Romance Loneliest Man Who Ever Lived

"There is much research that is done here, nearly all of which I am proud to say I do not understand," said Lao Su, as he lead them into a courtyard.

"Research for what end?" Harry asked. "Are they planning to take over the world?"

"No," said Lao Su. "It is knowledge, for knowledge's sake."

"Are people forced to mate with each other here? Are mates selected for each person?"

They passed a gorgeous redhead, wearing a lab coat. "If they were, that one would be required to report to my bedchambers every night," said Lao Su.

"Are you a real monk?" Harry asked.

"You have your own conceptions, Harry Crater, of what everything should be in life. I will not disabuse you of them," said Lao Su.

"So... no one's forced to do anything here? And no one is doing anything to anyone else against their will?" Claire asked.

"That is correct," said Lao Su.

"You said this was a sanctuary," said Harry. "What protects this sanctuary from intruders? If people learn that there are Fourthers here, they may come and take them by force."

"That has occurred to us. But in this land, we have a tradition of respect for peace and tranquility."

"But outsiders may not respect such traditions," said Harry.

"Which is why I have this," said Lao Su, and he held up a silver whistle. He blew on it, and what happened next was astonishing.

Hundreds of small, brown soldiers flooded into the courtyard. They were all carrying blaster rifles. Lao Su gave them the all clear gesture, and they turned away. "They hate the drills," said Lao Su. "But they are paid for little else, so they have no real cause to complain." He turned to Claire. "Nepalese mercenaries. They are very reliable, and very loyal, as long as they are paid consistently."

"And what pays for all this?" Harry asked.

"Why, your great intellects do. Every so often they invent something, some wonder drug or piece of technology, and the revenue more than pays for security here. As well as our needs. Which is why they are invited to stay. We at Nanqu delight in helping others... who also help us."

Harry nodded.

Lao Su walked them back to the place where he had greeted them. "Your tea is getting cold." He looked at Harry. "Do you have any more questions?"

Harry thought quickly. "Just one. Are we free to leave?"

"At any time," said Lao Su.

"As in, right this minute?"

"Yes. This minute is any time." He stared at Harry impassively.

"Then let's go. Come on, Claire."

"Harry!"

He pulled her, protesting, out of the castle. "Why, Harry, why?"

"I have to be sure. I just have to be sure."

They started down the path, down the mountain. After ten minutes, Claire pulled away. "Harry, are we really going down to the bottom? Because if so, you're going to have to carry me back up."

Harry sighed. "No, I guess if they were going to come after us, they would have by now. We can go back."

When they returned to the castle, Lao Su was still there, exactly where they had left him. "I have made some warm tea, to replace your cold ones."

Harry gave him a quizzical look.

"You are not the first ones to have done this, Harry Crater."

Everyone was incredibly friendly. And brilliant. It was like a dream come true.

Harry had met Fourthers before, of course, at The Foundation. At the Society. And the Vanguard. But here they were all focused on pure, scientific research. There were even people here who were familiar with Harry's paper on the origins of the universe, and wanted to talk with him about it.

Harry inquired about their research. It was all fascinating. Some of it was above his head. He found people working on the manipulation and transportation of matter. Two different teams were working on developing a secure method of teleportation, and developing a method of unique matter integration.

"Think of it, Claire," said Harry. "Being able to take the basic building blocks of matter, and constructing anything with it--food, tools, body parts--anything that we need!"

"It sounds exciting, Harry," said Claire, taking him in her arms. She pressed her groin against his. "How long will it take them to develop it?"

"To perfect it completely? Who knows? Years, a lifetime? What does it matter?"

"I'm glad you're happy," said Claire. "So does that mean you want to stay?"

"Yes!" said Harry.

"Then let's celebrate," said Claire, whispering in his ear, as she pulled him to the bed. Harry didn't resist.

For the first time in his life, Harry made friends easily. There was another Harry, Harry Renfroe, who was working on a method to help people regrow lost limbs. There was Sarah McKennerly, who was working on the matter transmutation project. And there was Viggo Altensen, a theoretical astronomer who had some unique ideas on Harry's thoughts on the theory of the infinite universe.

