The  Clinical  Circuit

 

 

 

 

        Some people ask themselves the obvious question, "How much of medical advice is pointless, or downright harmful?"  They might not put the question to other people.  It's also true that a man can have a difficult experience of therapy without becoming pessimistic.  At the age of thirty-six, Rodney Linscott believes he's found the specialists who can give him the treatment he needs.  His problem is quite significant.  Over several years his morale has gotten worse in one respect.  The initial treatment for this has a consequence involving two dreams, and if he wants that experience he has to visit the most unlikely rehab center.  The dreams happen within four nights of each other.  On these two nights a technician helps him by means of the suitable apparatus.  It encloses Rodney's torso without costing him very much comfort.  Since the patient is rather unglamorous, no one could believe he'd encounter an interesting situation.  He'd never feel the thrill of having directly, physically communed with the ancients.  But it's what he can report if he chooses to.  He does report this to one of the specialists.

 

        In giving his account, what does he say happened to him?  He's been convulsed with a shudder of gratification.  He shook hands with ancient humanity, so to speak.  The thought of knowing what those people were actually like - ;  In the first dream he heard some commoners talk about the proconsul, whoever that was.  In the second dream he observed, as he stood with a crowd on a great boulevard, a woman of superb finery.  She rode in a chariot.  He thinks the second 'vision' must be from the Bronze Age.  But he claims that both dreams were more tangible than visions.  It felt like being at arms' length from real persons.  He heard them, he spoke to them, and he doesn't know how it's possible.  He speculates that his body could have remained in place, connected to the apparatus, with his astral form leaving and then returning.  If he has such a form.  Surely the technician would have told him if his body had been missing.

 

        He's conscious of many shortcomings.  He isn't so smart he could never be duped by the social elements that seem to have everything going their way.  In fact he's become enrolled in one of their pet projects.  You can choose your own name for the social element.  You can call them the aristocracy of crime families.  Or they might be described as grandees, or for that matter, investors par excellence.  But they do have a merit that's there on the surface - philanthropic zeal.  They try to provide correction.  They apply something remedial to a deficiency, even when the problem is called a sin.  What Rodney felt to be an especial sin, one that may still hinder him after being forgiven, isn't a typical one for discussion.

 

        He failed to honor his parents. 

 

        What else, then, about the situation seems unlikely?  Even though the place where he's treated for his problem won't have to be described as something secret, we'll say it's effectively unpublicized.  It's imposing and it's isolated.  When he goes there, transportation is provided by an unspecified group, and those officials in the know have some good reasons for not talking about what goes on.  Almost any of them knows nothing in detail.  It's true the place could be used for atrocious behavior, but how often would it happen?  For one week Rodney and another man, Sam Youngmark, are the only patients on site.  Their talk is very limited in scope.  Still it's informative, most of the time Rodney being informed by Sam.  He seems to understand something Rodney doesn't about the system of which this installation is a part.

 

        These men were first introduced by someone named Gerald Packer, the day they arrived.  He gave them the tour.  The building has five stories aboveground, as well as a basement.  He told them the few things they have to keep in mind.  Having done so, he left the building.  Time and again Rodney visualizes one of the windows on the top floor.  Each time he looks through the window he sees what he expects to see, the forested, alpine Colorado.  He thinks of the architect's peculiar design that gave the place only six windows, two of them reasonably large.

 

        At the end of the first week he returns to the town where he lives.  There's more therapy scheduled for the near future, in a plan that seems medically unorthodox to say the least.  He'll be coming back to the secluded facility.  Of the citizens in Wensworth, his wife is the only one he mentions this other place to.  Carmen must be told what's happening, but only that he's away somewhere in the state, receiving the help he needs.  He doesn't describe the building. 

 

        A specialist named Pat Gowdy has talked with Rodney about his problem.  He recommended some techniques of dream inducement.  This was at the psychiatrist's office in Denver, and it was before the patient's first trip to the somewhat remote edifice.  A schedule conflict kept Gowdy from being at the site when therapy was received.  Another man was there, giving the service Pat would have given.  But the Denver consultation has made a lasting impression.  So has the visit with another person in that line of work, Ann Palimeris.  Rodney's been comfortable talking to these experts.

 

        The day after he returns to Wensworth he consumes one of the delicacies provided by the town's bakery of choice.  He's also reading at a table in the dining area.  It's light reading.  He doesn't mind being interrupted when two more customers enter the shop.  These are women he remembers from college days.  After picking up what they've ordered at the counter, they make their way to his table.

 

        Deena Sproul greets him with, "Linscott, the geologist who disappeared!"

 

        Ingrid Humphrey doesn't say anything at first.

 

        They quickly move into something that's more than small talk, some of it explaining why this man who majored in geology is no geologist.  He despaired of ever finding such work.  It isn't really news to Ingrid, who's talked to him a couple of times in recent years.  The conversation takes a meaningful turn after a few minutes.  Ingrid lets him know that she's relocating here from the next-town-over.  She's gained a position at the Wensworth Museum.  After sounding enthusiastic about this like a good friend, he changes the subject.  He mentions a person who had given lectures at the university they attended back in those days.  The person is Pat Gowdy.  That Rodney had known about Pat to begin with is why he looked to him for help.  He summarizes Pat's background and says some things about two of the man's colleagues.

 

        Ingrid answers, "I don't know much about him, but it's obvious that he's more bureaucratic than academic."  Then she admits the relevant fact.  "Well, of course he's been a medical researcher, not some administrator, but he has ties with different kinds of organizations."

 

        Rodney has an idea what she's getting at.  "So he might have influence that his clients wouldn't suspect."

 

        "There are some hints of that."

 

        "What did you know about him when we were students?"

 

        "Nothing I recall."

 

        Rodney says, "Later you might have heard about the firm he's with."

 

        Ingrid shakes her head.  "You might have guessed."

 

        He's a bit defensive when he tells her more about Pat's credentials.  Defensive or not, he comes across as thoughtful.

 

        "I trust him," Rodney says, after a couple of minutes.

 

        "He might help you," she admits.

 

        For the first time here she looks at Deena.  To each other, these women never talk about their aimless college days.

 

        Deena tells him, "I saw your online comments about Joe Therrien."

 

        That's all the woman should have to say if she wants his opinion.

 

        Rodney answers, "I didn't get carried away.  I told the truth."

 

        He's been to Therrien's website and read some extravagant remarks.  Therrien is a prominent landowner, with acreage that's fairly close to the peculiar building.  His online statements are not easy to interpret.  He can seem rash in his allegations.  You wouldn't think he'd make a boast indicating his complicity with a shadow government.

 

        After pondering Rodney's arguments, Deena went to the other man's blog.  Judging from her thoughts about the assertions that are made, she's probably been there more than once.  Nothing Joe says convinces her, but he seems harmless and good for a few laughs.  Ingrid hasn't heard of this Therrien character.  It won't matter if she's told much about him.  The older she gets, the more she likes to avoid controversy.  At the moment, though, she's intrigued.

 

        "A man who sees conspiracy everywhere?" she guesses. 

 

        "It's worse than that," Rodney says.  "He preaches dietary philosophy, extremist animal rights, doomsday from asteroids - "  How to sum it up?  "A very strange mixture, that's all you can say."

 

        And that's all she needs to hear.  He leads the chat in a different direction, even though he can be as rhetorical on these things as anybody.  Once again, her new job. 

 

        He puts in a good word for small town museums, but then he asks, "How does it compare with what you had before?"

 

        Ingrid answers, "It's perfect even though my husband thinks I should be a teacher."

 

        Deena says, "In college I saw the real Ingrid.  I knew you'd work in a museum." 

 

        "You can learn what you need to learn," Rodney comments, "from the serious people there."

 

        "Especially your boss?" Deena says.  "That old babe?"

 

        Ingrid has learned a great deal.  "Terry won't be there much longer.  Not with her age and her health problems - " 

 

        "It'll get better," Deena states earnestly, as if Ingrid is desperate to hear this.  "You have to believe that about work."  She tells Rodney some things about her own blissful employment.

 

        Something occurs to Rodney: he should ask Ingrid if she knows about the Dreiss form of notation.  These are symbols and methods for combining the symbols in artistic designs.  He saw some examples on the ceilings in two rooms at the facility.

 

        Ingrid tells him she's heard of the Dreiss notation but she hasn't seen it.

 

        Once the conversation is done, he thinks about the concerns of Gowdy and Therrien.  They might be his concerns too.  He fears an elite class of status brokers, but do they really threaten his own community?  Try raising such a question with your neighbors.

 

        He can't make sense of it when he compares his home town to other places.  He'd say it's lowbrow, but he'd also believe that that's misleading.  He could always live here though it never fascinates.  Descriptions of the town's history give no impression besides livery stables, forage, and supposedly zealous migrants from the east.

