiration for her was building by the moment.

"And Nantica society is based upon hope?" he guessed.

"Neutralian society," she corrected, "Nantica and Wintaka. We do not tell each other `do this or else'. Instead, we ask everyone to imagine how much better our future will be if we all get along and work together."

"Sounds like paradise," Jim remarked. The comment stopped Meeka in her tracks. Her ever-present smile was gone now. Her eyes grew misty, her voice less steady.

"We thought so," she whispered.

Meeka considered her next step carefully. After a few moments she grabbed Jim by the hand and led him down a series of hallways until they came to a door painted black. Inside was a morgue. The bodies of three teenaged boys lay on separate tables. A coroner was preparing them for burial. He wore a heavy white body suit to ward off the cold in the room. His outfit was the first stitch of clothing that Jim had seen on a Nantica.

"Tulaga," said Meeka. The word translated to "disappointment" or "disenchantment", but had in its elemental case feelings of despair, hopelessness, depression, betrayal and death. Not a pretty word.

"Disappointment is the flip side of hope. If we write our dreams on one side of the page we must write our disappointments on the other. We cannot promote one without the other."

"Then these kids..."

Meeka nodded. Jim imagined that people taking their own lives might be a major cause of death here. The LOOP root word for "life" was tromika. The passive form referred to the kind of dreams one has during sleep. The active form alluded to the kind of dreams one has when awake; the kind that inspire people.

"Life is what happens between dreams," his grandfather used to say. The LOOP euphemism for "committing suicide" would translate to "outliving one's dreams".

Meeka stood beside the second corpse. A tear rolled down her cheek. Jim approached her.

"You knew this boy," he guessed. Meeka bolted from the room. Jim remained for a minute, unsure of what to do.

"She knew all three of them," said the coroner as he turned around to face Jim. "That one was her brother."

Jim left the room but could not see Meeka. He searched from one end to the other before finding her sitting in the corner of a movie theater. He sat beside her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he sympathized, "I'm really sorry. I wish there was something I could have done. Wish I had been there...to talk to him."

"Spoken like a true Wintaka," said Meeka. "It's just that I don't understand how one so young could outlive his dreams..."

Jim couldn't think of anything to say. He sat speechless as Meeka collected herself.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again. "I shouldn't have taken you there. I guess I haven't been a very good guide..."

"Nonsense," said Jim with a wave of his hand.

As Meeka regained her composure a buzzer sounded three times in the hallway.

"Come," Meeka admonished, grasping Jim's hand, "we must hurry. Kylira will be waiting for you."

Meeka led Jim out of the theatre, down the hallway and around a corner. She brought him to a conference room with a large circular table. Kylira sat naked in a padded chair. Monat massaged her shoulders. As Jim sat down beside Kylira, Meeka and Monat left the room, promising to return in time for the debate.

Kylira wasted no time getting to the point.

"We must discuss our strategy."

"Strategy? Why do we need a strategy?" Jim wondered aloud.

"For the debate, of course."

Suddenly it dawned on Jim that he had been brought here as a participant, not an observer.

"Wait a minute here. Me, in a debate? No, no. There's obviously been some mistake. I'm not into that kind of thing. Someone must have confused me with my grandfather. Now, he was a talker. No, no. You've got the wrong McGuire!"

"And where is your grandfather?" asked Kylira.

"Well, he's dead. But--"

"Then there has been no mistake," she assured him.

Jim panicked. He sputtered unintelligibly.

"You do not seem prepared for this," observed Kylira. It was an understatement.

"What the hell am I going to say?" he wondered aloud.

"Do not be concerned. If you are Wintaka--truly Wintaka--the words will come."

Jim tried to calm himself. He would have to think clearly here. Time was short and he would have to be ready.

"Besides," Kylira reassured him, "preparation may not help as much as we imagine. I have prepared all of my life for such a moment. But I am afraid that words may not be enough."

Jim began to see his partner in a new light. His first impression of Kylira was that of a supremely confident but guarded woman. She had seemed very suspicious of their hosts. Now, however, she appeared worried. In fact, she seemed almost resigned to defeat.