Not only were they interesting to talk to, but they all had their own stories, stories just like Harry's. Viggo's parents were Normals, and when they learned Viggo was a Fourther, they had treated him like he was ill, and pushed him to hide his abilities. Harry Renfroe came from a family of five brothers and sisters who never understood him and totally ostracized him. He grew up being totally isolated, taking a lonely research job where he would never have to have contact with anyone.

Sarah McKennerly went through similar difficulties. Her parents had been concerned about her lack of social integration and repeatedly sent her to sleepaway camp, even though the kids there tormented her cruelly.

"And I said to my mother, after the ninth grade: Mom, you've sent me to sleepaway camp three times in a row. The definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results," said Sarah. "And do you know what my mother said? She pinched my cheek and said, 'Sarah, we're sending you back to camp again. Maybe this year you'll mature a little and learn how to play well with others'". Sarah rolled her eyes and laughed bitterly.

So did Harry. It was like the story of his life. He had been send to sleepaway camp too, but thankfully, only once. All their stories resonated with him. Finally, he felt like he was at home.

Ben never made it to Nanqu.

Harry didn't ask about him, and Claire didn't mention him.

But a few days later he did meet some familiar faces.

Emilio and Annie.

They were the couple who had loved each other on the island of The Society without permission from their leaders, and been punished for it. Annie had been forced to have an abortion, and Emilio had been threatened with castration. Emilio had helped Harry and Goldie escape, on a boat. But after that they had gone their own separate ways.

Harry was talking to someone in the physics lab when he heard a familiar voice. "Hey Harry."

Harry turned and saw them.

"Emilio!" said Harry. He thought about hugging him, but realized that would be too gay. He settled for shaking his hand. He did hug Annie, though, who he was surprised to see was very pregnant!

"Hey!" said Harry. "What's this, Annie?"

"What does it look like, Harry?" said Annie, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, you two have certainly verified the scientific method," said Harry.

"Yes, we've proven we're fertile. The experiment was a success," said Annie.

"How long have you been here?" Harry asked.

"A few months. We stumbled on someone who guided us to Nanqu," said Annie. "It's wonderful here, isn't it?"

"No forced breeding program... no plans to take over the world... no mind control... it's great!" said Harry. "Are you happy, Emilio!"

"I love it," said Emilio. "Even though I'm considered borderline retarded here."

Annie kicked his ankle playfully. "You are not. Bernard says you're very helpful in the chemistry lab."

"Sweeping the floor, yeah," said Emilio.

Harry gave a big smile. It all felt so normal.

Two weeks passed. Life with Claire was wonderful. And then, one morning, Harry felt a stirring. Claire was getting out of bed early.

That wasn't so unusual. Claire was an early riser.

It was the way she was doing it. She was getting out of bed furtively. One might be forgiven in thinking she was trying to avoid waking Harry up, but somehow he felt that something else was going on. He got up quietly and followed her.

He saw her, in the bathroom, totally nude, dabbing between her legs with a washcloth. He could see little droplets of blood there.

"Claire."

She looked up, truly surprised. And embarrassed. It was all there, plain as day, to read on her face.

"What are you doing?"

"Harry! I am, ah..."

"It looks like you've gotten your period."

"Ah, yes, Harry," she said, giving a nervous smile. She stopped dabbing herself, and stood erect. The game was up.

"Claire, you told me you were protected. If your ovaries were deactivated, how are you having your period?"

Claire looked evasively left and right before looking at Harry. "Harry... Harry, Harry...."

"That's my name," said Harry. For once the tables were turned. He felt it. He was in charge, however briefly.

"Harry, I want a child."

"Did you ever think of talking to me first about it? How long have you been off birth control, anyway?"

Claire bit her lip. "I was never on it."

"Never? Even when we started... For the past two months.... even back in Hilton Head?"

Claire nodded.

Harry struggled for words. Finally, they came out. "Why, Claire?"

"I want a baby," said Claire. "I'm 31 years old, Harry. My biological clock is ticking."