 

        He feels at home in that Wensworth church he's attended for the past decade.  Some of the congregation's leading performers drive in from quite a distance.  Almost a hundred persons are there on the typical Sunday.  He's assured by one of the elders that he needn't despair.  He won't be defeated by his limitations.  Rodney isn't always afraid to sound religious.  One time he told some people at a non-church gathering, "I'm afraid of God."  A thing that frustrates him has to do with devotional esthetic.  His wife tells him he shouldn't fret about it.  He's thinking, what devotional esthetic?  It's too much as if people are singing Happy Birthday.  His preference, whether satisfied or not, is something he has to live with.

 

        He's fascinated by the vesture and emblems, along with the physical posturing, that you see in the movie Death Sequence : Fresno.  The movie depicts a cult of narco-dementia.  The cult's leadership exploits the sluggards.  Rodney thinks they should leave out the treachery and exaggerated hedonism of that allegiance, but make use of the dazzling art.  The only published criticism he can find relating to the film is blatantly sarcastic.  Disappointed, he keeps up the search.

 

        As the saying has it, 'back to the real world.'

 

        He and his wife go to see his parents one evening after supper.  His brother stops by, too.  The conversation is cheerful enough, but Rodney has a solemn thought.  He tells himself that if he was the believer he should be, he'd have direct healing from God.  He wouldn't have to bother with measures imposed by fallible humans.  Then again some things have gotten better.  At least he's had reconciliation with his parents.

 

        The sons have a serious talk towards the end of the visit.  After seeing the parents, they occupy chairs in the back yard.  Carmen stays inside with the parents for a while, but then comes out from the living room and grabs the third chair.

 

        His brother tells him, "I've been talking to those innovative men you work with.  Nice bunch of contractors.  Maybe it's more on your terms than their terms."

 

        Rodney sees the humor in it.  "Sure, I can have some choices after all this time."

 

        "That one old guy talks like he owns it.  But I'm guessing Martin could stand up to him."

 

        Rodney says, "Martin's a good guy."

 

        "Must be nice to take three weeks off anytime it's handy.  I told 'em you should be able to write your own ticket.  I told 'em you served in Special Forces."

 

        Rodney groans.  "Don't get me in trouble with those people."

 

        "They know I didn't mean it."

 

        "Thanks."

 

        Carmen senses a dead end.  She asks, "What should we talk about?"

 

        They give no answer.

 

        She says, "There's always more about the park demonstrators."

 

        She's referring to a group that brings a swarm of pickets with the message, "Don't build here."  Their scruple is environmentalist, and they certainly don't hate parks.  Their point of view is clear enough: the development in question would have a pavement in one corner, supplemented by playground equipment which is tasteless and overabundant.  A memorial inscription to go with it is disgusting propaganda.  The location would be defiled.

 

        Rodney frowns.  "I can't remember what used to be there."

 

        His wife suggests, "A roller skating rink?  It's been gone for ten years.  Now that empty lot is suddenly popular.  These activists came out of nowhere."

 

        The brother says, "I've seen their pickets.  Interesting but strange garments they wear.  Sometimes they make that goofy formation."

 

        Rodney comments, "It doesn't take much for people to start crying about a sinister cult."

 

        The brother says, "There's no cult, it's just a popular movement.  The good old USA."

 

        Carmen has her own skepticism.  "If the movement is that interesting, it wouldn't be targeting Wensworth.  How could we have a serious controversy about land use planning?  That would happen somewhere else."

 

        All three of them can agree that the TV coverage is understated.

 

        "I've been accused," Rodney complains.  "I was told I'm letting people down if I don't lead a counter-movement."

 

        The brother says, "If you're outspoken you have to bother with it."

 

        "I'm not the one who's outspoken," Rodney insists.

 

        "That's right," Carmen says.  "You won't tell us what your treatment amounts to."  

 

        The abruptly made point is well taken.  Though he's unwilling to talk with relatives about his healing program, it's more to be noted than Special Forces.  It belongs to an array of endeavors, not all of them benign.  How could all the policies have the same directors?  They do, as a matter of fact. 

 

        He's a man with some inhibition, a man who vaguely intuits a peril.  No doubt he can be taken advantage of.  The crime families have more than tentacles, they have a do-gooder facade.  In any case the site for his treatment takes getting used to.  It's one of many centers for doing research, and the centers taken together have been unofficially termed, by some persons, The Clinical Circuit.  They're not clinics in the sense of dealing with outpatients.  Professionals involved in the system usually call it The Circuit.  Patients are lodgers for a time, and most of the work isn't therapy.  It's research or something administrative.  Classes giving practical instruction are sometimes offered.  Rodney's become defensive - with himself in his private thoughts - about the word 'bunker.'  He doesn't like to think he spends time in a bunker.  Absurdly, someone else might call it that.  It was built in a forest clearing that isn't much wider across.  The structure is very austere in its way, and by comparison the architecture he's ever been familiar with is contemptible.  He doesn't think he'll talk about it with the one relevant expert he knows.  What does he compare it with?  His home town has two buildings whose design he admires.  Even his brother has made a cogent, irreverent evaluation of the town's planning.

 

        The day after visiting his parents Rodney finds that his phone has a message from Ann Palimeris.

 

        The woman has texted, "I should add a bit more to the misgivings I expressed the last time we spoke.  Therapy scams are multiplying, and it seems the worst ones have their source in Corporate America.  It's about more than taking your money.  If you want we can discuss this remotely, or in person, or I can give you names of advisors, people I trust.  I emphasize that we have a problem which is getting worse."

 

        Norvin Erickson is a man that she had mentioned to Rodney - without giving his name.  Erickson dominates life in a high elevation resort village.  Dominates it when he's there and when he isn't there.

 

        But not so much the life in a megalopolitan community.  He's curtly summoned to one of these.  With several persons he attends a conference held in a legendary private residence.  Decisions are being announced.  If he's receiving instruction here it seems to be coming from four different persons equally.  Maybe it's a false impression.  He would have thought there'd be a pecking order.  But they make it clear that great changes will be achieved by a plenary gathering of leaders.  This will happen over the summer at the Colorado facility.  Of course he doesn't know that one of the people visiting today at the mansion would relay some vague information to the attentive Ann Palimeris.

 

        Rodney ponders the psychiatrist's warning, and there's a nuance of expansion

from the previous talk at her office.  He doesn't quite appreciate the nuance.  He calls her for the names of advisors, and he gets the names.

 

        Around this time the Director of Security for the system of installations confers with a CEO.

 

        To start with the businessman complains about the public reaction to a statement he made.  He'd only been relaying an opinion expressed by a certain colleague.

 

        The Director says, "The acrimony isn't because of you or someone who works for you.  The critics don't speak for my people.  The fact is, we want your advice because you know as much as anyone about the relevant financing."

 

        "Financing is one part," the other man agrees, "but the team we're talking about has ability to go with their money.  This coaltion we need - "

 

        "I like the sound of 'coalition.'  If we can get half of those people, this will work."  It was the Director who'd produced the list of names.

 

        The other man states the problem.  "So there's been a sharp increase in scheming by the mid-level staffers.  There's some tension between the different centers.  That's where you - "  He hesitates.

 

        "Where I come in, right.  And I get called the bully."  Now the Director looks cheerful.  "It must be great to know the people you know.  From you it doesn't reach the news reporters."

 

        "Or if it does, I can revise our policy statement."

 

        "It isn't the public's concern," replies the Director.  "Strictly internal." 

 

        The CEO declares, "What's most important is the new medical safeguard."

 

        Hearing that term, the Director has a smirk.  "Medical safeguard.  You mean the coma serum."

 

        "Whatever it's called, we can make use of it.  We'll give a simple enough lecture to our friends - describing what it does to the human body."

 

        "I know what happens to people in that kind of coma."

 

        "You do, but most of our friends don't."

 

        The CEO performs well with his company, Nordness.  The firm sells products that help in disposing of the dead.  Coffins are a small portion of what they make available.  Insofar as the Director and the CEO can be said to have colluded, their work benefited The Circuit.  The Director talks now and then with various experts about the ways of making sure the system doesn't become too noticeable as a separate class of organization.  He's familiar with conjectures about what will happen if it does.  He isn't sure if someone still talks about 'the press' instead of 'the social media.'  As far as he knows the journalists haven't mentioned the coma serum. 

 

        In making these comments the two men haven't talked about Ed Vinsonhaler, but they need to keep him in mind.  About twenty-five years ago he began to influence the leaders of a mass movement.  The movement was already formidable.  They're businessmen who sell medicines and forms of treatment that are dubious.  Government officials periodically threaten them with prosecution, but the success rate of the efforts is paltry.  Dr. Vinsonhaler's impact on the mass movement is scarcely perceived or understood.  Hardly anyone who disapproves of the man knows about his participation in The Circuit.  If the installations are more or less kept a secret, so is he. 

 

        The patient from Wensworth can rest easy a few more days.  He doesn't visit friends or coworkers.  It occurs to him that he might check some documents.

