High Energy by Joy, Dara (ink book reader .TXT) 📗

over in the booth, making room for her to sit down.

Stan, having devoured his mountain of ground beef and grease; noticed her as she

took her seat. "So you haven't given up on us, eh, Zanita? Good for you!"

Zanita glanced sideways at Tyber, who smiled softly at her. Even seated, he

seemed to tower over her. "I didn't really have a choice, Stan."

Stan, completely misinterpreting her remark, replied, "I know what you mean.

Doctor Evans is inspirational!" He grinned broadly at Tyber, who winced under

the unexpurgated devotion.

Looking around the restaurant, he said, "We might as well start this."

He levered himself up on top of the back of the seat, straddling two booths with

his long, jean-clad legs, and addressed the group. "I thought tonight we'd

informally discuss artificial intelligence and some related topics…"

While Tyber spoke, the ultimate artificial life form, the restaurant clown,

listened in, peering over Stan's shoulder intently, his orange hair glowing

under the fluorescent lighting. Several stragglers from the class wandered in.

Eventually they had to move out to the playground to make room for everybody.

Even the clown followed them outside, his broom dragging on the ground behind

him.

There in the playground, under the stars, with a gentle breeze in the night air,

Tyber spoke of the mysteries of the universe from the top of a slide. Zanita

thought him the most interesting and unconventional man she had ever seen.

Frogs croaked, shooting stars fell, owls hooted, and trees rustled in the wind

as he discussed, in plain terms, bringing together seemingly dichotomous

subjects such as absolutism underlying relativistic principles.

What fascinated Zanita most was his way of taking several divergent topics and

bringing them together into a cohesive unit, pointing out similarities in

subjects not often talked about synonymously. He was brilliant.

He was a man captivated by ideas, both the sublime and the ridiculous. His

genuine curiosity about every aspect of the nature of the universe was

contagious. The group was entranced by his enthusiasm as he delved into

explorations of both the known and the unknown.

"Facts always remain absolute," he said. "It's everyone's point of view that is

different, relativistic, although, paradoxically, everyone believes 'their'

point of view is the correct or 'proper' one. As Einstein pointed out quite a

while ago: 'I'm right and everything else is relative.' If one listens to two

politicians in a political debate, one is observing the Theory of Relativity."

Everyone laughed. "And on that note, I believe we'll call it a night. I thought

it might be interesting if we caught the new science fiction picture playing at

the cinema at the mall in Stockboro tomorrow. I hear there are some intriguing

ideas at work on the nature of space travel and xenobiology. We can have an open

discussion afterwards if anyone's interested." Everyone was very much

interested—including the clown, who asked if he could join in. He was assured he

could.

Tyber caught up to Zanita in the parking lot as she was heading for her car.

"So—how was that? Did I keep my promise?"

Zanita smiled at him. "You did. In spite of myself, I was fascinated like

everyone else."

"Hmm... not quite what I was aiming at, but it is a start."

She reached her car and unlocked the door. "As a friend told me recently, in

certain matters I would do well to leap before I look." Of course, Mills had

been referring to a totally different subject. "You have piqued my interest,

Doc. I will be there tomorrow night."

He placed his hands against the door of her car, leaning down to speak to her

through the open window. "It is you who has piqued my interest, Zanita. Did I

tell you I have a cat? No? Well, I do. Good night."

Now what did he mean by that? she wondered.

The following evening, she waited for the group in the lobby of the movie

theater, trying desperately to stay awake. She had gone to visit her

grandparents at their farm last evening after the class. Her grandfather had

been sitting out on the front porch, idly rocking on the swing, enjoying the

unusually balmy October weather. The natives called it Indian summer, and every

New Englander knew to enjoy the brief respite while it lasted, for it presaged

the coming winter.

As usual, it didn't take long before they were heatedly "discussing" a current

topic of town politics. Zanita always liked engaging Hank in such discussions,

often playing devil's advocate just to rile the old man. Hank was something when

he got going on a subject he cared about; and Hank really cared about everything

that went on in Stockboro, and for that matter, the world at large. In her

opinion, it was one of the traits that had made him a great reporter. No story

was ever just a story to him.

Unfortunately, she had succeeded only too well in riling him up, for the

discussion went on well past midnight, with neither one of them aware of the

time. It wasn't until her grandmother came out onto the porch dressed in her

robe to shoo them inside that they came to their senses.

Due to the hour, Zanita elected to spend the night in her old bedroom. When she

made her decision, she hadn't counted on The Hogs hitting town.

It was around two in the morning when the pack squealed into the backyard,

reminding her of a motorcycle gang storming into a town for the fun of causing

mayhem. The "defiant ones" snorted and snuffled in glee, causing her to sit bolt

upright in bed.

She cautiously lifted the shade on the window in time to see the little picket

fence which surrounded her grandmother's rose garden crash over. Stomping pig

feet echoed in the night.

Her grandmother's garden was trampled in a random display of violence before the

herd inexplicably moved on.

Hank was fit to be tied.

The Hogs resided with their neighbor, Joe Sprit, who lived several miles down

the road. Every now and then, for reasons known only to The Hogs, they escaped

their pen to take a midnight foray through the town. It had been going on for

years. Zanita referred to it in her goofier moments as "The Night of The Hogs."

Since no one was sure how to deal with the problem, they tended to live with it.

Joe claimed he had reinforced the fencing several times, but somehow, when The

Hogs wanted