"The Nantica have not made it easy for us. We will be pitted against Saga and Kempaka. From what I have heard, Kempaka is very well respected here. No doubt he will speak last. One of us will speak, then Saga, then one of us, then Kempaka. We should decide which of us will talk first."

"Well, we should put our best foot forward first," offered Jim.

"Agreed."

"And that would be you," Jim conceded readily.

"Thank you."

The two Wintaka looked at each other for a minute before Kylira cast her glance downwards. She suggested that they might prefer to be alone for a while. Jim concurred. He took his leave, finding quiet refuge in the artists' garret he had seen earlier. He tried to focus on the things his grandfather had taught him, forging those lessons into a single speech. He remembered Jason telling him something about quasinyms: words which were interchangeable but not entirely synonymous. As he recalled, quasinyms would differ in connotation: a flattering one would be a posinym, a denigrating one would be a neganym. He remembered grandpa's example: you could describe a very practical individual as "unromantic"--a neganym--or as "realistic"--a posinym. Such quasinyms were the basic tool of debaters and spin-doctors.

Jim's head was already beginning to swirl. The task of making sense out of Jason's rhetoric lessons was too difficult. It was like a precis of the collected works of Shakespeare. Couldn't be done.

Nevertheless, when Meeka came to get him, Jim was ready.

She led him into a large convention room. Hundreds of spectators sat on benches in a circle around a raised platform with four chairs. These chairs faced a second raised platform that abutted the wall. This second dais had seven chairs occupied by Nantica dignitaries. Meeka sat Jim down in the third chair on the rostrum. A middle-aged lady with blue eyes and long, graying hair took the chair furthest from him. Between them sat a frail elderly black man, helped to his chair by two male teenagers. Judging by the reverence with which these teens assisted their charge Jim guessed that this man must be Kempaka. Monat and Kylira entered the room from Jim's left. Monat led Kylira to her seat and went to stand beside Meeka in front of the dignitaries.

The Nantica notable in the central chair stood and raised her arms, calling the meeting to order. The audience fell silent. This mistress of ceremonies was a short, diminutive Arabic woman wearing large, circular gold earrings. Jim scanned the room, verifying the fact that these were the only pieces of jewelry in the room. His own pyjamas were the only articles of clothing.

"Let us rejoice, if only for this sobering moment, that Neutralia is whole once more," she commenced. "Wintaka and Nantica, together again after all of these long centuries."

The spectators clapped enthusiastically, not by putting their hands together but by cupping their right hands and slapping them against their right thighs. The debate hall filled with the popping sounds of their efforts. When this outburst subsided the woman continued.

"This reunion, however, is more than a social occasion. Rather, we are gathered to consider the Wintaka petition for help in their efforts. The question is a simple one: whether to intervene on behalf of our friends, hoping to prevent them from mutual destruction. Kylira, daughter of Kulga and granddaughter of Kira, will speak first."

Kylira rose and stepped forward to address the crowd.

"Neutralians," she began, projecting her voice forcefully, "the time has come to define ourselves. The issue is not our friends but ourselves. Who are we? Who are we if we leave our friends to die of their own ignorance? Who are we if we leave our friends to die consumed by their own fears? How much blood is on the hands of those who choose not to render help?

"We Wintaka respect our friends' right to choose their own fate. We respect, as you do, their need to develop independently. We understand that our friends do not ask for our help. They are not conscious of our existence. But do unconscious victims not need medical care? Should we infer from their silence that they do not want a doctor?"

Kylira strode around the center podium as she thundered her questions at the audience. Hundreds listened patiently but only one in the audience seemed moved. Tears rolled down Meeka's face. Kylira went on, exploring the ideas of duty, kiyatakoi, and destiny, kiyataga.

"Many eons ago we brought our friends here, only to watch them repeat the same old mistakes. In transplanting them, we took that first step in defining ourselves as their friends. We now ask you to take the next logical step: to go amongst them and remind them of their better selves, their kiyatakoi and their kiyataga. We Neutralians know that their future is our present. Our friends act out of ignorance. What will our excuse be?"

Kylira paused for a moment, gauging the effect that her words were having on her audience. She cast a sidelong glance at Jim before continuing.