 

        For this day and age, the newspaper in his town is vigorous compared to most of the independents across the nation.  Rodney has kept one of the paper's texts from the previous autumn, a commentary on the attention received by Joe Therrien.  In doing so he's neglected to verify the column's more outlandish references.  He takes the paper from its box in a corner.  He goes through the commentary, then does a little online research.  He spends a weekend savoring Joe's reputation as a crank.

 

        He also notices, for the first time in a serious way, the newspaper's reporting on the park demonstrators.  Finally thinking about this, he looks at some online videos that show their antics.  He can admire their nerve, but not their social views.  At the moment they have a spokesman who lives in this community.  He seems to be employed hereabouts in some conventional fashion.  His remarks are such that it's hard to believe he'd be able to walk the streets in the future.  But Rodney's been mistaken before in what he thinks is safe and what isn't safe.

 

        Once again he takes up lodging at the grandiose retreat.  Again he has to accept a ride to get there.  Sam does, too.  It's a condition stated by their benefactors.  They're permitted to see and memorize the route, but there's another condition they both have to accept.  Cell phones and laptops are left at home.  Once inside the respective cars the men are provided with devices that have the benefactors' approval.  They can be used for emergency calls - defined a certain way - and for access to a useful but very limited selection of websites.  Rodney won't be able to exchange messages with family or friends.

 

        The ride is uneventful.  Farmland is what he notices right before they turn onto the road that leads directly to the massive building.  He doesn't think most of this is public land, and he's pretty sure none of it is Therrien's.  He gets out of the car a hundred feet from the edifice.  He's permitted entry by a taciturn stranger.  The man promptly departs and Rodney never sees him again.  Once inside, the patient thinks the building's absurdly familiar.  But he's ready for conversation when Sam Youngmark arrives later the same day.

 

        Only one journalistic investigation of the clinic has ever been published, and it's report was too cautious.  Rodney has never seen the report.

 

        To Sam he confesses, "I feel out of place in a limousine.  The ride from Wensworth was gloomy."

 

        Sam replies, "I'm okay with limousines.  People can get something from me if they're that courteous."

 

        Rodney's optimistic about the schedule, more or less.  "We can be done with it before summer comes."

 

        "One of us, at least."

 

        "But not both?"  Rodney's surprised.

 

        "Maybe both," Sam admits.  He isn't despairing.

 

        "They've got us on the same timetables," Rodney says.  "As for this glorified center of healing, I wonder if it's ever been investigated by the government."

 

        "What's here to investigate?"

 

        "Maybe I don't wanna know."

 

        Again, Sam reconsiders.  "They could sweep things under the carpet, at that."

 

        "Malpractice?"  Rodney guesses.  "Treason?"

 

        Suddenly Sam enjoys this.  "Don't underestimate the dirty tricks."

 

        "But what, specifically?"

 

        "You name it.  Character assassination."

 

        Rodney says, "There's an undercurrent of nihilism with you."

 

        "Look who's talking!"

 

        They might think they'd confirm suspicions if they knew about the classes that are sometimes held here.  The classes are solidly academic.  Neither man despises the intellect, but they'd be severely uncomfortable with some of the teachings.

 

        It's a concern that doesn't hold their attention.  Both of them spend time here and there about the place before getting serious.

 

        One of the walls in a lounge area has a very wide screen for videos.  The men have been instructed to view a presentation, and a requirement is that they watch it together.  Six persons are featured in the film, each person in turn giving a soliloquy.  If something is being advocated, it seems to be a system of gerontocracy.  One man states, "The problem with being young and able-bodied is that you have to spend all day working to make somebody else rich."  The criticism jibes with the program here in the obvious point that seniors have a greater need for medical help.  The message doesn't clash with anything these men have ever heard people saying.  Sam will suggest that a veiled agenda's being promoted, but he knows this is too hard to demonstrate.  Rodney has the unsettling thought that he's being told to care more about old people, especially his own parents.  He and Sam discuss the message at length.

 

        No production credits have been shown on the screen for the film.  The leader of the production crew was Gerald Packer.  He undertook the filming at the request of Norvin Erickson.  Casey Morton, a versatile man, gave assistance.  There was also help in the form of advice, from at least one person outside the crew - Ed Vinsonhaler.

 

        Sam wants to tell Rodney about a perplexing event which happened close to another one of these installations.  It was in Appalachia.  There was a 'training center' a quarter mile from the main building.  It wasn't nearly as big as the clinic, but had a similar squat form.  People could see some difference in design.  One day the center instantly disappeared.  There was a blinding flash of light, and the center was reduced to a mix of gravel and powder.  Witnesses could never explain what happened.  It was followed by another strange lighting effect, covering much more than the residue.  Talk about hushing things up.  Sam, one of the witnesses, was given the appropriate warning.  He's pretty sure he'll never mention this to his new friend, even if such refusal seems contrary to friendship.

 

        The patients talk briefly about the schedule for the week.

 

        What's intended this time as therapeutic method is music, in particular something by Leo Sowerby - the piano trio.  Rodney's been told he doesn't need the proverbial eyeshades if he can just keep his eyes closed for the length of performance.  He had some music lessons in the K-12, but he gave it up.  About certain composers he likes to say, "They're talented people, but they have no desire to be popular."  His own favorite music includes the creepy kind for sci-fi and suspense films.  This piano trio has a unique effect on this patient.  In a baffling way it strikes the psyche of Linscott.  He has different sensations in different parts of the body unpredictably, but he doesn't find this an ordeal. 

 

        Sam's music is a much different kind.  But both men are taking the same kinds of

treatment for the same intervals.

 

        On one of these mornings Rodney muses about his interaction with his parents.  The worst offense was eight years ago.  It was a thing he said, followed by something he did.  The return to normalcy took a couple of years, and he can still have moments of doubt.  His brother has told him it's gotten better.  He needn't be ashamed.  These thoughts remind him of an acquaintance whose fear of hell is more acute than Rodney's fear of hell.  This other man's anxiety has nothing to do with parents.  Rodney's intrigued by supposing that the music has prompted such thoughts.  Would it have a similar tendency with other patients?  He should ask Mr. Youngmark how he's doing.  In their conversations they've already covered a few topics.  They can cover some more today, and they're going to be out of doors after lunchtime.

 

        "It's plenty of elbow room," Sam remarks during their first excursion to the rooftop.  They've been allowed previously to spend time on a large third floor exterior balcony, facing the forest.  In some ways the balcony gives a more interesting view, but here on top they can walk around more and see more of the open sky.

 

        This time their dialogue is trivial for the most part.  Rodney doesn't get much reply from Sam when he asks about his experience of the music.  It's also true that neither of them comes up with something profound when they notice a man walking down there at the edge of the forest.  He's doing something probably job-related, and they can't guess what, exactly.  Sam states a morose opinion at last, one that relates therapy to some wide-ranging problems in the social order.  Rodney isn't convinced of its truth, but he promises to give it some thought.

 

        On the eleventh day of their listening, the place is visited by Pat Gowdy.  The man

surprises them by seeming to know all about serious modern composers.  He surprises Rodney for another reason, too - when he makes it clear with his remarks to Sam that he's giving medical advice to both men.  Sam hadn't told Rodney who he was consulting, and Rodney wouldn't ask.  The doctor has both patients resting now in the same compartment.  Rodney has an odd, perhaps silly thought: if it's unethical for a physician to be treating two patients at the same time, who's going to press charges?  In this case, no one.  Before discussing in detail their progress or lack of progress, the doctor gives a lecture.

 

        He says things like, "In the suite by Brundage, those intervals of asymmetry are followed by patterns of dissonance that retain their charm."  He names the composers that influenced Brundage and Sowerby.  After talking about the suite he discusses a recently published work of harpsichord variations and someone's octet.  It's impressive the way he finds time to consider Sam's music as well.

 

        In a polite manner both men seem to concentrate on the lecture. 

 

        Eventually, finished with such one-way discourse, he questions the men, starting with Sam.  This goes on for a while.

 

        At last he asks, "On balance, would you say the music helps?"

 

        The patient tries to sound chipper as he answers, "I'd like to say it does."

 

        "But it doesn't?"

 

        "On balance, no."

 

        Soon they're finished with questions that are strictly medical.

 

        "You're free to tell me what you think of this location," Pat assures him.  The doctor has a mischievous look.  

 

        "Too rich for my blood," Sam replies.  He hesitates.  "Well, not that much, I guess.

If I'm not supposed to mention it to anyone, I can live with that."

 

        "We don't make that an absolute condition," Pat says.  He explains the rationale for being discrete.

 

        After some give and take about this, it's Rodney's turn.

 

        The physician may think Rodney's a more interesting case than Sam.  Certainly this

wouldn't be obvious.  What the patients behold from their side is a man close to conventional.  Pat's of medium height, somewhat thin, friendly in his facial expression.

 

        He examines and questions Rodney.  He doesn't make alarming statements.

 

        At one point he says, "We talked before about a treatment plan being well-structured.  You can tell me if you think we're falling short of that."

 

        Rodney claims there's no problem.  It does look as if somebody somewhere cultivates an esthetic for the people who manage this program of therapy.  He's feeling sure of it by the end of the session.