"But why didn't you simply ask?"

"You might have said no," said Claire. "You told me how they forced you to... reproduce, with that woman."

"Jerri," said Harry, his stomach knotting up at the mention of her name.

"You told me other things, Harry. You told me she looked like me," said Claire.

"She did. A lot, actually," said Harry.

"I didn't want to pressure you, Harry. I didn't want to remind you of that situation," said Claire. She came forward and put her hands on his shoulders. "And then, when you learned she was pregnant, you were excited, weren't you, Harry?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"In fact, you told me you were going to leave Goldie, to be with her and the baby."

"It seemed that way, at the time," said Harry.

"So I thought... I thought...."

"That if you simply presented me with a pregnant fact, I'd be more amenable to it," said Harry.

"Yes," Harry," said Claire, looking into his eyes. Her eyes sparkled. Despite what she had done, Harry still felt a powerful attraction.

Claire took a step back, and then another. She spread her legs. Harry saw the blood around the edges of her vaginal lips. A single drop dripped to the floor of the bathroom.

Harry stared at her body for a long moment. Some men might have been disgusted. But Harry started to get an erection. What he saw was a gorgeous, fertile woman in front of him. She was built for copulation. Made for reproduction.

Claire rubbed a finger against her vaginal lips. She held it up, displaying a drop of blood. "This is the blood of life, Harry. It means I can have children. It means I can have your children. The smartest children in the world. Would you like that, Harry? Would you?"

Harry looked at her. She was so vulnerable, so... pregnable. And she was his for the taking. Some urge, built into the species hundreds of thousands of years ago, the urge to procreate, suddenly kicked in. "Yes," Harry whispered. "I think I'd like that very much."

Claire cried out, and ran to him, hugging him tightly.

Things were much easier for Claire, now that Harry was actively participating. She didn't have to hide her menses, and the sex, which was already quite good, became even better.

Two weeks later, Claire came to him in bed, and whispered in his ear. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"I'm ovulating," said Claire. "I think I'm close to my peak. Would you like to put a baby into me, Harry? Would you like that?"

"Yes, I would," said Harry. He started kissing and hugging her. Nature took care of the rest.

Soon Harry was pounding between her legs. Claire looked happier than he had ever seen her.

"Yes, Harry, yes, put a baby in me," she yelled, totally unabashed. "Fill me with your sperm, Harry. My egg needs it. Inseminate me, Harry. Fill me with your seed of life. I need it inside me, now, Harry."

Harry, thrusting faster, felt his penis tensing up. He thought about the sperm in his testicles, the unique DNA pattern which would define at least half his child's brain pattern. In seconds it would be racing down his shaft, inseminating Claire's body. His penis was already deep in her vaginal canal. When his semen sprayed out of her, it would go directly into her uterus, where her egg was. Pregnancy would be unavoidable.

Harry thrust faster and faster, and felt himself go past the stopping point. He gave a happy roar as his penis twitched, and then shot rope after rope of sperm, deep into Claire's uterus.

"Oh Harry! Oh, oh Harry!" Claire cried, as her vaginal walls contracted around his organ, milking him for all he was worth.

As they lay together afterwards, Harry thought how this reminded him of his last night in Hawaii with Goldie. How they had had their pretend game, where he pretended to impregnate her. Only this time it had been for real. This was better, Harry decided.

Much better.

Claire started to change.

It was a gradual change. It didn't all happen at once. And it took a while for Harry to notice. When he did, he traced it back to that night, the night Claire admitted that she was trying to get pregnant. The night Harry agreed to impregnate her.

It was as if Claire had finally gotten everything she wanted. Of course, she didn't have everything she wanted; two weeks after her admission, she still wasn't pregnant (though it was too early to tell). But she had everything she wanted in the sense that she had Harry's full cooperation.

And then, Claire started to change.