"Hope. Neutralian culture is based on hope. But how do we define this word which, in turn, defines us? Is your version of hope simply the politest form of greed? I hope for this, you hope for that. Wouldn't the word `want' serve just as well? I want this, you want that. If this is your understanding of hope my words will fall on deaf ears here. But if any among you believe, as I do, that hope is something more...then these seeds of thought will have found fertile ground.

"Hope is infinite. We must extend it far beyond ourselves. We must extend it to our friends. And beyond."

As Kylira gathered her breath Jim noticed a generational gap in the postures of the spectators. Older Nantica sat impassively while younger ones leaned forward, soaking in every word.

"Our friends have developed the ability to destroy their planet and themselves. But have they developed the will not to? Only a concerted and proactive effort can buy them this time. In helping them grasp their kiyataga we will be fulfilling our own."

"Time is motion. And the time to move is now."

Kylira bowed her head slightly in the direction of the dignitaries and then took her seat beside Jim. Older Nantica slapped their thighs without cupping their hands--a polite but unenthusiastic applause. Some of their children chose the much more vociferous form of ovation. Jim nodded his congratulations and held Kylira's hand. He could see Meeka wiping the tears from her eyes as the Jewelled One announced the next speaker.

"Now we will hear Saga, daughter of Pumoka and grandaughter of Mytica." Saga rose from her chair and strode confidantly to center stage.

"Evolution," commenced Saga proudly, "that is what this issue is about. If we are not free to evolve naturally then both our freedom and our evolution are thwarted. Our friends must learn on their own the danger of fear; the perils of peril. If they do not gain this insight on their own that insight will never be their own. Any effort to accelerate this process is self-defeating. Putting a fish in an orchestra pit will not give you a cellist. Nor will the fish thrive out of water. We must respect nature, however slow and however cruel, to allow that fish to evolve as we have.

"Our friends are not children. We may share their tragedies but their decisions, no matter how tragic, are their own."

Saga bowed and returned to her chair. Now it was the older Nantica who clapped raucously while their offspring demurred. Meanwhile, Jim was struck with a concern even more disturbing than the notion that it was his turn to speak. He recognized the stilted language, lofty themes, melodramatic cadence, pompous tone and the abrupt ending in both of the speeches. This was Grandpa's style! He had come to a place populated entirely by people who spoke and thought exactly like Grandpa. His worst nightmare had come true!

"And now," announced the chairwoman, "we will hear Kolry, son of Cory and grandson of the terranian, Mattie."

Jim was surprised by the introduction. Why were the speakers identified by their maternal ancestors? Then he remembered. Tribalogamy! Neutralians wouldn't know their fathers.

Kylira squeezed Jim's hand for luck. This gesture redirected his attention to the task at hand. It was time.

Jim stood up and looked around the room once. Before he stepped off the podium he shucked off his pyjamas. A few Nantica clapped at the gesture. Jim walked off the podium, his eyes fixed on Meeka.

"I would like to thank you for this opportunity to speak," Jim stalled. Kylira had told him that the words would come to him. Kylira had better be right, he said to himself.

"I would also like to thank you for providing us with Monat and Meeka to orient us. They have been very helpful. I could not imagine better guides."

The crowd cheered Jim's good grace and the efforts of Meeka and Monat. Monat nodded and smiled in Jim's direction. Meeka lowered her head and blushed. Jim turned towards the crowd and came to the point.

"But Kylira and I have not come as tourists. We have come to speak to you about an issue that is important to us, to our friends and to you. Our friends' attempt to graduate to a higher basis of existence seems to be failing. We speak of an end to a cycle. But have we considered what constitutes such an end?"

More stalling. A sudden rush of adrenalin coursed through his viens. The words had arrived with a vengeance. Jim raised his voice, propelled by a passion that surprised him.

"The issue, as I see it, is not one of social evolution or of hope. It is a question of dreams. During my life I have seen many leaders who spoke of it. No, they were not Wintaka, but they shared our dream. They were those who achieved that last measure of greatness: to be mourned by their enemies. Neville Chamberlain, Mohandas Ghandhi, Metger Evers, Lester Pearson, John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy, Anwar Sadat. There were--and still are--millions who shared that vision. Eventually that dream will supplant fear; our better natures will be our only natures."