 

        Pat inquires, "What do you think of the piano trio?"  He means it.

 

        "Advanced music, I suppose," Rodney answers.  "It sounds absurd, but I keep thinking I should have an out of body experience, and it never happens."

 

        "Not like your dream therapy."

 

        "Not in the least."

 

        Pat looks at him intently.  "Anything else?"

 

        "I'm impressed in one way," Rodney says.  "There's a sensation I've never felt before.  I'm not saying it's pleasurable, but I think it's remarkable.  I still can't say it's very important.  It's too hard to describe."

 

        Sam confesses, "My sensations are not remarkable."

 

        Based on this talk with Rodney, Pat prescribes another medicine.  There isn't much more ground to cover.

 

        "One thing I'd like to know," Rodney states.  "How does music therapy compare 

with other kinds?  Is it thought to be more effective, less effective - ?"

 

        Pat says, "It often depends more on the patient than on something else."

 

        When he's done questioning Rodney, he says to him, "We'll get back to you with some readings we've got.  You didn't know music can have such an effect, did you?"

 

        Rodney asks, "How could you have some readings?"

 

        Pat smiles.  "Aren't we something?"

 

        He tells them the music therapy is over with.

 

        Done with the scheduled session, he leads Rodney and Sam on another tour of the complex.  He unlocks the door to a room they hadn't been shown.  Inside there's an oddly specialized library.  Several books have to do with philosophies of history.  There's also a pretentious art collection.  None of these are paintings, they're figurines of stone and ceramic.  Rounding it off are quite a few clever examples of woodwork.  Pat respects the decision to house these products, but he gives no opinion of their market value.  Claiming to take a risk by doing it, he gives the men their own keys to the room.  Then all three men take a leisurely stroll back towards the building's main entrance.

 

        The psychiatrist leaves the building as he's done on previous occasions, not having to pass through a gate.  There's no physical cordon or perimeter.  A system of surveillance cameras takes care of what needs to be taken care of.  Hikers getting too close to the edifice would be intercepted by a group of officers quite able to intimidate the unwanted.  It's all done very efficiently, and it's almost never needed.  The psychiatrist knows enough to suspect the nature of the research that was accomplished here at times.  He can also plead ignorance without telling a lie.

 

        The officials he could speak of, including the talented Erickson, are widely scattered around the country.  They're not VIPs familiar to the general public.  Their system has various purposes, the most interesting of which have not been recognized by the minds who develop dark folklore.  Joe Therrien doesn't develop the folklore, but he helps to spread it around.

 

        For the public's appreciation he makes the most exaggerated claims of knowledge about the investors who call the shots.  He says they're so brilliant they don't have to attempt concealment.  Society mistakes their work for the typical efforts of businessmen.  In a sense they prop him up.  For them he's a convenient mouthpiece, giving disinformation.  Once, to convince him that he knows the insiders, they let him wander through the rooms of the facility.  They told him things, and they assumed this would be good for PR.

 

        But he isn't privileged enough to be in the audience when a man from one of the families stops by at someone's conference center and gives a sort of lecture about the coma serum.  That man can trust his audience, and he gets to the nitty-gritty.  He lets them know that the serum doesn't bring you out of the coma.  The serum is what puts you in the coma.  That application isn't done to punish the troublemakers.  Rather, it's the necessary first phase in long term improvement for the sick.  Dr. Vinsonhaler's in the audience, and he asks the speaker difficult questions.  The speaker shows ability.  But maybe this back-and-forth is being staged, considering that Vinsonhaler serves the family.

 

        Plans can change quickly for any of these people.  Right outside the building that houses Rodney and Sam for the nonce, two other men are having a careful dialogue.  One of them is chief of operations at the facility, the other's the producer in charge of public relations videos for The Circuit.  A phone text one of them has just gotten changes things.

 

        In reply to what the producer tells him about this, the manager says, "On the other hand, we can wait till you have your film crew together.  We don't have to go in."

 

        Gerald answers, "My feeling exactly."

 

        "There can be a reason for the final checklist before you take the first step.  I'm glad we talked."  The manager glances wryly at the nearest window.  Not seriously, he adds, "Besides, we might startle the occupants if we go in without a warning.  I didn't tell 'em we're coming, did you?"

 

        "Me neither."

 

        "People in therapy can get nervous when they see us big bad strangers."

 

        Funny he should put it that way.  He spends almost all his time in the suite that's

located around back in one corner.  He shook hands with Rodney and Sam several 

weeks ago and hasn't seen them since. 

 

        Gerald says, "The guys who sent me won't mind if I wait another day."

 

        The other man's pretty good at keeping his peace of mind.  He comments, "Board

members, stakeholders - they'll have what they want."

 

        Gerald can leave it at that.  The man doesn't have to know he got the assignment 

from Erickson instead of the others. 

 

        Regarding a man's possible ambitions, his colleagues can be civil yet wary.  So it is

with Erickson.  He'd like to take one of the huge buildings and make it the most lavish

and beneficial retirement center.  Audaciously - or frighteningly - the center would be the first of its kind.  Some who know the man fear that he's a would-be despot.  He seems to be on the rise even though he's had his failures.  For example, he's encouraged by the results he got from his interview with a Colorado billionaire.

 

        Board members and such are stating their opinions at some very high levels of North America's powers that be.  In keeping with much that involves the ruling class, these participants have a veiled authority.  They're convening in a room which is not excessively well furnished.  To one side of a large table is something that could seem out of place - a bed.  The man lying on the bed can talk, he can move his face from side to side, and he can move his arms.  That's about it.  He's here because he's extremely prominent.  He insists on being in the room because he hates doing what is called remote work.

 

        The participants deal with ordinary matters : review and criticism of their operatives.  For one thing, subordinates need to be more aggressive.  Their view of culture needs to be more in line with patrician values.  Plans for such improvement are nothing new.  Then they speak at length about their cherished main group of icons.  There's a heartfelt debate that doesn't get out of control.  It stresses a few banal cited examples of mystical symbolism that have so far been excluded from aristocratic preference.  Thanks to the impressive cripple, these men are united in their malice.  They excoriate one public servant who wants to start congressional hearings into 'the subculture of psychotropic ornaments.'  Perhaps they would do better to discuss a subsidiary group of symbols - a group that was introduced by a German.

 

        The scholar and immigrant named Erwin Dreiss arrived at New York in 1937.  He

chose to settle in Syracuse.  He was never approached or even monitored by clandestine government agents in this country.  His decisive work appeared in 1954, self-published.  It was discussed very briefly by one of the well-known periodicals, and politely dismissed.  In no sense has he ever had a following.  It's more a matter of appropriation for purposes that would have meant nothing to the man who developed the system.  Investigators who study the notation's history have one obsessive question : what became of Dreiss? 

 

        One day after the session presided over by the cripple, two men discuss various intrigues. This happens at the legendary private residence, and one of these men can be described as a guest.  They're actually debating about which of their collaborators need to be gotten rid of.  The talk centers on such oddities as the notorious training center, the cryptic emblems, and more than anything else the medicines that arouse suspicion.

 

        Believe it or not the financier doesn't like to manipulate his fellow citizens.  He

doesn't like to pressure his minions.  The guest, on the other hand, would have no

qualms against doing that if he had something to apply pressure with.  Whatever each

one really thinks, he makes comments to reassure the other man that the business

is not based on violence.  Nobody employs gunmen or other kinds of executioners.

Fascinating icons are not used to instill terror.

 

        Emblems are one type, chemicals another.  Wealthy conspirators don't like it when a person talks about the coma serum though he isn't supposed to know it exists.  Joe somehow learned of it.  He hasn't mentioned the serum on his website, but he blabbed in some emails he sent to his fellow crackpots.

 

        Rigorous thinkers are bound to evaluate the writers who've been known for their fanciful beliefs.  In a big city office building somewhere, an elderly administrator mulls this over.  He likes to think he has evidence contrary to Joe's evidence, and it's a point about which he's willing to take suggestions from almost anybody.  That includes the woman who's in the chair facing his desk.

 

        He asks, "Who do we cite as a reliable source for these disclosures?"

 

        The woman answers, "I'm not sure we need a source.  Does anyone take Joe Therrien seriously?"

 

        He sighs.  "Maybe they don't."

 

        In select circles far and wide the old man is often referred to simply as Millard.  

Some people associate him with a software company, but that guise was fabricated.  

He belongs to the dreadfully serious organization that includes Erickson and Packer.

 

        From his rough countenance you might mistakenly guess that he's been a coal

miner, perhaps a construction worker, something like that.  If he isn't careful he can

find himself talking the part.  He has to consider so many questions besides Therrien.

There's the problem of Casey Morton.  He would be a problem, wouldn't he?  The

executive's worried his own position will be jeopardized if he has to save Casey 

Morton's ass.  In the meantime what's important is the schedule for summer and

fall at the Colorado facility.  The current occupants, Youngmark and Linscott, will be

out of the way, of course.

