Romance Loneliest Man Who Ever Lived

He raised himself up, and inserted himself into her. He loved the smile on her face as she looked down on him while he entered her. She was loving every minute of it. When he was fully inside of her, buried to the hilt, she put her arms around him. "I've waited so long for this."

"I have too," Harry found himself saying, though, for some reason, he also felt a little ashamed to say it.

"Then do it, lover. Make love to me," she pleaded.

Harry began the act of reproduction. Harry and Claire practiced coitus, as it had been practiced by humanity for thousands of years. But although they were repeating a well worn act practiced by billions over the millennia, for them it was personal, intensely special. As Harry slid in and out of Claire, he looked into her blue eyes, and saw Goldie, and Claire, both at the same time, and he felt so happy.

And as Claire felt Harry mount her, and thrust in and out of her, she felt how good it was to be a woman. How good it felt to have a man, using her, taking her, and fertilizing her with his seed of love.

Harry's smile grew broader and broader, and so did Claire's, and they both knew their time was coming.

"Harry...." she whispered urgently.

"I know," he said, and then his face contorted, and even as he gasped, she was doing the same, and the head of his penis twitched, and then he released, violently, within her, spurt after spurt after spurt.

As he lay on top of her, feeling himself slowly drain within her, she said, "Harry, promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"Promise me you'll never make me beg for it again."

"Never," he said, and he sealed it with a kiss.

It felt like a second honeymoon.

Or a first one, since Harry had never been on a honeymoon with Claire before.

They weren't married. They weren't remotely close to being married. Harry hadn't even told her that he loved her. It had only been... Harry counted the days... a week since Goldie had died.

One week, and he was already shacked up with her sister. Thinking of it that way made Harry feel embarrassed. Wasn't he disrespecting Goldie's memory by moving on, so soon?

But Claire had told him that Goldie would want him to go on with his life. Harry believed it, though wasn't sure if Goldie would have been happy with Harry moving on with his life... with her hated sister.

Harry still agonized whether it was too soon for him to have a new girlfriend, but quickly frowned at the irony. He had spent his entire life as a lonely, single man, and now here he was, with an embarrassment of riches, with one woman after another--Goldie, Jerri, and now Claire--throwing themselves at him.

As he saw with Goldie and Jerri, a romance was something that could come, and go very quickly, without warning. No, although he wished he had mourned Goldie for longer, he decided he had made the right decision when Claire had forced the issue. He still felt insecure; he still felt like no other woman would ever be attracted to him; and he felt that if he had let Claire slip through his fingers, he would be all alone again.

And who knows how long Claire would be interested in him? He knew, from the Second Rule of Alexandra, that women could leave him at any time, for any reason.

He resolved to push those thoughts out of his head, and to simply enjoy life to the fullest.

And enjoy it he did. Now that he was officially with Claire, (for the moment, at least), he couldn't help but notice the looks of the other men around them at the resort. They were all looking at Claire, at her beautiful smile, at her gorgeous breasts, at the large, fleshy globes of her wonderful ass. They all coveted her. And then they looked at Harry, and Harry could see the disbelief in their eyes, as if to say, how could a guy like Harry possibly be with a woman like Claire?

Rather than being annoyed, Harry enjoyed their envy, and absorbed it like a sponge. It made him feel more masculine, more powerful, even though he also knew, in the back of his mind, that it could end any day, any moment, without any warning of any kind.

They went golfing. Not miniature golfing, but real golfing. That was what Hilton Head was most famous for, after all.

Harry remembered when he and Goldie had gone golfing. He had taught her how to golf. He remembered how good it felt to wrap his body around her and teach her how to swing, how she had smiled and kissed him when her game improved.

But however good Harry was at golf, Claire was better. She started to make holes in two or three strokes like they were still playing miniature golf. Harry began to feel more and more embarrassed as Claire patiently waited for Harry to catch up to her and get to the next green. She stood there, in a short white skirt, with those long yummy legs spread apart, almost in an unconscious invitation to him (or was it unconscious?). The wonderful curves of her white shirt were equally distracting, as Harry remembered the touch and feel of the most beautiful parts of her.

