In time, Quinton and Lona passed away, but they represented something in each generation that was held to be sacred. They represented the strength to hold on to the laws of the Father and the story of his promise of the Kingdom of Heaven. It was their legacy to be passed from generation to generation through stories and fables. It would not be for hundreds of years that this would be written. It was the laws of the Father that promised the "good life". The Good Life that was to be rewarded on earth with joy in this life and the Kingdom of Heaven in the afterlife. But his laws had to be taught and occasionally people would fall away from the wisdom of the Father too early in life to learn the lessons. They would sometimes join the indigenous humanoids in their mindless animalism. The fight to teach the laws of the Father and keep the covenant has been an age-old battle through all of recorded history.

The descendants of Lona and Quinton grew to number in the billions. The four groups from the Garden lost their memory of the Garden in a mist of mythology and fable. Although the unseen hosts of the Garden could have never predicted the course of human events, the population explosion and ever increasing capability of the brain, or the HB (Human Brain) 100 (percent), did occur as predicted. Even today a few of the hardiest descendants of the original humanoids of the Earth can be found still surviving in the most inhospitable areas where they would be left undisturbed.

Millenniums passed and the HB100 slowly evolved into a mightier existence. It finally evolved enough to develop, understand, and utilize the industrial revolution. The industrial revolution had always been there, it had just never been discovered and put into action till the HB100 was ready. Finally, most people could read and grasp the more complex concepts. The entire process of human activity changed. A complex, specialized society of technology had raised the standard of living beyond the HB100’s wildest imagination. Here, in the twentieth century, we join the lives of another Quinton and Lona who are direct descendants of the original pair.

Something about the spanking new, red, 1971 Mustang convertible made Quinton think he was the most incredible man alive in America. Quinton was twenty years old. He lived in a world of academic college grades, pleasing his parents, and partying. It was the age of the promise of free love, drugs, and Rock n’ Roll. He had been given this car on Spring Break. It was a present. His last report card was worth this car, and Quinton was calm when his father gave him the keys.

This was a young man’s car, and Quinton knew it would give his casually attired persona a higher profile among the young ladies in this time of transition and early woman’s liberation. Maybe he wasn’t aware of life’s transition and her liberation, but he was incredibly aware of his increased chances of making it with Lona as she drew her fingers slowly across the front of it’s smooth dashboard.

"Quinton, I’ve never been so impressed!"

The machine glided like a magic carpet with the top down on the last warm day of an Ohio weekend. The smell of fall filled the air that rushed over the windshield. The turbulance made it hard to hear each other.

"It’s three thousand bucks of incredible machine, Lona!" Quinton had to speak loudly. She was sitting back into the passenger’s seat, feeling the soft leather upholstery against the thighs of her naked legs, and pulled her long, straight auburn hair back in the turbulant wind from her face with both hands. She drew her fingers through her hair and extended her hands far behind her head causing her back to arch ever so slightly. The sunshine was brilliant. Quinton’s eyes drifted from her smile of brilliant white, almost transparent, teeth to her breasts, framed in beads, and leather hung loosely around her neck. Quinton’s bellbottoms never seemed tighter than at that moment.

"Let’s go to your place!". Quinton smiled in anticipation.

"Oh, Quinton, let’s make this a special night!", Lona cooed.

As the Mustang pulled away, Quinton couldn’t help but push the accelerator to the floor. Autumn leaves sprayed out behind the vehicle like a shower of shooting stars. Lona was pleased. Her hair blew in the wind, sweeping in all directions and into her face. She threw her head back and stretched her arms out again to place her elbows high on the back of the seat. Quinton could hardly keep his eyes on the road. The wind was unusually warm in the late Ohio afternoon as they sped down a road that came to a point on the horizon.

Everything was easy when they arrived at the old, one story rented farm house. Miles of cornfields separated them from anything in all directions. Lona was friendly and accessible. Quinton was casual. Very cool. The house was clean, though it had the mild odor of two cats and a slightly unfriendly dog named Benson. By the time Lona had hooked Benson to a chain in the back yard, Quinton made himself at home and was fondling his stash of pot in a plastic baggy.