 

        He tells her, "We've got this wisdom that comes from a genius tactician, the cyber-

paradise, or you name it, someone's fountain of telepathy."

 

        "You mean our policy makers," the woman says.

 

        "Right, the policy makers."  He has a glum demeanor.  "There's this next phase of 

operations, and everybody gives a statement.  We give ours the day after tomorrow."

 

        She says to him, "Ours is ready, isn't it?"

 

        "It's ready.  And I've always got my statement for the public, not that the public cares.  I tell them our program of therapy ties in with our program of research.  Medical research?  Well, there's nothing coercive or otherwise inhumane about the research we do.  But we take more steps than others do to keep the laboratories and the documentation secure.  The Director of Security gets after me and some others to make sure of that."

 

        The woman says, "Which reminds me.  We got an email from him, a mysterious

point about the coma serum."

 

        "I'll have a look."

 

        "The wide world thinks we're extravagant," she comments.

 

        "But we're like the wide world," he says.  "We could use a coherent philosophy

about the application of medicine."

 

        "We're not there, yet?" she asks.

 

        Millard replies, "We're having to sort through all of this with Pat Gowdy and Ed 

Vinsonhaler.  Dr. Vinsonhaler, especially, thinks no one should receive so many kinds of treatment."

 

        The woman smiles.  It wasn't long ago that she witnessed a disagreement between the two doctors.

 

        Rodney knows nothing about Pat's most important research paper.  'Medicine's use of Esoteric Symbols' has provoked a minor schism.  Vinsonhaler was one of the first to read it.  Though his opinion of Gowdy hasn't been published online or in academic journals, his closest colleagues know the situation.

 

        Millard makes a few harmless comments about personalities.  Then it's back to an item of business.

 

        He says, "I'm finally getting a chance to see Erickson.  I mean, face to face in the same room."

 

        The woman tells him, "Adjustment of schedule.  He can't be in his office on Monday.  It'll have to be Tuesday.  Same time Tuesday."

 

        "And I won't ask why," he says, not very surprised.  "Okay, Tuesday then." 

 

        She leaves the room, and it's only a few minutes before he has his next visitor.

It's a man who represents Nordness.  For some reason he wants to start by talking 

basketball, but Millard nixes this.  Other things about the Nordness man can be

annoying as well.  He's too spindly.  After twenty minutes of talk the old man can 

believe that the company rep has two more products with potential.  But they seem 

less than imperative.  The visitor leaves after it's promised that these things 'will be 

mentioned around.'  Then Millard takes it easy for five minutes.

 

        He's embarrassed to realize how long he'd spent with his career before it occurred to him what he was really a part of.  He's tolerant of mystics.  He's intolerant of people who espouse violent means for achieving justice.  How much do those classes overlap?

 

        A building in Pennsylvania has been his favorite example of a source for anecdotes.  It's preferred by investors as a place to congregate.  Even so the greatest of them rarely show up.  Millard once made a sort of pilgrimage there and heard the most philosophical discourse he'd ever heard in those administrators' meetings.  It's also the place where he first encountered Vinsonhaler.

 

        It's natural to suppose that people can be less at risk if they work behind the scenes.  The criminal paramounts try to keep their kind inconspicuous, avoiding hostility.  If some officials outrank Erickson, it's a remarkable secret.  The status brokers' leadership developed gradually after the U. S. government lost its reason to fear the Soviets.  One theory contends that the fall of a government had this result : a change in the international market such that a new, pernicious elite could arise.  This elite authorized the construction of a dazzling, mythical architecture to be used for enigmatic purposes.  Respected scholarship laughs at the idea.  Rodney knows that arguments about this are bound to be over his head.  The covert fraternity or whatever it is, thrives on the retention of art objects.  Logos, cryptograms, motion pictures.  Even some examples of music.

 

        At the site that was recommended by Pat Gowdy, its occupants can be involved in

something besides therapy.  Sam's reading, for the latest time, a letter he received last year through the postal service.  It's from a person he worked with at the building in Appalachia.

 

        "I've told you," the man wrote, "what the executive said when I asked about the

response to our great mystery.  He said they'd bring in some engineers to have a look.

They'd know what to make of it.  But they haven't been here yet.  One thing's for certain.  From now on the training happens somewhere else.  Sure, it could be worse.  All of us are keeping our jobs.  All of us are silent.  But I can think of things that would make me look somewhere else for employment.  Things that could easily happen."

 

        Sam has no sense of the detailed opinions being expressed by some of his 

coworkers in regard to the training center.  They see it as a fantastic, psychic indication - a message being sent to the disaffected.  They're pretty sure they know where it leads.

 

        Untroubled by that question, Sam's feeling all right this afternoon.  He won't say

that music has made things worse.  He was feeling pretty good after the dream therapy, but he couldn't be sure he'd had some dreams. 

 

        Late next morning Rodney becomes aware of an item that tells him someone was

here in the smallest of the lounge areas during the night.  The fact doesn't fill him with immediate anxiety.  He hasn't seen the object before, and he can check with Sam to learn if he's the one who left it there.  The bedroom doors can be locked, and Rodney's sleep was comfortable.  A cube of something, probably ivory, was left on a shelf in the lounge area.  It would be unnerving to know that the artifact was placed there by a man from one of the crime families.  Rodney doesn't suspect anything like this.  On one side of the cube some signs have been left by incision.  They have an arrangement that some people would call a 'dial.'  Those who know what the signs refer to can tell that the arrangement is random, not comprising a message.  The person who left the object reasoned that it would be noticed before long because it was so conspicuous.  When Rodney talks to Sam about it, asking if he knows how it got there, Sam wonders if his friend is joking.  He tells Rodney that he hasn't been in the lounge for several days. 

 

        At some point Rodney learns from Sam a few things about a recruiting agency no

one ever seems to mention.  This palaver happens in a room that has one of the large

windows.  After hearing the details, he wants to know about the people who have Pat

Gowdy's cooperation.  He'd like to make inferences. 

 

        "They didn't tell me much more than somebody told you," Sam admits.  "They

warned me that I'd be in a huge building with only one other person.  Could I tolerate

that?  I said it wouldn't be a problem."

 

        Rodney comments, "They told me I'd be with one other person, male, and that was it."

 

        "The less we're told, the less we'll worry, I guess."

 

        Rodney says, "I'd like to know how many of these lunatic fortresses they've got."

 

        Sam has considered that question.  "Probably half a dozen.  I know for sure there's

one in Appalachia."

 

        He'll be evasive, though, if he's asked how he knows this.

 

        "Can't figure the logistics," Rodney says.  "But they could have a lot of the right

people in here at the same time, brainstorming.  When they need to."

 

        "National security?" Sam replies.  "I"d expect a building like this would have a different purpose.  Judging from its appearance."

 

        "A different purpose besides the one we've got."

 

        "There would have to be," Sam insists.  "They wouldn't have it devoid of occupants."  He looks rather detached, instead of annoyed, but says, "Just two of us?"

 

        It's a pleasure to be carefree with such talk.  Despite some things they've already said about this place, neither man takes seriously the fear of being overheard, the specter of listening devices and punitive enforcers.

 

        "I knew I'd be out of work," Sam confides.  "I had this block of time, and I thought I

could take or leave the doctor's help.  So I'm taking it."

 

        "I was feeling more desperate than you were."

 

        "Frankly, I'd like to see some experts besides Pat Gowdy showing their faces around here."

 

        A few minutes go by without conversation.  These men were not told beforehand 

whose works they'd be listening to.  Having listened, they can think of questions to ask Pat, but he was gone before the questions were formulated.  In a way this prepares them for the next round of treatment.

 

        "Maybe you enjoy the music you've got," Rodney says.  "My taste doesn't have much to do with what they gave me."

 

        This brings up a thought about nomenclature.

 

       "Some people call my music jazz," the other man complains.  "It isn't jazz."

 

        Rodney takes his word for it.  He asks, "Which do you prefer, the live concerts

or the famous recordings?"

 

        His friend answers, "Recordings, because they seem to have more discipline." 

 

        Rodney announces what they both know.  "Music's over.  It's on to the next joyride."

 

        "Just what I've been looking forward to," Sam says, with a lack of enthusiasm.

 

        Rodney concludes, "I'll think of what to tell Pat about how I'm doing with it.  I

agree, it seems pretty dull."

 

        The tirades by Therrien come to Rodney's mind as he walks over to the room 

where he spends most of his waking hours.  The reputation for tirades extends back

at least a quarter century.  Joe has a favorite grievance : the scoundrels who practice

fraud with supposed methods of healing.  He's actually right about some things.  But

Rodney also knows the man has a hostile criticism of music therapy.  Joe seems

unaware that such a method is permitted here.  On the other hand he does endorse

the form of treatment Rodney began two days ago.

 

        It's a regimen prescribed by Gowdy and labeled somatic.  For the most part the 

method consists of breathing exercises.  Rodney follows instructions, but the benefit

isn't clear.  He may be overdoing it.  He reaches a point that seems one of greater, not

lesser, anxiety. 