Finally, Claire smiled sweetly and said, "Harry, maybe I can help you guide your rod."

Rod, she said rod, not iron, not club.

He reddened as she wrapped her arms around him as he gripped the iron. He smelled the fresh scent of her bathing soap, and felt her mammary glands pressing against his back. Most importantly, he sensed her, just inches behind him, her blowing into his ear. It was enough to give him chills. And it did.

"All right, Harry. The key is the measured application of force. Think of it like balancing an equation," she said, as she held her hands over his, gently moving the iron back and forth, back and forth. "And just wait... until it feels... just right..."

"But how do you know when it feels just right?" Harry asked. It was odd feeling Claire, but not being able to see her!

"You just know, Harry," she said, making him take another mock swing. "You just know... when it feels right... because everything fits... so very... marvelously...." And then Harry found himself swinging, or maybe Claire did, and the ball went flying.

They watched it soar through the air. It landed on the green... not three feet from the hole.

Harry turned to Claire. She stood there with that little smile. She was a blonde beauty, totally clothed in white. She looked like a supermodel modeling clothing for a commercial. She looked so perfect, so beautiful, but also so expectant. At that moment she saw the power she had over Harry, and she reveled in it, simply relishing it. And so Harry went to her, like a supplicant, and gave her, just a taste, of what she wanted most.

Harry's golf game improved markedly after that, but his mind was rarely on the ball.

That evening Claire was wearing all brown; an open shirt and tight brown pants. The contrast of her bright blonde hair and brown clothes was wonderful. The pants were so tight that he could see every curve.

"Do you like my outfit, Harry?" she asked.

Harry merely nodded and smiled.

That night when they returned to their room, Claire just stood there and looked at Harry expectantly. He immediately stepped forward and kissed her strongly. Then he took her into the bedroom and made passionate, enthusiastic love to her. She had fully trained him; there was no longer any resistance, no longer any hesitation.

But after they were done, he said, "Claire?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Are you... protected?"

Claire gave a short laugh. "This is what, the third time we've had sex, Harry? And you've only thought to ask this now?"

"I... my mind was on other things," said Harry, staring at her slick nether lips.

"I should hope so," she said, wrapping an arm around him as she kissed him. He responded eagerly. "Yum," she said. She looked into his eyes. "Yes."

"Yes, you're protected?" Somehow, Harry felt the need to hear it more explicitly.

"That's what yes means, Harry," said Claire, smiling at him.

They spent three more days at Hilton Head. Harry decided that he wanted to resume searching for The Foundation.

"Why, Harry?" Claire asked him, one morning in bed. She had lotion on her right hand, and she was slowly but surely stimulating him.

Harry had taken Claire with a little too much enthusiasm the night before. She had worn a very revealing yellow dress at dinner which accentuated her breasts, and had flirted with him shamelessly. It had had its desired effect. But after Harry had taken her, and wanted an encore, Claire had waved him off, saying she felt too sore. Harry had profusely apologized, but Claire had assured him that she had enjoyed it just as much as he did. And she did--and not just for the physical pleasure, but the increasingly intense feelings of passion that she was evoking from Harry. Little by little she was taking more and more control of him.

And now she sat on the bed, slowly fisting his stiffening shaft, while Harry talked of his desire to resume the search for The Foundation.

"I have to find them. They killed Goldie. They have to pay for what they did."

"You've got it backwards, Harry," said Claire. "I don't want to make you feel bad, but the reason Goldie died is because we went after them. If we had left them alone, maybe they would have done the same." Her hand went over his tip, just for a moment, and Harry gasped. Claire smiled to herself.

"We don't know that," said Harry. "And then there is the matter of our clones." He had told Claire what he and Goldie had found in the nursery.

Claire sighed. "Harry, you were there for what, five minutes? And you saw two children who might or might not have been clones of you and Goldie. You just don't know." She continued to work him, up and down.

"I really think they were."

"You...don't... know... that," she said softly, working her hand at the same pace. Harry started to pant now.

