Chapter Twenty-seven - Fuller

Dale Steinbeck was sitting in his office reviewing the progress reports of several patients. He needed to compose his assessments prior to sending the reports on to the referring physicians, and now, in a growing number of his cases, the proper military authorities. Dale had not yet returned the fitness report on McQueen, Col. T.C. (821-36-97440), to the Marine Corps Office of Personnel. It wasn't complete. He still needed to complete the psychological evaluation. McQueen continued to politely, but steadfastly refuse to visit the psychologist.

All was not sweetness and light at Dale Steinbeck's huge old Victorian. It seemed to Steinbeck that McQueen, while not precisely circling the drain, was growing ever more edgy and easily frustrated. The full weight of having no daily purpose outside of himself was hitting Ty hard. Steinbeck felt that he was running out of ways to break through the man's growing isolation and depression. "Boredom is only rage spread thin," Dale thought. McQueen withdrew from company. He would exercise; work out like a man possessed then retreat into silence. He often sat up late at night after the other two had gone to bed. He was up and dressed by 0430 every morning.

Other than the fact that the man was profoundly sane and somewhat depressed, Dale simply did not know enough about InVitro psychology to really gauge McQueen's mental health. The Colonel showed no overt signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which was - given what Steinbeck knew of McQueen's history - a remarkable testament to a stable individual. If only Kylen had not dropped her little bomb about McQueen having an intensely personal reason to resent having a leg based on AI technology. The torture. It was obvious and McQueen had yet to say word one. "It must be a difficult way of life - to just be prepared to accept what comes along. How dreadful to always have to 'make the best' of things," Steinbeck thought. Dale wondered exactly how much Kylen actually knew. He doubted that McQueen would make the whole truth a primary topic of conversation.

Up until Thanksgiving, Kylen had been dividing her time almost equally between her home and the clinic. But she had now stayed at the farm for well over seven days. There had been Eithne's opening night, then Kylen had two sessions with her therapist and Howard wanted to review the contents of Kylen's now dog-eared little notebook. Plus, Christmas was coming. Dale thought that spending undivided time at the farm was probably a very healthy thing for Kylen. It meant that she was beginning to reassimilate into her family. But Steinbeck missed having her around, and he thought that Amy did as well. Ty, interestingly, never brought her up. Kylen was a bridge and she had added an air of unpredictability that had kept the other three on their toes. Not always easy to be around while she was working through her own emotional baggage, but on the whole a nice addition to the little menage they had established. A buffer and a sparkplug at the same time.

It had actually been Amy and not Ty who had spoken to Kylen the night before. Home was "OK." Amy, reading between the lines, had asked Kylen to visit. She had become fond of the young woman. Dale had been pleased, actually. McQueen had appeared noncommittal, which was not unusual. "Well," thought Steinbeck, "something has to change soon. The psych eval has to be done before he can return to duty. Perhaps Kylen can talk him into it. Maybe she can shake things up."

Dale became aware that he was no longer alone in the office and looked up to see his problem child, T.C. McQueen, standing in the doorway. McQueen pushed the envelope wherever and whenever he could, and Steinbeck realized that he would never learn the half of it. It had been one of the reasons that Dale has somewhat rushed "reupholstering the leg," as Kylen had so graphically described it. McQueen was a passable technician and an excellent mechanic, and Dale had begun to see signs that someone else had been tinkering with the merchandise. During the afternoons, McQueen was scheduled to work independently. Dale had no doubt that the man was working as hard as, and probably harder, than advised, but just exactly how he worked out was sometimes questionable, especially without Kylen to ride herd on him. At the moment it was a real effort for Steinbeck to not laugh openly at his patient. "Tyrus, you are busted," he thought. McQueen obviously hadn't looked in the mirror recently. There were a few small bits of dead leaves in the man's short hair. He had obviously taken a tumble during a walk outside, and Dale seriously doubted that he would see that on the man's exercise journal. "Psychologist or not, I see that we have to have a discussion about attitude."

"Is my fitness report done? Are you sending it in?" McQueen asked.

"As soon as it is finished, Ty," Dale said, gesturing at the pile of charts on his desk. McQueen was not Dale's only patient and really not his most challenging case medically or surgically, but the man had the most challenging personality to deal with. By far. "Let's try this one more time with feeling," he sighed to himself. Dale stood and came around the desk.

"Come with me, Ty." Dale passed his secretary as they headed for the door. "Please tell Amy that I took the Colonel over to Bucky's house."

"Bucky?" McQueen questioned.

"Let's go, Marine. And get the mulch out of your hair before Amy sees it."

The two men piled into Dale's car. Not for the first time, McQueen had to admire Steinbeck's taste. The car was an imported European roadster. Powerful, black and fast. In minutes Dale parked the car by the edge of the road. They were almost at the top of the largest hill on the island. The ground started to slope away a few feet from the car. The view was impressive.

"Over there, behind those trees, is Bucky's house," Dale gestured.

"Who is Bucky?" McQueen asked again.