 

        This method certainly seems more demanding than the first two.  He has a thought about death, not fearful, but oddly captivating.  It's in line with a few novels he's read.  When exchanging emails recently with a man he took classes from in college, he was told by the prof about a burgeoning literary genre.  It's fiction that depicts a sinister alliance between the medical and mortuary professions.  Rodney gets this.  He's read the novel  Parade Of Coffins.  That book's about a wealthy exurban community that makes it a point to avoid the world's attention.  It's about scandals of those who diagnose the living and scandals of those who dispose of the dead.  Rodney can be sensible about it.  He isn't afraid the somatic regimen might kill him.  But it's a peculiar fixation.  He's most moved by novels about murder victims who are drowned, smothered or strangled.  For that reason as much as others, these exercises are not taken lightly.

 

        Something's out of sequence, though, given the program.  One morning he's

impressed by the realization that he's had another dream worth mentioning.  It's

encouragement, having such a dream without a special effort to have one.  He might

be able to use it.  The dream shows him a detail of pious culture - the gestures of

worshipers.  But it isn't genuflection or making the sign of the cross.  It isn't the

kowtow.  It seems enigmatic by comparison.  He's introduced to a satisfying

body language by a person who makes a statement as an onlooker.  For the first

time Rodney witnesses a kind of signaling, or signing, which to him is richly

expressive.  Something in the dream suggests that these mannerisms will catch

on quickly.  

 

        During this interval of his treatment some pertinent artifacts are discovered in a

backroom at the Wensworth Museum.  Ingrid has a few ceramic products on which

fascinating symbols have been painted.  An inscription classifies these emblems as 

'Dreiss imagery.'

 

        She talks to Deena, knowing that her friend has long been a weirdness junkie.

With surprising speed the woman tracks a relation between Ingrid's find and some

emblems that are favored by the crime families.  Joe Therrien cultivates that sort of

thing, too.  Ingrid's glad she rummaged in a dark corner of the museum.

 

        She calls Pat, asking him if he's heard Rodney speak of such artwork.  He says

no, but refers her to Ann, who might have heard.

 

        Ann sounds friendly enough.  She tells Ingrid, "I don't recall the name Dreiss, but

Rodney said something about the notation.  He mentioned it before he went back there the second time.  He'd seen some interesting symbols.  I take it you're like me - you can't reach him right now." 

 

        "I've tried," Ingrid says, "But he didn't let me know there'd be a blackout."

 

        Ann remarks, "I'm surprised you'd find something like that in Wensworth."

 

        "Conceivably it could happen," Ingrid admits.  "The museum could have received a

donation even from someone who knew Dreiss.  Improbable, yes."

 

        And Rodney wouldn't have known about it.

 

        Ann declares, "It should be possible to trace the Dreiss influence.  From what

you tell me, it seems to have existed."

 

        One day the Wensworth newspaper has  a feature that Rodney would find

astonishing.  A writer for the paper interviews Joe Therrien.  The editor can justify this

interview not only because of Joe's prominence as a landowner in the region, but because Joe has warned him of an incursion about to take place.  Joe's on pretty thin ice with his announcement.  He's heard of what happened to the training center in Appalachia.  The incursion he claims will soon happen in Colorado must be expected as something similar.  In the next day's edition the writer of the interview states a slightly unflattering opinion about Mr. Therrien.

 

        The incursion's about to happen.  It won't resemble the occurrence that Sam witnessed in Appalachia, nor will its main thrust be at the site he and Rodney are visiting.  In its own way it will be drastic, treacherous, etc.  The leaders of its personnel have a finely honed ideology.  They can explain in great detail the significance of the training center.  Their interpretation is based on a concept of the paranormal.  They also specify what should be done to the nation's most envied officials, those of both public and private sectors.  Mercy has nothing to do with it.  At times during the past year they've had their tacticians enter and study the Colorado complex.

 

        It'll be less than a month before the plenary group arrives at the complex.  This

authority will decide certain questions rather quickly.  They'll have to define the 

adjustment which is necessary for the clinics as a more or less unified system.  They

have to prevent a financial and administrative lapse.  Exposure to the nation's

judicial system would be the fatal result of such a lapse.  The Director of Security

will be looking on as these people conduct their work. 

 

        Rodney won't dismiss the idea that this building represents an unfamiliar dogma.

The cube with incisions may express a mortuary theme.  But it's hard to believe the

place is used for a death cult.  He hasn't heard about the training center, let alone the

correlated mysticism.  He's being cautious in a peculiar way when he takes the

cube to the art collection and leaves it there.  At this point it's just as well that Dr. Gowdy has never told him about Dr. Vinsonhaler.  Though he's trained in various branches of medicine, there's only one kind of therapy that Vinsonhaler likes to prescribe.  It's a kind that Rodney has in his own future.  It's odd that someone like him would be counting on it.

 

        One day he's thinking about this, and resting on a sofa, when four men are allowed into the building.  The man leading the group is Gerald Packer.  The others immediately disperse through most of the rooms.  They're said to be dealing with maintenance issues.

 

        "Looks like you don't have to punch a clock," Gerald says in a playful way.

 

        Rodney admits, "If they called it a job I wouldn't be here."  He's definitely been idle this morning.

 

        "Where's the other guy?"

 

        Rodney tells him, "In the so-called conference room down the hall to the left.  He was there twenty, thirty minutes ago."

 

        The newcomer hesitates before acknowledging the dull nature of his mission.  He does a few tasks that are less exalted than 'producer.'

 

        "They're having us change the decor somewhat," he says.  "It won't affect you two.  We'll be gone within the hour."

 

        "Not a big deal?"

 

        Gerald winces, then replies, "It's quick, but they make sure it's painful."

 

        Now he gets a call from one of his crew members.

 

        The man says, "We have an electrical job we weren't scheduled for."

 

        Gerald asks, "What part of the building?"

 

        "The second-floor studio complex.  It could take at least half an hour."

 

        "Then we include it as part of today's assignment," Gerald says.

 

        They have an impromptu planning session.  Gerald shows that he has people skills,

and that can make it longer for him to get results.  They talk for five minutes.  He and this other worker collaborate mostly on film productions.

 

        Gerald turns back to the patient.  He asks, "Did they make you watch the documentary?"

 

        Rodney looks puzzled.

 

        Gerald says, "The lounge area.  The big screen."

 

        "Oh, that," he answers, remembering.  "Yes, we had to watch."

 

        Gerald continues, "This country's a joke when it comes to recruiting for enlightened purposes.  We've got some ways to make life better for the people who get forced by health problems into such early retirement.  We'd like to turn one of the centers into assisted living.  It's about time."

 

        "Assisted living," Rodney mutters, making it sound like a novelty.

 

        Gerald adds, "We have to be more aggressive.  Justice means aggression."

 

        Rodney tells him, "Sounds like you had to watch it, too."

 

        Gerald keeps a straight face.  He had to watch the documentary?  Not only that,

he put it together.

 

        Wishing Rodney a good day, he attends to the business at hand.  He and his crew

are efficient.  They're able to finish the work and leave the building in slightly more time than they'd expected.

 

        He's handled various projects in recent years for the likes of Erickson.  One project he'd love to start is a video that would make Joe Therrien seem callously opportunistic.  He doesn't fantasize about the man's humiliation.  It's just that he'd love to prove his own ability once again, doing it at the expense of someone whose politics are unworthy.

 

        Millard has a vital conference the same day Gerald sees Rodney.  The Director of

Security comes to his office and confirms what the old man has reason to suspect, 

namely that a high-ranking official, Erickson himself, is in danger of being abducted.  Right now these two men make suggestion and countersuggestion.  For the legislative gathering this summer Millard can have certain delegates replaced, if he thinks it necessary.  A strange view of society misleads the prospective abductors.  It's disturbing to think such people have made their way up the chain of command.  Hostility is reaching a culmination.  To give a sense of that, Millard quotes a vitriolic statement he heard someone make the day before.  After an unpleasant three hours the Director leaves the old man's office.

 

        A short time later he's talking to the CEO.  They make sure they have a strategy in

common.  It assumes quite a bit about their own working relation to the crime family, as well as Erickson's relation to the family.  The Director knows how varied the family's commitments are.  They like to seem humane regarding women's rights.  They like to suggest that environmentalist rigor benefits poor people.  He agrees with them, talking a good fight.

 

        And there's a prospect the Director, of all people, should know about.  So far, he doesn't.  It won't be long before the coma serum is widely, disastrously available.  A researcher working for the Circuit was the one who first produced the serum.  He's become very pleased with himself, and his colleagues including Vinsonhaler have been alienated.  Someone foiled an attempt to have him killed.  The researcher's been able to entice people at Nordness, the CEO especially.  That being the case, there are some things the CEO will never tell the Director.  But there's also a puzzling, pertinent fact the Director's aware of : the brilliant Vinsonhaler has been able to restrict further serum research.

 

        For the rest of the week Rodney continues the breathing exercises.  Then he and Sam spend much of the final day in conversation - the longest, most detailed and candid exchange they've had.