"I... I have to do it," said Harry.

"And what about me, Harry?" Claire whined. She continued to work her hand up and down, but slowly, almost painfully so. Harry was taut now; she eased her grip, loosening it to make sure he couldn't come.

Harry was in agony. He needed release. "I... I want you with me,"

"Are you sure, Harry? Are you really sure?"

"Yes!" Harry gasped, and he leaned over and kissed her. Claire kissed him back, and started to work him rapidly, with a harder grip. In moments Harry was on his back, and Claire was working him vigorously. She had a determined expression on her face. She enjoyed setting the pace. She enjoyed controlling his orgasm in this way. She enjoyed controlling him, seeing him helpless like this. Harry, lying back with his eyes closed, moaned, and Claire felt so very powerful.

In moments Harry exploded, showering his own belly with ejaculate. It reminded him briefly of his first time with Goldie, the time she had been in such control of him, the time she....

"It's good that we can do this together, Harry," said Claire, as she carefully leaned in to give him another kiss. He responded eagerly.

It was their last day in South Carolina. They were having a picnic at a small pond in a nature preserve not far from Hilton Head. Claire was wearing tight blue jeans that accentuated every loving curve. Her ass was so firm, and well rounded; in tight clothes it looked even better than it did when she was nude.

And the front flap, the part that was zipped, keenly reminded Harry of her vaginal lips. Claire looked so sensual in tight jeans. And then there was the shirt she had selected. It totally covered her breasts, but was nearly sheer.

And Claire had neglected to wear a bra.

"Don't you mind that people will see?" Harry had asked her.

"Not as long as you do, Harry," She had said, looking up at him with doe eyes.

And now she had led him to this small lake.

Harry only began to get a hint of her agenda as she bade him lay down on the picnic blanket by her side. He felt her warm breasts pressing against him. And then her hands started roaming.

"Isn't this nice, Harry?"

"Yes." Nice was an understatement. The pond was beautiful and serene. There were lily pads on the surface, beautiful and round and shiny and green. Except for the birdcall, it was perfectly silent. They could even hear the breeze.

Harry felt Claire's hands roaming.

"I'm so glad, Harry," She said. "I'm so glad we got together." And she tilted her head up, exactly the way Goldie did when she wanted to be kissed.

"Um," said Harry, as he obediently obliged her.

She smiled. "That was good. But then, it's always good with you, Harry," she said, looking up at him with doe eyes. Harry felt her hands roaming farther afield. And then he felt/heard his zipper opening, and a hand working its way inside.

"Claire! What if other people come by?" Harry asked, looking around furtively.

Her hand opened his pants, and openly worked inside his underwear. She leaned over his face. "I'll tell them I'm taken, Harry. I'll tell them there's only one man I want inside of me, and that's you, Harry."

Harry felt the rubbing of his organ, and the beauty of her face, and the impact of her words, and found he couldn't resist. He took her in his arms and gave into the inevitable.

Soon they were both nude, and Harry was on top of Claire. There was a certain spicy pleasure to making love to Claire with the fear of discovery. It made Harry worried, but also somehow made him more excited. As Harry spread Claire's legs and plunged into her, he felt a thrill he had never felt before. He could see from Claire's smile that she felt it too.

"Faster, Harry, faster," she implored. "Someone could be coming around the bend right now," she said, with a twinkle in her eye.

And so Harry worked faster and faster, and Claire's smile grew broader and broader, and before long he exploded inside of her, and she cried out as she felt him throb and expand, releasing his seed deep within her.

And then, when they were lying together afterwards, and Claire was playing with his chest, she said, "Was that just how it was, Harry?"

"What?"

"With you and Goldie? At the waterfalls in Hawaii?"

Harry stiffened. "Yes. That's just how it was."

"Good," she said, smiling as she snuggled against him.

They rented an apartment in Manhattan. Not Battery Park City! They got an apartment on Fifth Avenue near Central Park. It was fiendishly expensive, but Harry needed a place to walk every day.

He resumed his search for The Foundation. Claire, however, didn't help, unless requested. She was working on a research paper about biomathematics.

