2150 A.D.

CHAPTER 11: Neda

I awakened to the sound of Karl closing the door as he left for his class: It was early, only 7:45. I lay back in bed and wished that Carol was beside me. I wished that I had the power to pull her through time 174 years to the now of my apartment.

I had to smile at the thought of what a sensation Carol would make if I took her to the student union-her magnificent six-foot-three-inch body, her face of incredible classic beauty, and her tremendous joy and vitality would really stir things up. Talk about riots! I could see micro man fighting savagely just to get close to her.

And how would I feel? Well, I thought, from my limited micro perspective, I wouldn't want to share her with anyone, so I wouldn't even let her step out of the apartment!

I finally decided that it was a good thing I couldn't transport Carol to 1976 because 1976 wasn't ready for her, and while I was in 1976 I probably wouldn't be ready for her, either.

This last thought made me wonder what would happen when Carol and I went to Micro Island. Of course, the inhabitants would be used to seeing members of the Macro society, but they often tried to kill these visitors. How would I react if someone tried to kill Carol? I didn't have to think very long about my answer-I would fight and even kill, if I had to, in order to protect her.

Oh, that's great, I thought, now I'm going to Micro Island to perform like a medieval knight errant fighting for the life and honor of his fair lady.

I shook my head in amused frustration. Where Carol was concerned, I was developing some very micro feelings. I decided that I had better practice my Macro powers with micro people today and see if I could do better, than I had at the supermarket. Maybe I could learn how to comfortably deal with micro people before I went to Micro Island. After all, 1976 offered me an ample supply to practice on!

By the time I was through eating I had decided that when I finished writing in my journal I would go looking for threatening situations and see if I could learn to handle them.

Three hours later I was sitting at a table in the seemingly always crowded student union cafeteria drinking hot chocolate and trying to telepathically tune in to the people about me.

At first I picked up the usual micro concerns such as fear about semester. exams, excitement over this evening's basketball game or date, money worries, or frustrations at not being more successful with others. This last frustration was often sexual, particularly from the table full of men near me who were wistfully eyeing the girls as they passed by. It was their scornful sneers at one of the girls who passed that caused me to look up to see the object of their contempt.

She was a tall, thin girl, so gaunt that she appeared almost emaciated. Her hair was long and straight without any luster and hung in untidy disarray about her shoulders. Her face with its bony nose was one of the most unappealing I had ever seen. Her clothes were too loose, too long, and so nondescript that they seemed to hang on her like burlap bags.

I reached out and made contact with her mind and quickly withdrew. Never had I experienced such sadness, such misery, such bitter hopelessness. I shook my head to clear it of the repugnance, then looked at her again.

She was sadly looking about for an empty table where she could be somewhat away from others. It was close to noon and almost all the tables were filled except my small one, which had space for another person across from me. I decided to have her sit at my table. I reached out with my mind and willed her to look at me. She did and I smiled at her, gesturing at the empty seat across from me. She looked behind her and to her side to see if I wasn't addressing someone else, then looked at me with a bewildered and pathetically uncertain gaze. I sent out a flood of warm, confident, accepting thoughts. The change in her expression was slow in coming, but when it came I saw the begi

I got up as she approached my table and helped her with the tray upon which she was precariously balancing a bowl of soup and a glass of milk. She thanked me in a low whisper, seated herself quickly, and proceeded to occupy herself with her soup, using it almost as a barrier to hide behind.

I continued to bombard her mind with the most loving and accepting thoughts that I could generate.

After about five minutes of my intense struggle to overcome her mental despair and chronic suspiciousness I began to achieve some success. She was feeling much more comfortable with me and was begi

"I'm Jon Lake," I said. "I'm working on my doctorate in psychology."

She looked up at me with a startled expression. I could feel her uncertainty as to how to respond. I smiled my most engaging smile and said, "I guess you're not sure how to take my talking to you when we've never met before. I couldn't help feeling that you were lonely, and I can remember feeling that way myself."

She bobbed her head at me and then stared intently at her empty soup bowl.

I reached deep within her mind and discovered a great longing to respond to me but an equally great fear of being rejected or looking foolish-those two universal fears of micro man. I continued to beam positive, confident, and accepting thoughts to her.

I wondered what her name was and willed her to tell me. There was a short struggle, then she spoke. "My name is Neda Cricksley," she whispered in such a low voice that if I hadn't already picked her name up telepathically I'd have had to ask her to repeat it.

"Neda," I said, "I like that name and I like you, too."

After I said this I realized that for some reason I did like this girl. I had gotten beneath her unattractive surface and made contact with a part of her soul which was very satisfying to me. Without thinking, I reached out and captured one of her thin bony hands.

Again I saw the startled expression on her face, but I willed her to accept my gesture as one of kindness and genuine concern. I could feel the tension in her arm and body slowly subside. I decided it was time to take the next step.

"Tell me about yourself, Neda," I asked. "I want to know all about you." I felt her wondering why I should want to know about her. "Because I like you," I responded to this unspoken thought. "And I think I can help solve some problems that are bothering you."

"How do you know I have problems that you can help me with?" she whispered.

"Well," I replied, "everyone has some problems, and one of my goals in life is to help as many people as possible solve their problems."

She thought about this for a moment, then said, "I want to thank you for being so kind to me. I've never met anyone like you before. I don't know how or why, but I'm convinced that somehow you do like me and you do want to help me. I... I'm very grateful."

"Their you'll let me have the pleasure of getting you dessert," I said. "How about a chocolate sundae, or maybe strawberry?"

She smiled shyly and didn't respond, but I caught her thought of how good a strawberry sundae would taste.

"Okay," I said, "I'll surprise you. All you have to do is save my seat for me."

As I left our table I sent as powerful a thought as I could to the girl at the ice cream counter, and by the time I got to her she was already busily preparing two sundaes, one chocolate and one strawberry. I waited until she finished, thanked her for reading my mind, and paid her for them. All the way back to our table I could see her startled expression and feel her wonderment at the kooky possibility that she really had somehow read my mind.

The strawberry sundae proved to be the final step in overcoming Neda's shyness with me. She began talking about herself. She was a twenty-year-old liberal arts junior who lived off campus with her mother and stepfather. While she didn't say so, I picked up from her mind that she desperately wanted to escape from her tyra