 

        They agree to see each other at least once, maybe several times, a year.  They don't expect to talk much about these extravagant clinics.  Rodney for one has no desire to learn all about their history.  But they'd like to carry on a wide-ranging discourse that emphasizes the resources they need.  In their limited fashion they're social critics.  They might seem unrealistic, even frivolous.

 

        Rodney says, "Think how different it would be if we knew how to get money from the philanthropists."

 

        The other man replies, "Foundation money."  He has a look of eagerness.

 

        Rodney states, "I wouldn't try it with this organization."

 

        Sam agrees.  "They'd ask for credentials they know we don't have."

 

        "But some organizations wouldn't ask for special credentials.  They'd ask for a

mission statement.  We could write one up."

 

        "You might have to do the writing," Sam says, with distate.

 

        "We might both have to.  I'll never be Scott Fitzgerald."

 

        Sam finally asks, "Are you talking money for medical work?"

 

        Rodnay answers, "I'd like to do a lot besides that."

 

        Sam can make light of the possibilities.  "Putting a stop to man's rape of the natural environment.  Exposing political corruption.  Restoring the indigenous heritage - "

 

        "Give me a break," Rodney says.  "It's more about guaranteeing employment and 

prosperity for the suburbanites."

 

        His friend smiles.  "You put it that way, I can be interested."

 

        Sam hasn't, and probably never will, tell his new friend that he used to work in one of these installations - the one in Appalachia.  His superiors learned last year of a diagnosis he'd received.  They decided he could take this kind of gratis rehab as long as it was somewhere else.  He and his wife now have a condo in Fort Collins.

 

        Two days after these patients leave the building for the second time, its rooms are entered by some new occupants.  One of them is Casey Morton.  He's already met the other new arrival, Reese Keller.  They're given the tour by a third man, but it isn't Gerald Packer.

 

        Unlike the previous occupants these men are not striving to gain rehabilitation.

Their stated purpose has them developing skills for use in corporate security measures.  The skills would be a serious innovation.  Traits of the nervous system would be enhanced.  They have teleconferences with prominent persons every day.  For the training to be effective no one else has to be on site.

 

        "Who do we select?" Reese inquires on the second afternoon.  He could have said

'target,' because their work will be at someone's expense.

 

        Casey tells him who they're selecting.  He really knows about this.  He belongs to the faction that has a frightening dogma concerning the installations' purpose.  He talks about their plans for a merciless takeover.  The more he describes it, the better it sounds to Reese.  For some reason they think they're being careful.

 

        They have a tranquil confidence.  They make noble statements.

 

        On the fifth day the situation is much different.  There's been trouble, as a surveillance video will make clear to any number of perplexed viewers in the coming weeks and months.  Casey Morton is standing, restrained by handcuffs and legcuffs, near a bench.  He's been told to keep standing.  Facing him is Norvin Erickson.  You don't see the prisoner being struck, but Erickson's body language is very threatening.  Reese takes the situation harder than Casey does.  He's perceived as being much different than Casey, and they let him return home.

 

        Soon after being made, this video gains the attention of investigators and attorneys.  It's a few weeks before the public hears about any of this.

 

        In the meantime a forceful blog announcement is made.  It's from the man who

lectured about the coma serum before an audience that included Vinsonhaler.  The blog presumes to convey the meaning of the training center.  According to its message the destruction foretells a practice to be accepted by morticians in the near future.  Something more socially problematic than burial or cremation.  The blogger's family permits him a surprising degree of indulgence for self-expression.   

 

        There's freedom to state beliefs and there's freedom to obsess with cryptic signs.

A man from one of the other families pays a visit to an artisan.  He comes to see the man's impressive studio.

 

        After some light, friendly comments between them, the artist holds a strip of plastic, three inches wide and fourteen inches long.  On one side is a very brief text in the notation that was created by an obscure immigrant.

 

        The artist tells the family spokesman, "This design hasn't been seen by the public - not seen with my work, anyway."  He looks up from the artifact.  "My reasons for that might sound absurd, so I won't bother explaining."

 

        The spokesman admits, "I haven't seen that design anywhere."

 

        The artist gestures across the room towards wooden panels that have symbols 

carved in.

 

        He tells the visitor, "That's my kind of work, and so is this.  There's the question of

how someone's products are going to be used by someone else.  If they like to use mine for politics, I don't feel responsible."

 

        "It may be their own problem, nothing more."

 

        This family member isn't being very sincere.  He's the one who left the ivory cube as a way of playing with Rodney's mind.  He'll be discarding some psychotropic ornaments in favor of these ones by Dreiss.  It could turn out to be a lifelong disadvantage for him.  He might get stuck with a minority position.  He still doesn't know much about sigils.

 

        The craftsman's voice becomes grave.  "If there's a painful transition to the near future, you meet it like this."

 

        He simply flips the object over, showing a different design.

 

        The visitor seems unnerved by it.

 

        The artist remarks, "Never despise these emblems."  

 

        Rodney's found out about a polemical circus in Wensworth, one that outranks all

its previous examples.  The nation, though, hears almost nothing about it.  The sensation won't last very long.  The park demonstrators try bizarre tactics in various neighborhoods.  But only two of the news reporters from outside the region think the actions are notable.  Soon the demonstrators leave Wensworth, apparently for good.

 

        Will his home town ever seem the same?  Yes, it will.

 

        At a gathering that includes Carmen, his parents and his brother, he's told about a

meeting that Ingrid and her husband attended.  Ingrid had given Carmen a humorous report of this event.  The park demonstrators encountered the city officials, and it wasn't too nasty.  Ingrid thinks it was constructive.  After the meeting she and her husband stopped at a fast food place with one of the activists.  Rodney can't wait to hear more about this.

 

        He pays a visit to the museum.  Ingrid gives him a summary of the remarks made at the political gathering.  The man they talked to at the restaurant told them something that's hard to believe.  According to him the activists merely serve the interests of a certain crime family.  Someone must have met the family's terms.  The park and its fixtures will be permitted, though she doesn't know when they can expect to see it.  Very impressive, and then she has Rodney look at the Dreiss-related artwork.  He'll compare it to the few examples he's already seen.

 

        "I can believe it's the same system," he concludes after a while.  "But I'm thinking it's applied by a different artist, and he had a much different task."

 

        "You're pretty good if you can see that much."

 

        He smiles, almost embarrassed.  "I know I'm hardly an expert."

 

        She says, "Dreiss was one more person trying to improve the quality of

consciousness.  I don't think that works by means of design features."

 

        Ingrid must already have held opinions about such things.

 

        Rodney considers a particular advice that she gave in the distant past, instruction

regarding human-produced chemicals that alter the mind.  He'd forgotten this, but now he remembers the moment in college when he declined her offer to partake of such a paradise.  The topic is brought back in conversation.

 

        "It can be worth doing," she tells him now.  "But there's no guarantee.  Since those days I've almost never indulged."

 

        "As if you've outgrown it?"

 

        She answers, "I don't like to say it's immature.  In my case - well, maybe I did think

it's immature and I lost interest.  I thought it might interfere with work."

 

        He says, "I still think this is what you'll tell me : these products have unlimited acceptance and relevance for the future."

 

        He has to wait a moment for the answer.  When it comes, it's unexpected.

 

        "I don't really believe they do."

 

        She shows him a photo of Joe Therrien.  It was taken at some event back in March

when Joe gave a lecture.  Deena Sproul got it from a friend three days ago and sent it to Ingrid, who now shows Rodney the image on her phone.

 

        "Joe Therrien," he says.  "Older than I thought."

 

        Ingrid comments, "I looked at his blog and I looked at his book.  You have to admit, the worst fantasies don't come from drugs."

 

        Rodney answers, "I can't remember if he says anything about psychedelics.  He

probably does."

 

        Ingrid makes a few statements about medicinal uses of the drugs in question.  Chemists, activists and politicians are mentioned.  She also talks about a struggle that her niece had.

 

        "How's she doing now?" he asks.

 

        Ingrid tells him, "She turned it around, that's for sure.  People can learn from her example."

 

        He confides by announcing, "I'm going into a therapy that makes use of a psychedelic.  Next week."

 

        She reacts in a quiet way, merely using the word, 'interesting.'

 

        He relents from his code of silence.  He might as well raise the subject with one

person he knows : an expert in the design of buildings.  The man lives about a mile

beyond the Wensworth city limits.  He agrees to a conversation one evening, and

Rodney arrives at the man's house.  When they talk, it's clear that the architect knows

of these buildings.  It's disappointing the way he makes it sound as if their construction is rather plain.  He's being satirical when he gives a supposed explanation of their purpose. He derides the usual references to shadow governments and monster cartels. 

 

        But he claims to know a man who designed several of the clinics, including the one Rodney's familiar with.  