"I'm not going to let The Foundation take over my life, Harry," she said pointedly. "And I hope at some point, you'll feel that way too."

She seemed content to leave things be. But Harry, thinking of Goldie's death, of his and her clones, couldn't simply let the matter drop.

He kept searching. He found a few leads, a few names, but each person he tried to contact was unreachable. Harry kept searching.

But he also took off time to tend to Claire. He keenly remembered what John Connor had said about flowers, how they needed to be tended or else they wouldn't grow.

And so he and Claire went to the movies, and bookstores, and to concerts, and out to dinner, and generally enjoyed each other's company. Claire started to influence him, in ways both subtle and less so.

One time they went shopping for clothes. Harry loved when Claire would pose for him in different blouses. He loved how the shirts hugged her chest. He bought her colorful blouses, and a number of different miniskirts.

"But Harry, don't you think this is too short?" Claire had asked, modeling a skirt for him that barely went down half her thighs. She was teasing him, he could see.

"It's almost summer," said Harry. "You don't want to get too hot, do you?"

"But you always make me hot, Harry," said Claire, flowing naturally into his arms. They kissed, and it was good. It was always good.

And then Claire had helped Harry shop for clothes. At first Harry shopped for the black pants and black shirts he was accustomed to, but Claire would have none of that. She insisted he wear colorful shirts, blue and red and gold and white.

"But I'll look like a peacock," Harry complained.

And Claire had pressed her marvelous chest against his and explained, "And appropriately so, Harry. In the avian world the male is the colorful one. He uses colors to attract the female. You don't want to lose your female, do you?" It was said in such a playful way... and yet, Harry detected a subtle threat underneath it.

So he bought the shirts.

The pants were a harder sell. She wanted him to wear tight, white pants.

"But white pants show dirt more easily."

"So have them dry cleaned, Harry," said Claire.

"And..." he looked down at them.

"And what, Harry?" said Claire innocently.

"They show off my...."

"Your what, Harry?" said Claire, leaning on his arm. "Oh, that. I see it now." She looked into his eyes. "I like it, Harry. I want all the women of New York to see what's mine, what they can't have. It makes me feel good, Harry. You want me to feel good, don't you?"

Harry looked at her. He felt terribly immodest in these pants. But he couldn't say no to her, not that beautiful, expectant face. It was akin to him showing off his woman in tight clothes, he rationalized. He remembered how good he felt when all the men were staring at Claire. Claire just wanted to have the same feeling about him. It was a good thing, he thought. It showed that Claire valued him, that she was attracted to him. And thus, less likely to leave him.

So he nodded and bought the pants. But the first few days he wore them, he was very self conscious, frequently looking down, until Claire laughed, and kissed him, and said, "That's for others to look at, Harry. Not you."

And as he wore these clothes, he realized that Claire had taken control of how he dressed himself, an important part of his life, and slowly but surely, Claire was taking control of him. He had such limited experience with relationships, however, that he told himself that it must all be quite normal, for women to be so possessive of their men.

Claire took control of Harry in other ways too. She insisted that they sit down to dinner at 6 o'clock. She permitted Harry to take his evening walks in Central Park, but insisted he be home by 8. "I need someone to snuggle with in the evenings, Harry. If you're not here, who knows who I'll end up with?"

Harry always made sure to be home by 8.

Sometimes Claire was not always home, however. She would go out to the gym, or shopping, or to other places, and Harry would sit on the sofa and stare at the front door until she got home. Then he would greet her warmly with a hug and a kiss.

When they watched holovision, they would seldom agree on what to watch. Claire wanted to watch holodramas, and Harry wanted to watch science fiction, to which Claire would wrinkle her nose and say, "Our life is already science fiction, Harry." More often than not she would get her way, though sometimes Harry could persuade her if she were sleepy. Regardless, he even enjoyed watching her holodramas because he could lie against her on the sofa, feeling bodily contact, bodily contact which he had denied for years.

Using Veronika was completely forbidden, of course. Nor did Harry feel a need for her, now that he was with Claire, though he did sometimes feel a certain... nostalgia.

