Transhuman by Ben Bova Page A

arrange to have medical people and equipment brought to his mansion. All very quietly, very discreetly.”
    â€œHe can?” The professor’s face brightened.
    â€œAnd you can stay as long as you like, no problem.”
    â€œThat’s great! But Baton Rouge is at least a two-day drive from here.”
    â€œMy assistant will set you up with route directions and make hotel reservations along the way. Right through to Baton Rouge.”
    â€œFine,” said Abramson. “Wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Fisk.”
    Fisk lowered his eyes in a brief gesture of humility. Then, “We can’t let them stop your work, Professor. Your granddaughter’s life is at stake.”
    â€œThat’s right. But still, you’re being very generous.”
    â€œThink nothing of it.”
    Fisk allowed a few more moments of gratitude, then cut off the professor’s thanks with, “I think you ought to know the name of the man you’ll be visiting.”
    â€œOh! Yes, of course.”
    â€œHis name is Lorenzo P. Merriwether. He’s quite wealthy.”
    â€œLorenzo P. Merriwether.”
    â€œMy assistant will give you all the details before the end of the day.”
    â€œThanks again, Mr. Fisk.”
    Fisk waved the admiration away and clicked Abramson’s image off his wall. Then he ordered his assistant to contact Lorenzo P. Merriwether.
    I ought to let Lonzo know what I’ve put him up for, he said to himself.

 
    Nottaway Plantation
    A NGELA WAS SITTING in the van’s backseat as Luke drove the SUV down the long driveway leading to the plantation’s manor house.
    Sitting beside him, Tamara said, “This is like something out of Gone with the Wind .”
    â€œIt’s beautiful,” said Angela. Luke thought her voice sounded weak, frail.
    The driveway ended at a large, three-story house fronted with tall graceful white columns and decorated for Christmas with holly and wreaths and candles at every window.
    Two young black men were standing at the entrance to the mansion, lean and smiling. Luke had half-expected the servants to be in livery, but these two youngsters wore dark pullover shirts and jeans.
    â€œWelcome to Nottaway Plantation,” said one of them, as Luke and Tamara climbed out of the SUV. Luke opened the rear door and helped Angela out of the van. Her IV was disconnected, but she still bore the port in her arm. It made Luke remember that he had one of those plastic leeches attached to his bloodstream, too.
    The air felt chilly but soft, even gentle, nothing like the cold farther north. The two young men cheerfully took all the luggage and packages of medications and equipment, then led them to the front door. Angela, in Luke’s arms, was goggle-eyed as she took in the big house with a huge holly wreath bedecking the heavy oak door.
    The front door swung open as they approached, and Lorenzo P. Merriwether beamed a warm, cordial smile to them.
    â€œWelcome to my humble abode,” he said grandly, in a deep basso voice, his arms spread wide.
    He was well over six feet tall, slim and willowy. Like a basketball player, Luke thought. His skin was a light mocha, his smile brilliant. Merriwether’s face was lean, almost gaunt, the skin stretched over prominent cheekbones and a strong jaw that bore a fuzzy dark beard.
    As he led Tamara and Luke, who still held Angela in his arms, up the wide, winding staircase to the second floor, Merriwether happily explained, “This was a thriving cotton plantation in the antebellum days. More than a hundred slaves worked here. Now it’s a tourist attraction. The old slave huts have been remodeled to accommodate tourists from all over the world.”
    As they passed a window, Tamara looked out and asked, “Is that the Mississippi?”
    Merriwether beamed at her. “Yes indeed. Old Man River, just keeps rolling along.”
    He led them along the upstairs corridor and