"Buckminster Fuller. Geodesic domes? His family used to live here. The house is now over a century old. Brilliant man. Creative thinker. One of my heroes." Dale got out of the car and came around to lean against the hood. "We are here to watch the sunset."

McQueen seriously doubted that statement but joined Dale, leaning against the car and looking out over the scenery to the ocean beyond.

"Do you know what Fuller said?" Steinbeck asked rhetorically. "Humanity is acquiring all the right technology for all the wrong reasons." He let that statement sink in. "I think that we need to talk some about technology, Ty."

McQueen remained silent at Dale's side. The sky began to change colors as the sun descended. The bottoms of the clouds took on hues of pink and mauve; their tops became gray. "You said something about technology, Doctor?" McQueen inquired of the lanky man at his side.

"Bucky said many things. Did you know that he was a poet as well?" Steinbeck asked, hoping to bring a casual tone to the conversation. McQueen was not taken in - Dale had brought him up here to say something specific. McQueen was not one to beat around bushes and, in his experience, most civilians wasted too much time dancing around the subject.

"Technology?" McQueen repeated.

"OK, Ty, I'll try and cut to the chase," Dale said. "Of all my current patients you are the person I expected to move alongside the technology. You of all people. You are a pilot and I expected that you would integrate the technology faster than anyone. But you haven't. Have you?"

"Integrate the technology?" McQueen asked, but he already had the feeling that he understood what Dale was getting at. It gave McQueen an involuntary shiver.

"I want to talk about your leg," Dale continued. McQueen's subtle reaction had answered the question. "You fight with it. Which surprises me to some extent, given your study of Eastern thought. Tao, Zen and such. Look, Ty, when you fly or drive or even fine tune equipment, I know that you have 'the touch.' That you understand the clay, so's to speak."

"I understand the clay?" McQueen could feel himself becoming inexplicably defensive - and he disliked the feeling.

"Let me give you an illustration," Steinbeck explained. "You have seen all the art and craft shops in town? Well, a good friend, Peter, owns one of them. I call him Peter the Potter. He has an incredible touch. Even working with porcelain. Oh, look at those colors. Spectacular for this time of year."

"Peter Potter," McQueen urged. Dale was getting off topic and talking like a civilian again.

"You're right, I digress. But it helps me to think," Dale admitted. McQueen had no concept of how a digression could actually help anyone focus their thoughts. Steinbeck went on.

"I was watching Peter throwing some terra cotta on the wheel with one of his summer students. The student's pots crumbled between his hands. Over and over again. Peter would give guidance but with no real progress. The student finally finished the lesson with a small pot. Thick walled and inelegant. When the student left I apologized, thinking that I had made the guy too nervous to throw well. Peter told me that it wasn't my presence, but the fact that the guy just didn't 'understand the clay.'"

Dale pointed out across the sky at a particularly luscious formation of clouds pink and golden in the twilight. The ocean had begun to turn metallic in the sunset. "You know what I love about this island? You can see the sunrise from our house and you can come to the other side and see the sunset. It's like we are our own country here. Our own little continent."

"Ty, you shouldn't still be tripping over the leg. Your reflex test was superior. Hell, all the tests were superior. But you still have problems. You fight the clay. You try to bend it to your will. I can see your whole body trying to shout it into submission. The prosthetic will respond eventually to your will, if that is the method you insist upon. But it will beat you over the head before it submits. You are making it harder than it has to be." Dale paused to enjoy the changing sky for a few moments.

"Your nerves know what to do. As do your muscles. It's your head that has the problems," Dale asserted. "The Zen Archer, Ty. You can order the prosthetic all you want, but it will respond better and faster if you learn to let it become one with you. I know that you have reasons to hate this technology - reasons to reject it. I've seen the scars. But it will serve you. Finesse. A light touch. Like your Hammerhead or your cycle. Ease into it. Seduce it. Or rather, let it seduce you." Dale thought that Ty McQueen, while certainly not without experience, was probably not a particularly well versed student of seduction - either in seducing or being seduced - but it was the only analogy that came to mind. Ty McQueen lived a straightforward life. "Your troops will obey your orders because they are disciplined and loyal. But you know that if they admire and trust you personally they obey with greater enthusiasm. And when they know that you love and trust them ... Well, so much the better."

"You make it sound like this leg has a personality and a mind of its own." McQueen said.

"It doesn't. It only has what you give it - and you resent it," Dale told him.

"It is what it is." McQueen repeated Kylen's maxim.

"It is a way for you to fully enter into your life again, Ty."

The sun appeared to be entering the ocean. "You often think, don't you, while watching sunsets, that the ocean should boil and hiss when the sun touches it. But not this evening. Look at that water - it looks like the sun has melted steel. Like it is molten." Again he paused to take in the scene. When the sun was halfway down he spoke. 'When I think of a problem, I never think about beauty. I think of only how to solve the problem. But when I'm finished, if the solution isn't beautiful, I know it's wrong."

"Did Peter Potter say that too?" McQueen asked.

"No, Buckminster Fuller. Let's get back to the Barn. Kylen is coming." But neither moved until the sun had set.

End Chapter Twenty-seven

Literary Giants M.Wheels