But Carl proved to be a problem.

"Why in the world would you talk to that creepy AI, Harry?" said Claire. "It's not normal. You shouldn't do it."

And so they had compromised. Harry only talked to Carl when Claire was out. And Harry didn't tell Claire he was talking to Carl. That way, everyone was happy.

Even though Goldie had been gone for nearly two months, Claire still felt competitive with her. One night, when Harry and Claire were making love for the second time, in a slower, more leisurely pace, Claire asked, "Harry, is my face pretty?"

Harry laughed as he slowly thrusted inside her. "You know it is, sweet face."

"Prettier than Goldie's?

Harry hesitated, but only for a moment. Claire had fuller cheeks and thicker red lips, which he found terribly sexy, and her bright blonde hair was adorable. "Yes," he said, feeling kind of bad for having said it. But it was the truth.

"And my breasts? Are they nicer than hers?"

"Why do you need to know this, Claire?" he asked, as he continued to work himself in and out of her, slowly but surely.

"I'm a girl, Harry. Girls are always insecure."

Harry thought about it and realized it went two ways. He feared that Claire might leave him. Maybe she feared that he might leave her!

"Yes," he said. "Your breasts are larger, juicier. I love them."

Claire gave such a big smile when he said that! "And the rest of me, Harry?"

"Goldie... Goldie was a very attractive woman," said Harry, as he thrust into her to the hilt. She gasped. He slowly pulled out. "But you... you are a supermodel. Totally gorgeous. You make me hard just thinking of you."

"I do?" she squealed. "Show me, Harry. Show me how excited I make you!"

And very quickly, he brought Claire to one of her strongest orgasms ever. As she climaxed, Harry wondered if Claire was just being insecure... or whether she was actively trying to erase Goldie from his mind... whether she truly was threatened by the memory of his dead fiancée....

And of course, Harry didn't feel the need to walk near a deep body of water. The urge to kill himself was gone. He had Claire, now. Still, he walked over the bridge on the rowboat lake, and sometimes looked down, sadly, thinking of Goldie.

They were together for two months, two harmonious, wonderful months, before Ben showed up.

The schism started a week or so before.

While Harry was making love to Claire, she said, "I love you."

Harry, startled, didn't say anything in response. Claire looked hurt, but Harry continued pounding into her.

And then, the next morning, when Claire kissed him before she left to go the library, she said it again, "I love you."

Harry felt her eyes on him. "I love you too," he murmured.

Claire frowned, but nodded and left.

After that she told him that she loved him once or twice a day, and he told her the same. But she frowned each time he said it. She could tell, by the way he said it, that he didn't really mean it. It was clear he was saying it so he wouldn't offend her, not because he meant it.

And she was right.

Harry took a long walk through Central Park to clear his mind. He had a comm link to Carl.

"I don't understand, Carl," said Harry. "She's beautiful. Gorgeous. Brilliant. Everything I could possibly imagine in a woman. Why don't I love her?"

"Is she everything you could possibly imagine in a woman?" Carl asked.

Harry suddenly stopped walking. "She's not Goldie."

"Precisely."

"You think... I'm still stuck on Goldie?"

"You tell me."

"I...." Harry couldn't understand his feelings. Claire was wonderful. A genius, literally, like him. And the sexiest woman he had ever been with. Even more so than Goldie.

And yet, he could not say he was in love with her. And he couldn't give any rational reason why.

"I must not be fully over Goldie," said Harry. "I just need to give it more time."

But Harry didn't have any more time, because, two days later, Ben came back into Claire's life.

Ben had been Claire's boyfriend at The Foundation. They had been seeing each other for more than a year. Ben, a recruiter, had brought Claire into The Foundation, much as Goldie had acquired Harry.

They saw each other, on and off, for a year and a half. And then, when The Foundation's Newton facility had to be suddenly relocated, thanks to Harry, Ben was reprogrammed for other tasks, and Claire learned that he never truly loved her. The last time she saw him was a few weeks before her escape, and Ben, while polite, showed no affection for her.

