Posts Tagged ‘science fiction’
A Bottle of Wine
The empathic Link that had always connected him to his family had been severed when the Shelter’s Seal was closed two days ago. The Seal itself wasn’t any barrier to the Link. Nothing could affect the n’es’tahh connection which flowed between everyone on Yannoneth. Nothing, that is, except a restriction of the g’ru’tnok energy. The Council had made it clear that they would need every iota of that energy to protect the Shelter from the Bombardment. No other uses, no matter how small the drain, would be permitted until they survived the crisis. If they did. Survival was by no means certain, even buried this far below the surface; even with the energies of every Councilor and Proficient focused on reinforcing the Shelter’s structure.
Afterward, the n’es’tahh would be restored. Only… what would be the point, he wondered? When the Bombardment passed over Yannoneth there would be nothing and no one left on the surface. The very air of the planet would be stripped away. The land would be so thoroughly devastated that it would be as though his people had never inhabited it. Indeed, it would be as though no life at all had ever existed on it.
The damn Danaereans! They had lost control of the Disintegration of the ancient home world weeks ago. The orderly crumbling of the birthplace of both races had become a catastrophic rending that would launch inconceivably massive chunks of debris in every direction. It would ravage every other planet in the solar system. Including this one. Given the relative positions of each world in their orbits, especially this one.
Damn them, he thought again. Had it been deliberate? Their way of taking revenge on his people? Yannoneth had simply wanted to be free. Couldn’t the Danaereans have let go while they were on the far side of the sun instead of while the two worlds were virtually next door to each other? Why couldn’t they simply have gone into oblivion and left Yannoneth whole? What had his people done to deserve this?
He knew the answer. They all did. And he was ashamed.
Sitting on the edge of the small bunk he’d been assigned, he opened the single carry bag that he’d been allowed to bring with him. Reaching inside, he gently pulled out the one thing that he considered of value. The bottle was still slightly dusty from long years in the family cellar.
He held it close to his nose and inhaled. Not to try to detect the bouquet of the wine sealed inside, but to breathe again the air of a place that would very shortly cease to exist so utterly that it was impossible for him to conceive of it.
The dust, of course, wasn’t very representative of the Eoneth Highlands where he’d learned to make wine at his father’s knee. But his genetic memory filled in the details. The d’na’tnek, written into his very DNA, allowed him to reach back millennia through the generations of his ancestors, recalling their lives almost as if they were his own. He remembered when the soil was turned to plant the first vines; the celebration of the one thousandth harvest; the day this very bottle had been laid in the cellar. He smiled wistfully at a stray linked incident – the embarrassment of an ancient ancestor who, enjoying the fruit of the vine a little too liberally, had attempted to seduce a neighbour’s daughter. Not entirely unsuccessfully as it turned out. If the girl hadn’t eventually become his several times great grandmother, after all, the memory wouldn’t be part of him now.
He lovingly held the bottle as the tears started. He longed to walk the Highlands again. He knew that his parents were there at this moment. He might not be Linked to them, but he knew what they were doing. It had been planned from the moment they knew that the Bombardment was inevitable. His father would be opening the very finest vintages, his mother preparing the most sumptuous of meals. They had always loved to entertain. Their reputation as the most gracious of hosts was unparalleled, which was quite an accomplishment in a culture like his.
The entire community had chosen to gather there one last time.
Suddenly, the Shelter shuddered. The bottle slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor. It was one of the deep reds his parents loved so much.
Fitting.
Richard Redmond – Revelation Part Nine
OBSERVATION RESUMES
When they reached the hotel, Richard tipped the cabbie generously and entered the lobby. When the doorman stepped in front of him, Richard resisted the temptation to test the powers he supposedly now had. Instead, he asked for the concierge who, recognizing Richard as a five star guest, personally showed him to one of the hotel’s best suites. Richard asked for a razor, and to have the hotel’s personal shopper sent to his room in an hour.
As soon as he was alone, he poured himself a stiff drink. After downing it in a single swallow, he picked up the phone to call Nadine. Given the time difference, she’d most likely be at the university so he called her private line there. It rang through to voicemail. So did her cell. Richard couldn’t think of anything he could say in a one-minute message that would make the least bit of sense. He was going to call the university switchboard and have her paged, but decided he’d shower first. After all, as far as his wife knew, he was still in the middle of the Central American jungle. It wasn’t like she’d be worried about him.
Going into the bathroom, he started the water in the shower, stripped down and stepped in. He leaned both hands against the wall and just let the hot, steamy water run over him for a few minutes. He was just beginning to feel something close to normal again when he heard a giggle behind him. Turning, Richard saw Alea Chantal, as naked as he was, standing provocatively in the corner. “Hey,” he exclaimed, suppressing the urge to cover himself with his hands.
