The scene changed to a familiar one: the Neutralian debate hall where Jim had made his speech. The decor was more spartan in this scene. There were fewer insignia on the walls. Much less heraldry cluttered the rafters. As the image came into full focus Jim could see that a debate was already in progress. A tall, middle-aged woman held the floor. The audience filled the auditorium to overflowing. Some spectators had to stand against the back wall.

"Living alongside the fear-based has proven to be disastrous," maintained the speaker. "We had hoped that they might learn from our example. We had hoped that by inviting their better students to our universities we might be able to impart more than our science and technology. We wanted them to embrace our ideals. Our values. Our vision of the future.

"As we all know, the various factions brought their fears and jealousies with them. They fought to uncover our technological advances and then quickly converted them into military applications. Military advantages. Perhaps we should have been more wary. Did we not notice that seventy percent of their science and engineering graduates were subsequently employed by their militaries? Or did we choose not to notice this?"

The woman had been groping for a word which did not exist in LOOP: "naive".

"We saw them learn our language and mimic our ways while on Neutralia. Then they returned to their home worlds and made ready to kill each other. The OMLTs invaded Neutralia. We all remember the occupation. We all remember the rationalization. We were being occupied by the OMLTs pre-emptively, lest the Sinesics or Ki'nans be tempted to occupy us. Neutralians who spoke hopefully of life after the occupation were slaughtered. Sinesic or Ki'nan `spies' and `sympathizers', they were called. Neutralia was turned into a place where sympathy could be fatal.

"And as the years of occupation passed, our children began to despair. Hope--the very thing that defines us--faded from our youth. As our friends regressed into paranoid barbarism we regressed into fear and solipsism.

"The hope-based living with the fear-based, then, interfered with the development of both cultures. It was a recipe for catastrophe. Let us learn from this mistake. And let us never repeat it."

The woman bowed her head and retreated to her chair on the platform in the centre of the room. Neutralians of all ages slapped their thighs in appreciation of her sentiments. The crowd seemed almost unanimous in their loyalties thus far.

Dirka stood up and stepped off the platform. He looked older. Naked lines streaked from the corners of his mouth and eyes. Small gray hairs desecrated his temples. Clasping his hands behind his back, he lowered his head as he waited for the thigh-slapping to subside. Once he had their attention he addressed the people in the great hall.

"Everything my counterpart has just told you is true. Where we disagree is on the conclusion, the lesson that we should learn from these events. Segregation. That is what she proposes. Let both groups barricade themselves behind their ignorance of each other. Let Neutralians isolate themselves from the fear-based until we forget them entirely. Let Neutralians forget those who represent our own past. Let us forget how far we have come by removing those behind us. Let us stagger in the darkness without our own footsteps to guide us.

"And what of the fear-based? Will they benefit from this segregation? Will they progress faster in isolation? Do students learn faster without teachers? Without examples?

"And how long will the fear-based remain ignorant of our existence? How long before they look around and find that they are the only species on this new planet without a discernible ancestry? Yes, it might take them centuries to intuit our existence. Perhaps eons. Eons of struggle and speculation. Eons of inventing us.

"Our destiny as Neutralians is inexorably linked to theirs. Any such attempt to deny this is an ill-chosen ignorance. We condemn our friends to themselves."

Dirka finished his argument and returned to his chair. There was only a smattering of applause, concentrated among the younger Neutralians in the audience.

A fragment from one of Cory McGuire's poems flashed through Jim's mind: "...the finest among us; the ones who still felt that their dreams could come true..."

The moderator of the Neutralian debate, an olive-skinned Rubinesque woman in her forties, stood up and waited for silence.

"It is decided, then," she announced. "Our friends will occupy the planet while we remain here. We will pursue our destinies separately.

"Now," she continued. "We have another difficult issue to resolve. This candidate planet has a suitable atmosphere and climate. Food and water are in abundance. The problem is a lack of eltica. There are only traces of it. These are concentrated in only one area: the mountainous region of its largest continent. Without this critical vitamin our friends will have less than a third their natural life span. Indeed, much less than a century. We have suggested that the fear-based remain with us until we have found them another home. The decision, however, must be theirs. Our friends have chosen Turmek of Sinesia to present their response."

Turmek stepped forward to address the crowd. He was a short, stocky man with dark, oval eyes peeking out from under an awning of two arborial eyebrows. He wore clothes: a tight-fitting blue and white body suit, ankle-high brown boots on his feet and a blood red sash draped across his waist. He spoke in good LOOP, although not as well as a native Neutralian.