One of the first things he noticed was the sex. The first time they would have sex, they both would usually climax around the same time. Harry even tried to coordinate with her, going a little slower or a little faster as needed, as it was always sexier when they both climaxed at the same time. But on the second go around, Claire would usually climax first. After she climaxed, she would lose all effort in stimulating Harry. She used to be quite imaginative, with her hand, and with her mouth, to make sure all his needs were met; but now, once she got what she needed, she didn't offer to help Harry, unless he asked, and when he did, she complied, but didn't seem eager like she once did... and so Harry soon stopped asking.

Another change was in their little household. They lived in a small cottage by the physics lab, and Claire would insist that Harry keep it spotless. Harry wasn't used to living "spotless". Claire would supervise him, forcing him to sweep and wipe things clean. She rarely pitched in to do things herself, saying she wasn't going to "enable him" by helping to clean up "his own messes".

Claire was also increasingly critical about her food. Harry was happy to cook for her; he had cooked for himself for his entire life, and cooking for one more was no big burden. Besides, he liked cooking for Claire. But Claire grew increasingly critical of his cooking. "That's not how you cook vegetables, Harry. It's not like cooking a steak. You also have to stir things Harry. Don't you know how to stir?"

Harry didn't take criticism well, but he swallowed it all, because he wanted everything with Claire to be perfect.

And then Claire started spending more time apart from him. She would spend evenings, two or three times a week, with some women she had met, Sara Murray, Susan Ettinger, and Michelle Chingchangwa. Since Harry and Claire worked on their own projects during the day, evenings (and weekends) were the only time they had together. Harry was a bit hurt that Claire didn't want to spend more time with him. But even on evenings when she was out, she always came back to have sex with him. But even that began to rub him the wrong way, as she would come back and announce, "Get up, Harry! It's time to make a baby!" She began to treat him like a servant, or, worse, simply a tool, an instrument of fertilization.

Harry tried to figure out if this is how relationships evolved. He had no frame of reference. He had only been with Alexandra for a few weeks. He had only been with Goldie... he tried to think back.

To his surprise, he realized he had been with Goldie for just a hair over six months. He had been with Claire for just under two and a half months. Harry was surprised when he realized that. It felt like the opposite.

During their half year together, Goldie had never ordered Harry around. She had never treated him poorly. It is true they were not quite in the same situation; they had not settled down, as Harry and Claire had. Harry and Goldie had been focused on finding The Foundation, and escaping the clutches of one extremist group after another. Maybe it had been a different dynamic. Maybe if Goldie were here now, instead of Claire, that Goldie would be the same.

Or maybe not. Goldie had put him down many, many times, more times than Harry could count, but always with a smile, always as part of a sensual tease. It was like being flogged with a whip made of soft feathers. But when Claire spoke to him, there was no humor in it. She meant it.

Goldie had once said that Claire was a bit of a bitch, although "bitch" was much kinder than the actual word that she had used. At the time, Harry had attributed it to sisterly rivalry, but maybe Goldie had been telling the objective truth. Maybe Claire was simply a bit... bitchy.

The biggest change that Harry noticed was the changes in his conversations with Claire. They used to have exciting, flirtatious conversations, much like the ones that Harry used to have with Goldie. And now Claire simply talked... and talked and talked... and it was like Harry was barely even in the room.

Mostly, she talked about her friends, Sara and Susan and Michelle.

"Michelle is thinking of becoming a blonde, like me," said Claire. "I told her that my style of blonde would be too harsh for her. She has darker skin than me, Harry, and doesn't realize that she can't carry that shade like I can. What do you think?"

"Well-"

"Of course, the women here are all very competitive. They just won't admit it. Did you see that faded blouse that Sara Murray walks around in? She's such a pretty girl, she shouldn't be wearing rags. Harry, you know her husband, Samuel, can you drop him a hint about it?"

"Ah," said Harry.

"Of course, I could use some new threads," said Claire, fingering her own shirt. "Unfortunately, we're a little far from Sak's Fifth Avenue, aren't we, Harry, but maybe we could take a day trip to Katmandu and see what we can find. What do you think of that, Harry?"

"That sounds like a good idea. I was thinking-"

"Of course, I could use a new everything. Shoes, pants, shirts, even bras. All the asian women here wear tiny bras, Harry. They have never seen western titties before. Use that genius mind of yours, Harry. Use it to come up with a bra that will fit me. Otherwise I'll have to walk around without one, and then none of the men will get any work done-"

It was as if he were no longer there.

