Drive the virus out of your body and make you a healthy human being again."

"That's what I've been hoping for! How would you do it with the weirdness?"

Edwin shook his head as he sliced a tomato into pieces. "I told you this was theoretical. I'll have no idea at all how to implement without data.

The other possibility is, you learn to contain and control your problem.

Here the analogy to AIDS would be using condoms and being careful about sharing your body fluids. You got into trouble at home when the power leaked out without your knowing it, am I right? And began doing stuff you hadn't intended?"

Thinking about the twins made Rob lose his appetite. He pushed his plate away. "You hit it on the head. So, we either cure or contain."

"No reason we couldn't do both. AIDS research is double-pronged too. Some people concentrate on finding a cure, while other researchers specialize in figuring out how HIV spreads and finding ways to prevent that. In your case, we'd think about ways to permanently remove the weirdness, and in the meantime work on containing your 'leak.' "

"Okay, I'm in. Let's do both. You have no idea, Ed, how good it is to talk to someone who has a systematic outlook."

"Don't start throwing bouquets yet. Like I said, I have no idea how to actually accomplish either. I'm just applying the common sense of a microbiologist! What would really help, on both fronts, is to know how you do this stuff. Data! That's what I need. Where does this thing come from?

Is it contagious? Is it genetic, hormonal, neurological, or what?"

Rob set his cup down slowly. "Would there be any other cases in the NIH files? I'm tired of making up my own terminology."

Edwin's eyes gleamed. "Rob, if there'd been anyone like you, ever, in the past hundred years, I would've heard of it. We all would. Heck, they'd have his or her body pickled in a jar on display down at the Smithsonian."

Rob grinned at him. "Tell you what. When I make my will, I'll leave my body to science."

"Don't laugh, Rob," Edwin said, laughing. "It might be the most important thing you could ever do. Finding out what makes you tick is a Nobel Prize-caliber project! In fact, in the interests of future research, I'm going to start keeping notes."

"Well, in the meantime get that wistful look off your face- I'm not nearly done with my remains yet!"

Edwin topped off his coffee cup and took a gulp. "I can't believe you've had this thing for so long without trying any experiments."

"I have," Rob said. "But not like you mean. In New York."

"You could say a lot about your actions in New York, but nobody would call them systematic. Like that remote control trick you pulled on me Thursday.

You've always used the remote on unsuspecting people, am I right? What happens when you try it on someone who's ready for you-like right now? Give me some data!" Without the slightest warning or transition Edwin startled Rob by bursting into one of the Cole Porter songs he had been playing in his office:

Experiment!

Make it your motto day and night Experiment, And it will lead you to the light!

As the tuneful voice rang through the room, the other diners turned and stared, smiling. Rob eyed Edwin's unselfconscious grin with some envy. He had never met a man who was so together, in whom mind and heart moved in such concord. "The idea doesn't frighten you?"

"Well sure, it gets on my nerves a little. But don't you see, Rob? That's precisely the attraction. That's why I want you to try it again."

Rob shook his head at this folly. To repeat a nerve-wracking experience until it became old hat? Rob himself would never confront a fear in that way. But it might be a useful trait in an astronaut candidate. He couldn't help smiling at Edwin's expression. A terrier watching the progress of a dog biscuit out of the box could not have been more eager. "Okay, Ed," he said. "You're on. You take your coffee black, right?"

"Yeah, but-oh come on, Rob! Not sugar! At least make it Sweet 'N Low!"

They both watched as Edwin's hands tore the white paper packet of sugar open over his half-full cup. "Saccharin causes cancer," Rob remarked.

Unfaltering, Edwin's clever fingers picked up another sugar packet. "Only if you eat saccharin by the carload," Edwin objected. "No more-I absolutely refuse to do it ... Darn, it's not working. That's number three. I'm kind of disconnected from my hands, is that it? This is like when I was eight, and got the chicken pox. Four. My fever hit a hundred and three degrees, and I could watch my hands shake, and listen to my voice mumbling about the World Series, out of my control. Five."