"Everything we have held dear to us is gone now, a victim of our efforts to defend it. While the Phalka remained apart from our warring, we OMLTs, Sinesics and Ki'nans have no illusions of innocence. But it is too late for self-recrimination. Let us concentrate on our future. On our children: the heirs to our well-earned misfortune. Let us focus specifically on whether this planet will provide that future.

"We have discussed this. OMLT, Sinesic, Ki'nan and Phalka are all in agreement. We do not want to wait another generation. The fact that this planet can support us is obvious. Indeed, there are pre-hominoids there already. I understand that some of them will be evacuated in anticipation of our...displacing them.

"We understand that our life expectancy will be much shorter here. During the course of our lives each of us develops a wide circle of friends and family. Over time this affection grows deeper and deeper. The task each of us faces is to measure life by these widths and these depths, rather than by its length.

"For decades our peoples will gather around camp fires and speak fondly of you Neutralians. But in time the fires will die and these stories will fade into legend. Then we will be forced to understand that our destiny is in our own hands. We will have forgotten you."

"Never!" cried one onlooker. The image focused on a tall, dark man with straight black hair. Jim was struck at how much the man resembled Monat. The man's accented LOOP, combined with the fact that, like Turmek, he was wearing clothes, told Jim that he was not Neutralian. The man stood beside Turmek to address the assembly.

"We Phalka will never forget you!" he swore. "We have agreed to live separately on the southern island continent to avoid serving as a reminder. But the memory of this rescue, this transplanting, will always be with us and our descendants. We will remember our friendship with you as our dream time. But we will never forget you!"

"It is decided, then," announced the moderator. "All that is left will be our farewells."

"Speaking on behalf of OMLT, Sinesia, Ki'na and Phalka," Turmek said, turning to the Phalkan beside him to ascertain that there was no objection to him speaking for them, "we would like to thank you from the bottom of our hearts. We know that you will always be with us, in spirit at least. I believe you Neutralians have a word for it: kalticada."

"Kaltica" is a word belonging to a the Conundrum & Oxymoron group of nouns in the LOOP language. Roughly, it translates to "a friend we haven't met". "Kalticada" was the plural.

"Farewell, kalticada."

As the dignitaries stood to end the meeting Dirka stepped forward with an unscheduled announcement.

"There is one more good-bye which needs to be said."

The moderating panel members looked at each other quizzically. The Neutralians in the crowd began to murmur. Dirka went on.

"I will respect the decision of this august body to disassociate Neutralia from our friends. As an individual and as a matter of conscience, however, I cannot comply. I will, therefore, take the Wintaka Pledge."

The murmur matured to a collective groan.

"Wintaka!" gasped the moderator. "But we haven't had this for two whole cycles!"

"I pledge to live among the fear-based, renouncing all rights of Neutralian inclusion," Dirka began, placing his right hand on his chest.

"This is preposterous!" the moderator objected. The crowd grew more agitated, sitting in their seats and clucking their disapproval.

"I pledge to guard the secret of Neutralia's existence," Dirka persisted.

"Can we not discuss this?" begged the moderator.

"I pledge to guard the secrets of Neutralian science and medicine," Dirka recited, ignoring all objections.

Suddenly there was movement with the audience. Some of the younger members stood, placed their hands over their hearts, and joined Dirka in his pledge. Beside them, their friends and relatives shrieked in horror and protest.

"I pledge to devote my life and the lives of my descendants to sharing the Wintaka dream," Dirka and the other Wintaka chorused.

One Neutralian mother began crying uncontrollably, clutching at her young daughter as the girl swore her oath.

"And," the Wintaka promised in unison and conclusion, "I pledge hope."

The picture on the surface of the pond remained frozen, then faded. Jim was left speechless, his hand quivering as the Mensaplasms remained clustered around it. Silence ensued for a full minute before Pinky spoke.

"Esperanza muerto al ultima," the Ponder said. Jim did not need a translation. He had read enough about the Spanish Civil War to recognize "no pasaron" and "hope dies last".

"I-I-I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I have to go."

"Jim?" Pinky pleaded.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry if this has been...a little too much for you."

"Yeah. I just need some time...you know...to let things sink in."

"I know you wanted to talk about your mother. Perhaps later?"

"Yeah, sure. Later."

Jim drew his hand out of the water and stood up. He staggered towards the house, his mind swirling. Once inside, he collapsed on his sofa. He quickly grew exhausted by the mental machinations the Ponders had inspired.