 

        He states, "Whatever they should think of his talent, he's been doing something right.  With him there isn't much variation.  You know what you're getting."  In fact both architects have had similar mentors.  "The opportunities I've had are less encouraging.  I learned to adapt to the kind of commissions I get.  Some of what he puts up with - I'm not sure I'd want that."  The man seems amused more than resigned.  "I can't complain."

 

        Yes, Rodney has another sojourn at what he calls the fortress.  Sam returns too.  As they were both told, the procedure this time will be hallucinogenic.  Doors will be locked so the men are isolated from each other.  Supervision is by two persons Rodney hasn't seen before.

 

        Also in the building, but unknown to Rodney, is Ed Vinsonhaler.  He sympathizes with Casey Morton's faction, but he has to be realistic.  Poor Casey!  He should have been more like Ed.  People like Ed Vinsonhaler know how to land on their feet.  The doctor came here out of curiosity, not for survival.  He knows it's the fourth round of treatment for both Rodney and Sam.  He knows that the drug being applied here has fascinating potential.  His curiosity about this is arguably inhumane.  Several persons who have taken the drug reported a dreadful fantasy : they belong to a worldwide cult of cannibalism.  They serve the most privileged cannibals and they make accusations against the noncannibals.  Though Dr. Vinsonhaler wants to know if this will be the fantasy of either patient, he's also confident these men will be set free from their sense of inadequacy.  He thinks there's no contradiction.  He'll have one very pleasing datum about Rodney.  Just as Pat Gowdy could take some readings about the patient, Dr. Vinsonhaler can have some readings about the patient's notice of the signs on the ivory cube.  From the fact that Rodney has gone to a certain website it's clear what his interpretation of the signs would be.  Vinsonhaler can boast of his research. 

 

        Rodney finds that he'll be in a room which is quite large, furnished - or unfurnished - in a way that almost guarantees the prevention of injuries.  Again the lighting is prevented without the use of eyeshades.  He's a trusting soul.  It doesn't bother him when he learns that they're using a controlled substance he knows nothing of.  They give the compound a name and they give a terse, if technical, description of how it works.

 

        In this application, lasting for less than a week, various things go wrong, but there's no disaster.

 

        In the first experience he shares another person's perspective.  Rodney's living in what seems a different world, and having intuitions that belong to someone else.  This other mind has thoughts about events and places that can be troublesome.  But the mind is reassuring.  It's eerie as well.  In terms of lasting attitude, Rodney gains from it.  Angelic or not, this other mind is kindly and strange.

 

        Then the perspective is altered.

 

        Now it's a fleeting world with humans that range from plain to definitely oafish, to grotesque.  He remembers a girl from high school who was mildly attractive.  She comes into the room and startles him with a hideous body frame.  She isn't ashamed.  After this person is gone he tries to forget the sagging folds of her face.

 

        Several persons are immobile, and he's expected to get them onto their feet.  He

manages to do this, and once he does, they can actually walk.  He has to accompany

them on a lengthy stroll.  He has to keep watching them.

 

        A stern and righteous voice from outside his world rebukes him for despising

humanity.

 

        Over the five days he sees quite a few persons, becoming friends with none of them.  He can't avoid these apparitions.  He can't completely avoid such creatures in the real world social environment either.  Misshapen humanity, substandard patterns of speech...

 

        A similar fright is experienced by Sam Youngmark.  But he also finds it educational.

 

        To say there's no disaster is to say that Rodney's unharmed.  He knows why these things are happening.  He knows he'll get back to something better.  

 

        The supervisors give him reassuring statements about his experience.  They answer his questions adroitly.

 

        The treatment is finished and Wensworth beckons.  He feels that his attitude has improved.  Is it really a decisive change?  When he talks about it with Carmen at home, she makes remarks that are supposed to inspire him.  They do inspire him, somewhat.  And it's still sobering to think that his marriage doesn't compare with his father's beatific marriage.

 

        Two weeks later the Director of Security wanders about through the rooms of the Colorado retreat.  He's noticing the traces of group activity.  These are not massive, but they reward the man who knows what he's looking for.  Something is left even though his best men have been going through the traces.  Casey Morton had been dealt with, and then the place was used for a congress of sorts.  The tension had been predicted.  Though the danger to Erickson was averted, the other activity had been what the Director will always describe as 'undignified behavior.'  No one was killed at this location, but several men were seriously injured.  The more deadly action occured elsewhere.  Gerald Packer loves the situation.  He's been given the go-ahead to produce a report, perhaps a lengthy documentary.  He knows that public law enforcement officers are kept away from here.  That exclusion is based on a cordial understanding.  And they didn't have to bother coming here if they wanted Erickson.  He's been delivered to them.  The Director will stay here another day.  Then he'll get back to his base of operations.  In the meantime he finds a skillfully made trinket - the ivory cube with its esoteric markings.  A paper note has been left attached to the cube.  Someone's handwritten text on the note can be read, and seems clear enough as a message.  It's obvious who left the note.

 

        Just before the Director leaves, he thinks of an opportunity.  He goes to a locked room, not the one with the art collection.  One of his keys unlocks the door.  He enters the room and finds a large freezer.  Inside the freezer there's a container with an odd-looking label.  Now the Director has a wicked grin.  The label has Dreiss icons, and the container holds a volume of coma serum. 

 

        Few persons can recognize the Director's place in this world.  Nothing like a CEO, 

nothing like a board member, he still works for the aristocrats more proficiently than anyone else.  When he heard about Casey's misfortune, he could tell what had happened.

 

        He's also good at keeping a secret - so far.  It centers on a storage complex not far

from the Pennsylvania building that's favored by the investors.  The storage building

isn't conspicuous on the landscape though its interior is quite spacious.  Its use is what

you'd expect from the officers of the Circuit.  In recent years numerous dignitaries have gone missing.  As part of the wider operation numerous ordinary persons have also disappeared.  The Director has contributed to these occurrences.  He knows that the storage building contains some four hundred of the comatose victims.

 

        The persons being stored here haven't been kept for the eventual purpose of burial or cremation.  They're being kept for whatever it is that awaits them in the meantime.

 

        A tactician pays a second visit to the great financier at his mega-mansion.  The

financier obsesses concerning the training center.  He comments at length on how the

mystery has been exploited by violent men.  Soon they're talking about what's become of their least worthy collaborators.  As the operative goes down the list, the great man seems increasingly satisfied.  Finally they plan a disinformation campaign against Joe Therrien.  For that effort they're going to enlist Gerald Packer.  They finish the meeting without having mentioned the coma serum.

 

        Rodney has no idea that he came close to a man whose name appears in some 

news media reports of scandals.  Norvin Erickson is mentioned on a daily basis, being

accused of certain crimes. 

 

        Rodney hasn't heard the name before.  The reports don't say anything about huge, isolated buildings.  A TV news program displays a short segment of the video that has Norvin and Casey, but what you're looking at happens in a corner that was least noticed or visited by Rodney.  The room's furnishings are sufficiently nondescript.  It doesn't occur to him that he's been at the location. 

 

        The alleged misbehavior includes extortion, defamation, and various crimes that

administrators might be accused of.  The reports describe a conspiracy that had Erickson working with Casey Morton to achieve something dastardly in high finance.  They had a falling out.  The most puzzling insinuation is a reference to foreigners' influence, a danger coming from the supposed partnership of Russians and Iranians.  The Americans involved are getting lots of attention.  It took someone's decisive journalistic ploy to bring these men into the open.

 

        The culmination of scheming has taken place over the summer at the Colorado retreat.  Millard's foreboding was appropriate.  Some participants in the assembly were threatened with death.  It doesn't come down to anyone's familiar political beliefs, but several executives have reasons for not liking Erickson.  Most

of his destructive acts don't involve crimes.

 

        The outcome seems impossible.  He replaces Donald Trump as the publicity system's ideal whipping boy.

 

        Rodney's year of the psychiatrist has a conclusive aspect.  He finds a startling imagery when he looks at a video podcast he's heard about.  A group of worshipers are displaying the body language he'd seen in his dream.  He considers one explanation a person might give : that his 'handlers' determined his dream life, using the esthetic that comes from a group known for such body language.  Rodney thinks the explanation is implausible.  He finds the style attractive, though.  He knows the worshipers' beliefs are tolerably similar to his own.  Would he someday be making converts to this tradition?

 

        The following Sunday he visits a Ukrainian-American church.  What he sees there 

astounds him even more than the spectacle of Erickson.  The worshipers have latched

onto the maddeningly brazen style shown in the dream and the video podcast.  They'll

have him attending for the rest of his life.

 

        Monday starts out different.  His mind keeps wandering indulgently from one topic to another.  He still needs help.  With attention to detail, his wife positions him in the preferred easy chair.  She leaves a tray of snacks, and he has the usual resources for passing time in a pleasant manner.  He watches movies and wrestling.

 

        Now and then, later in the day, serious thoughts interrupt his amusements.  He isn't always comfortable extolling some value that he believes in.  Can he be satisfied having to wait for dignity and security, waiting till the afterlife?  He can't see the future even though he believes in it.  What about eternal paradise with a supremely victorious person?  No, he can't imagine that.