When they were together, in Hilton Head, Claire had been so careful to have a back and forth with him. She had displayed such emotional intelligence, making sure she thought about what he said and responded to it, to validate him, to show he was listening. Now, when they talked, she did most of the talking, and she barely noticed if he was in the room. It was that which hurt most of all.

Two weeks after that, Claire got her period again. "I don't understand it," she said, wiping herself. "Have you been holding back, Harry?"

Harry gave a disbelieving laugh. "Are you serious?"

Claire looked at him with eyes of flint. "I asked you a question, Harry."

"No! And you should know that! There's no way I could hold back even if I wanted to," said Harry. It felt like he was speaking to a stranger.

"I don't know, Harry, I really don't. We've been doing it for three months, and I'm still not pregnant."

"Claire, you should know, it can take longer than three months to get pregnant. A lot longer."

"But we've been doing everything right. You've been flooding me with semen on all my most likely days... as well as many of my less likely ones."

"Claire, it's an inexact science at best," said Harry.

He saw something unfamiliar in her eyes. Suspicion. "Harry, are you sure Jerri was pregnant with your baby?"

"Of course she was," said Harry.

"Harry, she told you it was your baby, but-"

"It was my baby!"

"Harry!"

"I don't want to hear it, Claire!" Harry snapped.

For once, she backed down.

After a moment of awkward silence, Harry said, "We'll keep trying. It will happen."

"It had better."

Harry gave her a worried glance. That didn't sound like Claire. He thought of something else, something he wanted to ask her. Now wasn't a good time, but he couldn't resist the impulse.... "Claire?"

"Yes?"

"If you get pregnant, when you get pregnant... if it's a girl, would you consider naming her Goldie?"

Claire's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of her head. "Are you serious, Harry? Are you fucking serious?"

"Claire-'

"Harry!" She took a deep breath, and then another, visibly calming herself. Then she spoke, in a lower voice. "Harry, I'm not naming my baby after her, and I'm kind of shocked that you even suggested it. I loved my sister dearly... but she was always kind of a bitch."

"She once said the same about you," said Harry, with a playful smile.

"She did?" Her tone could cut a diamond; there was nothing remotely playful in it.

"Well... not using quite the same word, though," said Harry, trying to make a joke out of it.

The silence between them was deafening.

Harry missed Goldie.

There was no other way to put it.

Harry loved Claire. At least somewhat, anyway. She was getting harder and harder to love as time went on. She was still the same gorgeous woman he had gotten to know on Hilton Head. Her body still excited him, as did her smile, even if it did shine his way a little less frequently. She was brilliant, in his league, and she could give him children, eventually. Probably.

But he missed Goldie.

Goldie was gone. But somewhere, out there, was a four year old girl exactly like Goldie.

Harry was not an old pervert, like the author Robert A. Heinlein, who wrote books about fathers having sex with their daughters. He had no sexual interest in child-Goldie.

But to raise a child, a child who would grow up into another Goldie... she wouldn't be exactly identical, of course. She would be shaped by different experiences. But such a child would have 100% of her DNA. It would be the closest thing to having Goldie... without having Goldie. It would partially fill his need, the emptiness he felt within him.

And then, of course, there was the other child, the one who resembled him. There was a little Harry out there, one who needed his help.

At the time he had abandoned both of them, because he had to make a choice, and the choice he chose was Claire.

Now he was making a different choice.

"What?" said Claire. "Harry, I can't believe my ears."

"Then maybe you should get them checked," said Harry. His defiance sounded unfamiliar in his own ears. Like sweet music.

"You're leaving me... to find these kids... who may or may not be your clone."

"And Goldie's," Said Harry, careful to stare her in the eye.

She saw his resoluteness, and sighed. "All right, Harry. I see I can't keep you away from this fool's errand."

"I'll be back in a few weeks. A few months, at the most."

"I'll make sure of that, Harry. Because I'm coming with you."​