The manuscripts he was supposed to read lay on the coffee table. He approached them like a mountain climber approaches an ice crevice. There were only three days before his deadline. Perhaps work would take his mind off things for a while.

Five minutes later work had succeeded in nothing more than putting Jim to sleep.

An elderly man came into view, his eyes, smile and silvery hair shimmering in the soft light of hallway lamps.

"You must be Kolry, the Wintaka," guessed the host. Jim nodded. As in his previous dreams, Jim's guide led him down the hall to a meeting room. Along the way Jim heard the residents of this strange place debating. From what he could make out, power and responsibility were the topics of conversation. In some of the smaller rooms residents sat alone in quiet contemplation. The older man opened a door, excused himself, and retreated down the hallway.

Jim peered into the room. This time there was no crowd, no panel or committee. There was only one person inside, a young woman with long black hair and dark skin. She had her back to Jim as she stared through a window. It was not clear what had caught her attention.

"Meeka?" Jim called, his pulse jumping at the possibility.

The young woman turned around.

"Shit!" thought Jim. "It isn't Meeka. And now I've made a damned fool of myself here."

"Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," Jim blushed, "I mistook you for someone else."

"No need to apologize," said the woman. "I often do that myself."

There was something in the woman's tone and syntax that made her last remark unclear. Did she mean she often confused people with each other? Or was she alluding to some identity crisis, confusing herself with others? Jim did not pursue the subject.

"I know this may sound silly," he began, "but could you tell me where I am?"

"Not such a silly question at all, Wintaka," she replied. "In fact, a very profound one. One of many questions my people are wrestling with."

"Uh, well, maybe you could tell me something about your people. And maybe that will tell me where I am."

"First, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Jeka. I understand your name is Kolry?"

"James Kolry McGuire," Jim expounded.

"Introducing my people will not be so easy," Jeka temporized pensively. After giving the task some thought she tried to clarify matters.

"Have you ever wondered what you would do if you could do anything?"

"Well, I'm sure I have at some time or another. It's a fairly common fantasy--"

"It is not a fantasy for us, Kolry. It is a stark reality. A reality complicated somewhat by the fact that all of the others here have the same power."

Yes, thought Jim, that would complicate things. Jim's dreams of omnipotence had always been monotheistic.

"Some would argue that equal power amounts to no power," Jeka observed. "But that's not what we're talking about here. We're talking about the ability to create. Matter from energy. Energy from matter. Life. Whole universes, if we want to."

"And what do you plan to do with all of this knowledge?"

"Another very astute question, Wintaka!"

Jim recognized that Jeka was flattering him. Perhaps even patronizing him. After all, the LOOP word "valtika" meant "improvement". Its passive voice, "valtikaga", translates to "practical knowledge", while its aggressive voice, "valtikakoi", meant "power". Power is the aggressive form of knowledge. Hell, any three-year-old Neutralian knew that!

"My people have overcome their fears," Jeka explicated. "They have realized all of their hopes. And they have discovered all of the secrets of the universes. But the question arises: What do we do with all of this knowledge? Let me illustrate. If each of us were to create, say, a universe, we must have some ground rules. Otherwise, the universes would collide. There would be chaos. Do you understand what I'm saying so far?"

Jim nodded, cueing Jeka to continue.

"So my people must come to some agreement. Rules. And, unlike the Terranian's democratic approach, our agreement has to be unanimous. A veto vote, if you like. After all, we can't have a rogue `god', can we?"

Jim shook his head and interposed a query: "But what if one of your people won't agree to the rules. Or is likely to break them?"

After all, he wondered to himself, who's going to arrest a "god"?

"Then we are back to square one. We need an agreement that satisfies everyone. And that," she said with an air of finality, "is who and where my people are."

Jim tried to nod sagely. He was not as good at it as his grandfather had been. He pursed his lips, squinted his eyes and bobbed his head slowly. It was the best he could do.

"Which brings us to you, Wintaka. And your appeal."

"Ah, yes," Jim bluffed, "my appeal."

"As you see," Jeka explained, "we are a thought-based people. Action--any action--by us would be premature. It would imply that we have already come to a decision. We have not."

"And so you cannot help," Jim stated.

When Jim awoke his skin was free of the perspiration other dreams had caused. His heart was not pounding. This dream had recurred three times with only small variations. It was beginning to make sense to him. In fact, he formulated a theory about where his next dream would take him.