Lona joined him in the living room. Every square inch of wall was covered with some sort of nick-nack, a picture, a sketch, a piece of cloth, a carefully hung object. The entire room was a collage of visual festivity. Lona lit some jasmine incense, threw some records on the spindle, and switched on the red, overhead light covered with a doily. The shadow to the doily softly filled the room with patterns of red and dark. They sat on the couch together as the Moody Blues began to play. She offered Quinton some cigarette papers. He took two and deftly rolled a joint with both hands while Lona watched. He lit it, took a drag, and handed it to her. They passed it back and forth while they chatted about their classes that day. Quinton’s arm reached across the top of the couch and he stroked her hair on the left side of her head near her temple.

"Want some beer?" said Lona after a pause.

"Sure!", replied Quinton.

As she began to get to her feet to go to the refrigerator, she felt like she was gliding. She was a beautiful bird. Quinton gently grabbed her hand from where he sat and she came back to him, gracefully falling into his lap, and they embraced. Their kiss was deep. They fell back. Their writhing dance lead to the floor where they lay and pressed their bodies against each other, sandwiched between the couch and the coffee table.

"Quinton, I have some acid, let’s drop it tonight.", whispered Lona.

Quinton released her from beneath him.

"All right!", he exclaimed. She struggled to her feet and jumped up to take some tiny pieces of paper from a container on the mantle. She hurried back and joined him cross legged, now in the center of the living room floor. They were knee to knee as she transferred one little piece of paper from the tip of her finger to the tip of his tongue. With the same finger she did the same for herself. Then she touched the tip of her tongue to his and they continued their embrace.

"Beer!" Quinton suddenly exclaimed.

She jumped to her feet and ran to the kitchen.

The beer was cool and flavorful. He thought he could feel the bubbles percolating in his brain. They were excited. They were euphoric. They frantically embraced and kissed, rolling over and over on the living room rug, totally absorbed in their private orgy of joy. Each took off the other’s clothes one article at a time, savoring the warm skin that it exposed with their lips, tongue, and hands. They moved into the bedroom and into bed, under the covers. The smooth sheets surrounded and caressed their bodies.

By the time the Iron Butterfly Album fell down the stereo spool, she reached down and grasped him with her finger and thumb. He began to pulse as she rolled it between her fingers. She paused for a moment to guide his right hand to her. She was soft, and accessible. She rolled onto her back as he followed to suspended himself above her. She spread her legs; and, he found his mark. The phase-shift-drum-solo of "Inna Godda Davita" pounded through the house as Quinton felt her warmth. Both were oblivious to the world. They were vulnerable. They were unaware of anything around them. They kicked off their covers. They were hot. Just before he climaxed, he thought he saw a flash of light in the room. Her eyes were closed.

Quinton suddenly awoke in the corn field some fifty feet away from the house.

Benson was barking excitedly. Quinton was naked. The shock brought him to his feet. He was dazed and confused, but he saw no path that lead to his position in the field. It was as though he had been dropped from the sky. He had to push a path through the thick corn to return to the house. The rough plants tore and scratched his skin. When he finally returned to the bedroom, he found Lona, still.. sitting on the bed, now holding the blanket over her head. She was crying and shaking. Quinton sat next to her on the bed and pulled the blanket off her.

"What happened, Quinton?"

She threw her arms around him and sobbed uncontrollably.

"I don’t know!", responded Quinton, "But let’s not ever take acid again!"

They sat on the bed together for a while in silence, and then began to dress.

"Look, Quinton, there are bruises all over you."

Lona’s close examination revealed what looked like small puncture wounds in some of the bruises. There was no explanation. They were silent as Quinton dressed and Lona put on her night gown. They were silent as they went to the living room and sat together on the couch. He kissed her good-bye as he left, and promised to see her again. They were married by Christmas.

HB100 Product Development

The HB100 growth, evolution, and development has been closely monitored and observed for approximately 3,500 generations. Although this is 1,500 generations longer than we had anticipated, we have observed continued growth and development to the point were we feel it is at the harvestable stage. We are happy to report that our samples show the HB100 to be far beyond our expectations.

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©Ricnard F Hall, 2004