Jim's stridency fed on its own momentum, increasing geometrically. The muse of rhetoric flowed through him unobstructed.

"Archaic beliefs in good and evil are being replaced by a view of knowledge versus ignorance. All of us, Terranian and Neutralian, are learning that ignorance--and only ignorance--is fatal. As our friends confront the human image of their victims the process of victimization abates. The hatred ebbs."

Jim was no longer in control. He was using LOOP words that were not in his normal vocabulary: words such as "archaic" and "victimization". He had the feeling that someone else was doing the talking for him.

"Our friends understand even better than we do the concept of time lines. They understand how much better their world would have been if this dream had survived the deaths of its advocates. Many speak not of the Age of Acquisition that is their present but of the Age of Camelot which was their past and might have been their future. They speak of what could have been. They speak of a glorious future lost in an inglorious past. They understand that they could have chosen leaders who shared this vision after others were cut down. They missed the opportunity to demonstrate that they have more heroes and heroines than assassins. They understand the mistake of choosing pragmatists rather than idealists."

Jim trembled at the realization that he was being possessed. But his voice betrayed no sense of temerity. Rather, it resonated throughout the hall and throughout many of his listeners.

"Our friends understand better than we what constitutes the end of a world. They understand implicitly that the end comes not with a bang or a whimper...but with the sunset of a dream."

Jim stopped speaking and stared at each member of the audience as if to drive his point home one heart at a time. As he did so he was able to identify the spirit that had possessed him. His grandfather, dormant so long within him, had come to life at this hour of need. Jim was grateful for the timing.

"I have not come here to tell you that turning our backs on our friends is an unspeakable act of cruelty. That will be for you to decide. I will only say that if we allow our friends to die we betray them."

As he said this Jim turned away from his audience and walked back to the podium. He paused for a moment as he ascended the dais, turning to face his listeners again.

"If we allow this dream to die we betray ourselves."

The audience waited for Jim to continue. But having completed his appeal Jim bowed politely to the dignitaries on the dais, strode back to his seat and sat down. The crowd's reaction was delayed but enthusiastic. Some younger Nantica leaned back on their benches and slapped their thighs with cupped hands. The older Nantica were split between jubilant applause and shame. Kylira held Jim's hand tightly, whispering her congratulations in his ear.

When the noise died down it was Kempaka's turn. Eddies of applause disappeared as the old man struggled to his feet. Kempaka's two assistants stepped toward him. But the elderly statesman waved them away. As he stood up Nantica, young and old, held their breath in anticipation. Jim was sure that the old man would speak longest, hoping to make the audience forget everything that had been said before him.

Jim could not have been more wrong.

Slowly Kempaka walked to the edge of the podium. Standing in place he looked around to his left, then his right, at the people gathered in the debate hall. He raised his right hand as he spoke.

"Lemmings," he said deliberately, catching the audience off guard with such a strange metaphor, "must be free!"

Kempaka stressed the "free". A chill ran down Jim's spine as Kempaka shout-whispered the word.

The old man looked around one more time. Then he walked back to his seat and sat down. The audience exploded. Every Nantica in the stands leaned back and hammered their right thigh until they glowed red. Jim had never heard such an uproar. He was deafened by the sound of one hand clapping.

The seven dignitaries stood up and formed a procession out of the debate hall. Saga and Kempaka followed them. Kylira, Jim, Monat and Meeka stayed in place while the room emptied. When the exodus was completed Kylira turned to Jim and let go of his hand. Monat approached. Kylira said nothing as Monat escorted her out.

Meeka remained silent, another tear rolling down her cheek. Jim stood up, walked off the podium and stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips.

"I guess we lost," said Jim. Meeka did not respond until she could find her voice.

"I'm sorry," she cried softly.

"No," said Jim as he walked over to her. "No more apologies. You have nothing to apologize for. Please. No regrets."

Jim wiped the tears from Meeka's cheeks.

"As for me," he continued quietly, "my only regret is that I have to leave now."

The beautiful vision of Meeka faded from Jim's sight. The next thing he knew he was waking up in his bed, the sheets drenched in perspiration and sticky with semen.

On to Chapter 10
Back to Chapter 8
To Index of Chapters
To the Ward's Home Page