The sugar in Edwin's cup now rose in a soggy brown atoll above the surface of the coffee. "Had enough?" Rob suggested.

"Could be ... So you're manipulating my hands and fingers, and in addition to that you're short-circuiting my willpower. That's six. My volition is totally out of the loop. Am I right?"

"Oh, yeah. Shall I prove it?"

Edwin's hand picked up a spoon. The coffee was so sludgy now, stirring it was slow work. Rob made Edwin lift the spoon. Undissolved sugar coated the bowl like wet sand. Edwin yelped, "Hey, no! This is disgusting!"

"I can be very precise, Ed," Rob said softly. "Open your lips, insert the spoon, force your tongue and throat to swallow something that revolts you.

It's not absolutely necessary, but it helps to be close to you, even more to touch you. Helps me focus."

With clinical interest Rob watched Edwin struggle in his grip. Possibly because he was a scientist, Edwin had a very different mode of thinking, precise and analytical. His mind was like a brand-new surgical instrument, supple but shiny-sharp, a scissors or a scalpel perhaps. Even as the repulsive spoon rose inexorably to his mouth, Edwin was coping, the scissors snipping the problem into smaller and hopefully more solvable bits that floated on a larger restless surface. It took Rob a second to recognize this increasing turmoil as fear. Instantly he let Edwin go.

"I-I'm sorry," he said. "That's one of the things I was going to quit doing."

Edwin dropped the sugary spoon into the cup again, slumping in his seat.

"Wow. So that's what a fruit fly on the dissecting tray feels like. The way you were staring at me ..." He rubbed his eyes with both hands, knuckling them like a boy.

"I'll keep out of your head from now on, Ed," Rob said, alarmed.

"No, it's all right. Don't look so worried! We learned something, didn't we? And I asked you to try it. I wish I knew more about the latest brain-body research. I better read up on it. If I could just design some nice tight simple experiments ..." He snagged a clean coffee cup from the table behind.

Rob poured fresh coffee into it, marveling at this resilience, and Edwin took a long thirsty swallow. When he was sure Edwin was okay, Rob said, "Listen, Ed. You know I spent the summer reading books. I did read about one guy like me."

"You did? Holy mike!" Edwin banged his new cup down on the table.

"Don't get excited," Rob begged. "It was a guy five thousand years ago. A king, name of Gilgamesh."

Edwin looked blank. "Never heard of him. Is he a Biblical character?"

"I don't think so. I read a long poem about him."

"I guess I better get a copy of it." He pulled out a notepad and a pen.

Rob nodded in approval. Then the sight of Edwin's notepad brought something else to mind, and he took out his own. He almost expected the page to be blank. If you copy an inscription in a dream it shouldn't be there when you wake. But he knew it hadn't been a dream, and his careful copy of the funny writing was there where he drew it. He tore the leaf out and passed it over. "Can you read that?"

"Nope." Edwin shot a humorous green glance across the table. "I am actually not all-knowing, Rob. I may act like I know it all, but don't be deceived."

Rob laughed. "I didn't really expect you could. You think we could find someone to translate it?"

"I guess, if it's really writing. But why? Where did you get this?"

"I was lost," Rob said slowly. "And I was looking for directions. And I found a signpost, with this message on it. I never found writing before, it's not that sort of place, so this must be important."

Edwin leaned back and stared at him. "I've fallen off the sled here."

"I-I'm sorry, Ed. I don't think I can explain better." All his inner journeyings were incommunicable, Rob realized. Describing his own actions and crimes was straightforward. But his inner adventures were too vivid, too intimate, for mere words. He might never be able to convey their reality. It was the guy thing, in spades. For a moment he felt utterly desolate.

"Don't worry about it," Edwin said quickly. "There's plenty on the plate to deal with. Let me see what I can do. Would it be okay if I digitized it and uploaded the writing onto the Internet? That'd be the fastest way to find out what it is."

"Sure, why not."