"Ben got in touch with you? Does he know where The Foundation is?" Harry asked.

Claire gave him a hateful look. "Harry, my ex boyfriend contacts me, and your first question is about The Foundation?"

"What?" Harry blinked. "You said things were over between you and Ben. You told me you learned he was programmed to love you, and then reprogrammed."

"Yes, that's what I thought," said Claire, taking a deep breath. "It turns out not to be the case."

The Foundation had a small research center in Saint Louis. Ben was sent from there to recruit people to work for The Foundation. By then The Foundation had a new name, the "Quadancy Corporation", one of many cover names. But one day when Ben returned to the center, he found it surrounded by the police. The FBI had discovered this branch of The Foundation.

Ben had fled rather than be interrogated by the FBI. At first he went back to Minneapolis, where his family was. He didn't give any thought to Claire. He even began dating a new woman named Beth.

Over the space of several months, however, his programming began to break down. His real motivations emerged. And what he discovered was that he had been in love with Claire.

"Wait. I thought you said he was programmed to love you."

"Evidently I was wrong," said Claire. "Ben really did love me. When he was reprogrammed, they didn't cancel his existing programming, they erased his real love for me. When the programming wore off, he realized he still loved me. He dropped Beth and came looking for me."

"How did he find you?"

"He left a message with my Mom, who got in touch with me."

"And you went and met him, without telling me... knowing it could be a Foundation trap?"

She touched his hand. "Harry, I didn't know what to think... I wanted to find out what the situation was, before I got you involved."

Harry was not so naive as to believe her. She wanted to meet Ben, alone, to see if there was still something between them. And there was.

"So what did he say?"

"He wants me back, Harry," said Claire, taking a deep breath.

It was like being cut with a knife. Harry literally felt a stab of pain in his stomach. But he knew this moment was coming. It was the Second Rule of Alexandra; it was the Rule of Erica. No woman could ever love him for long.

"He wants me to go with him to Nanqu."

"Nanqu? The fabled refuge of the Fourthers?"

"It exists, Harry! And he wants to take me there, where we'll be safe."

Harry felt like crying. He tried to hold it in, but it was like a dam, about to burst. "And you're... going with him?

Claire looked at Harry. "I'm thinking about it. He says he loves me, Harry. He says it like he means it."

And at that moment, everything was out in the open, like a raw wound.

"Claire, I... I...."

"Harry, I want to be with someone who loves me. I deserve that," said Claire.

"You do," said Harry.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded her head slowly. "Then I guess this is goodbye, Harry." She turned and started walking to the door.

"Wait!" Harry cried. He raced to the door and blocked her way.

"What is it, Harry? Do you have something to say to me, Harry? You have my undivided attention, Harry. You'd better make it good," said Claire, her face carefully neutral.

"I... I love you," said Harry, in a choked voice.

"I don't think so, Harry. I think you still love her. I don't think you ever loved me. Out of the way, Harry."

"Wait!" he cried. He grabbed her arms. "I do love you! Really, I do! I... I love you, and want to spend the rest of my life with you!" There, he had said it.

She looked at him, really intently. "Do you mean it, Harry?"

"Yes, I do," said Harry, breathing heavily.

"I want to go to Nanqu Harry. I want to go there and live in safety among the Fourthers. I'm tired of this pointless search, Harry. I'm tired of chasing after ghosts. If you truly love me, Harry, you'll go with me to Nanqu, to live, not to chase a dream."

She looked at him with resolute eyes.

It was time for Harry to make a decision. To keep Claire, he would have to give up his dream of finding Goldie's killers, and the children....

"Yes," said Harry. It came out as a gasp.

"Yes, what, Harry?"

"I'll go with you, to Nanqu. Please don't leave me. Please don't go with Ben. I'll stay with you. I'll do whatever you want," said Harry. He was practically sobbing.

Claire gave a wide smile. "Oh Harry. I could never leave you," she said. She gave him a powerful kiss. "You've made me so happy, Harry. So very happy. Come and let me show you how happy you've made me." She took him by the arm to the bedroom.