What time was it? Seven thirty. He had been napping for over five hours. He rose from the couch and headed outside, grabbing a pail full of dry dog food for Bernice's evening snack as he did so. Depositing the pellets into her dish, Jim ambled up the driveway to the road. Bernice glanced alternately at her dinner in the bowl and master in the driveway. Forced to choose between the hunger for food and the hunger for adventure she chose the latter, bounding past Jim and up the road. Bernice was, after all, a McGuire dog.

Jim was focused on his hypothesis concerning his next dream. If he was correct this last "appeal" might be most trying of them all. Lost in his musings, Jim ended up walking all the way to Horton's farm. Darkness had fallen during his distraction. The new moon night left him lost in more than thought. Without the luxury of street lamps, Gladen Drive was no more than a faint outline. Jim turned and began stumbling back towards home. Seeing her owner's predicament, Bernice trotted to the fore, guiding her master back home with impatient barks. Dinner awaited, the dog must have thought, couldn't he hurry up? Ultimately, in the long and fine tradition of St. Bernards, Bernice led the lost to safety.

The evening chill tempted Jim into the house to warm up before contacting the Mensaplasms. He watched the third reel once more, marvelling at his mother's virtuosity. When it finished he trudged back to the pond and re-established contact with Pinky.

"I had another dream," he stated matter-of-factly.

"The thought-based rejected your appeal?" Pinky asked.

Jim relaxed. The Ponders could have chosen to feign ignorance, forcing Jim to recount the events of his dream. But an understanding was developing. The games were coming to an end. Soon they would reveal their true motive for contacting him. In doing so, Jim felt, they would probably be doing nothing more than confirming his suspicions.

"Yes. Of course, there is still one avenue of appeal left, isn't there?"

It was a statement with a nominal question mark.

"Yes, but it is difficult to be optimistic."

"Wasn't it you who said `hope dies last'?"

Pinky chuckled at the rejoinder.

"Yes, I guess it was," he agreed. "So you have come to learn about your parents, have you?"

"My mother," Jim corrected. "I don't care about my father. I've come to talk about Mom."

Jim surprised himself with the word "Mom". He could not remember using such a term of familiarity before.

"Have you been watching those films again?"

"Yes," Jim answered. "Especially the one where she sings in that old cafe."

"Perhaps you'd like to see more of her performance?"

"Would I!? Hell, yes!"

"Very well, then," Pinky complied, amused by Jim's sudden show of enthusiasm. "Ready, everybody? A one and a two and a three..."

The pond surface shimmered with colour and light as an image appeared. Cory McGuire was tuning her guitar and engaging the audience in banter.

"Is everyone enjoying themselves? Good. Good. This next song is about gamblers and debutants. And fighters. Any gamblers here tonight? No? Well, maybe there's more than we realize. Any debs? No, I shouldn't think so. What about fighters? Any fighters? No? Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?"

The audience laughed politely. Finished her tuning and talking, Cory strummed her instrument. The beat was a gay three-quarter rhythm. The chord progression seemed vaguely familiar. Jim listened carefully to the words as they tripped from his mother's tongue:

Cards

The gambler sees his next card as his last source of mercy
He calls a St. Bernard every time that he gets thirsty.
He knows he's in the game. He knows the deck will be stacked.
As he reaches for a bag that he knows is never unpacked.

Chorus:
And I just don't know
If it's a struggle
Or a show.

Debutante sees her dance card as her next source of pleasure
Steals a glance, takes a chance, but knows she cannot measure
The world that lies behind those eyes, looking back in terror
Is this a test? A joke? A jest? Or just another error?

The fighter sees his next card as his last hope of glory
They say it's like a dance (just a little bit more gory)
He leaves the fans all cheering, but he leaves a man there kneeling
And it's cost him all his senses, it's cost him all his feeling.


As the last chorus finished Jim asked the Ponders if they would play the song again.

"Of course," Pinky said. "After all, we don't get many requests."

The Mensaplasm's humour caught Jim off guard. He shifted his weight uncomfortably on the pond bank and retorted: "Is it any wonder, considering the amenities?"

Without a word of objection the Ponders replayed the song six times until Jim had memorized the lyrics and stopped requesting it.

"Thank you," Jim thought. "You've been very kind."

"You did it!" Pinky exclaimed proudly. "You've learned to think in the second person!"

"Listen," Jim said, "it's getting late. Would you mind putting off this discussion until tomorrow?"

"No, of course not, Jim."

He felt the familiar tingle in his hand as he was extracting it from the water. Before he could get it clear, however, he sensed Pinky calling him.

"Jim! One last thing!"

"What's that?"

"Vaya con dios."

If there were any doubts in Jim's mind about his next dream Pinky had just erased them.

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