Claire made love to Harry, tenderly, gently, and carefully. After they were both quite satisfied, Harry turned to Claire in the night and said, "Claire?"

"Yes?"

"What will you do about Ben?"

"Who is Ben?"

There were other conditions. Claire didn't just want Harry to go to Nanqu with her. She wanted him to be happy.

"I am happy with you, Claire."

"That means no more moaning about Goldie."

"Do I moan about Goldie?"

"You only mention her three or four times a day," said Claire, rolling her eyes. "Goldie and I once ate this restaurant. Goldie used to make that face when we went shopping too. Your eyes look just like Goldie's."

"I... I wasn't aware I mentioned her so often."

"You do. And I want you to stop staring into space with big puppydog eyes when we're together. You're thinking of her, aren't you?"

"No, no, not always. Occasionally."

She grabbed his chin. "I want you to stop thinking of her. Completely. You're with me now. You're my man. Agreed?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Agreed."

Claire smiled, and kissed him deeply, pressing her juicy breasts against him. "I think I'm going to enjoy this new chapter in our lives, Harry." She looked into his eyes. "I think I'm going to enjoy it very much."

Nanqu was about two hours south of Katmandu, in Nepal, on an isolated mountaintop. It took a plane, a jeep, and a pair of donkeys to get all the way there.

Harry squinted at the tall castle on the hilltop above them. "How do we know this is the real Nanqu?" He remembered how he and Goldie had come across a place that claimed to be Nanqu, but only turned out to be another nest of Fourthers who were plotting to take over the world.

"Ben says it is," Claire said.

"And you trust him?"

Claire shrugged her shoulders. "We'll soon find out."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Claire seemed remarkably... unconcerned.

When they got to the top, they found themselves at the entrance to an ancient castle. There were monks in robes at the entrance.

"Your business, sir?" one of them asked, in perfect English.

Harry was about to speak, but Claire was quicker. "My name is Claire MacPherson, and this is Harry Crater. We are seeking Nanqu."

The monk gave a slow smile. "Come. I will take you to Lao Su."

Harry got an uneasy feeling as they were led deeper into the castle. Monks scurried about everywhere. This didn't look like Nanqu, but then, what should Nanqu look like?

They were lead to a monk with a sash across his shoulder, presumably Lao Su. They bowed to him, and were motioned to sit on pillows on the floor. Tea was poured.

The guard whispered in Lao Su's ear. He nodded.

And then this elderly monk did the most remarkable thing. He took out a Pad. He started typing for a minute.

"Harry Crater. Claire... MacPherson?'

"M-a-c--p-h-e-r-s-o-n."

"Thank you," said the monk. He kept typing.

"You are Lao Su?" said Harry.

"Obviously."

"You get reception here?" Claire asked.

"Also obvious," said the man, but not with any malice.

His eyebrows went up, a moment later, and he said... "Ah." And then, a moment later, "Ah ha." Then he lowered the Pad.

"Harry Crater. Claire MacPherson. So nice to meet you," he said, extending a hand. They each shook it.

"Is this... Nanqu?" Harry asked.

"Some call it that," said Lao Su. "What is it that you seek?"

Harry and Claire looked at each other. "The refuge for Fourthers."

"Fourthers?"

"People of very great intellect," said Harry.

Lao Su smiled. "I don't know if I would call intellect 'great'. It is an often overrated commodity."

Harry's heart sunk. They had clearly come to the wrong place. He started to get up.

The monk raised a skinny finger. "However, this is the place you seek."

"It... it is?" said Harry. "Where are all the Fourthers?"

"Come."

Lao Su took them on the tour. Behind the castle was a broad plateau, filled with very modern one and two story buildings. The buildings were residences, and laboratories. There were white people in them, people from all over the world. They were busy conducting experiments in chemistry, biology, physics, and more.

"What... what is this place?" Harry asked.

"You asked for Nanqu," said Lao Su. "Having come here, would you expect intellects to sit contently on their asses and contemplate existence?"

Harry looked at Lao Su, who smiled at him.​