Alea Chantal laughed, moved toward him. At which point Richard realized that even though she might be naked, she wasn’t wet. “Very good, Richard,” she said. “I’m simply taking advantage of the mist in the air and the way your eye processes light to create an image of myself.” Then she glanced down, smiling broadly. “But thank you for the compliment.” Richard blushed. A disembodied throat-clearing from Sarsoneth broke the moment, and Alea Chantal continued. “We promised to begin to answer your questions, Richard. When you finish your shower, grab that second drink you wanted and meet us in the grove.” She disappeared.
“Meet you in the grove,” Richard repeated. “How the hell do I do that?”
Alea Chantal’s face reappeared. “Same as before, silly. Only this time, you don’t have to wait for Faloneth to knock you out. Just make yourself comfortable and we’ll do the rest.” She blinked out again.
Richard soaped up, scrubbed down and rinsed off. Stepping out of the shower, he towelled himself dry and put on the hotel-provided bathrobe. As he returned to the suite’s living room, there was a knock on the door. He opened it to find the personal shopper, who he invited in. It only took a few minutes for her to take his measurements and to make a list of the clothes and personal articles Richard wanted. He also asked her to book him on the first available flight back to the US.
After she left, Richard went back to the bar and opened the fridge. There was a decent selection of beer from a number of British and European brewers. He reached for a German brand. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Alea Chantal’s voice complained. “We’re in London. It’s got to be a Guinness.”
Richard picked up the black and gold can. “You do know Guinness is Irish, right?” When Alea Chantal didn’t answer, he shrugged and popped the can open. After taking a swallow, he picked up the phone and tried calling Nadine again, and again got no answer. He still didn’t want to worry her by leaving a message with a London telephone number. Instead, he called Thomas Jackson, his colleague and best friend. Jackson didn’t answer either, but Richard left him the number at the hotel and asked him to call as soon as he could. Richard knew his friend well enough to know that he’d be more curious than worried. Then he walked to the sofa and made himself comfortable. He was just about to ask what to do next when the room faded out and the now-familiar grove took its place.
“Welcome back, Richard,” Alea Chantal said cheerily. Richard noticed that she was holding what seemed to be his can of beer. She saw the direction of his glance. “What? A girl can’t enjoy a good beverage?” she protested. Taking a long pull at the Guinness, she added. “God that tastes good. Not that I don’t appreciate the scotch you usually drink Richard, but there’s just nothin’ like a good stout f’r a gal raised in the pubs, y’know?” She took another swallow, belched; looked sheepish.
“Indeed. The sophistication of your palate is beyond question, my dear. Not to mention that you are French, not English.” Richard turned toward the second voice and saw Sarsoneth for the first time. The man was considerably older than Alea Chantal. She appeared to be in her early twenties. Richard would have guessed Sarsoneth was at least sixty. He was dressed in some sort of loose-fitting robe or toga or something but from what Richard could tell, he appeared to be in excellent physical condition. The most striking thing about him however, was his height. At six foot one, Richard wasn’t accustomed to having to look up to meet someone’s gaze. Sarsoneth, however, had at least six inches on him.
“In the days when we first arrived,” Sarsoneth said, picking up on Richard’s unspoken thought, “the difference was even more striking.”
“I knew it,” Richard exclaimed. “You’re aliens.”
Alea Chantal placed a hand on her hip, struck a pose, and protested, “Not me bud. I am all girl.” After a brief pause, she added, “He’s the bug-eyed monster.”
Sarsoneth sat on a boulder, gave Alea Chantal a long-suffering look, and sighed. Addressing Richard, he said, “Although ‘alien’ would be technically correct in my case, Richard, both Alea Chantal and I, at least the original, living versions of us, are, or were, your ancestors.”
Richard looked from one to the other. “You’re ghosts?”
“More like memories, Richard,” Alea Chantal chipped in. “Very, very vivid memories.”
Richard picked up a stone, threw it into the lake, watched the ripples spread out. “Pretty damn solid memories; especially since I’ve never been to this place before in my life.”
“Not only your memories, Richard; our memories as well. Indeed, the memories of all of your ancestors are available to you. Everything that happened to each of your forebears up to the moment that they passed their genetic material on to the next generation is part of what my people call the d’na’tnek.”
Richard thought about that for a few minutes. He knew a little bit about the theory that memory could be passed from one generation to another just like physical traits such as red hair or a talent for math. “What about lifting the jeep, and fixing my arm? How does that work?”
“As with the ability to access the d’na’tnek,” Sarsoneth replied,” there comes a point in the evolution of a race when they begin to be able to manipulate the power generated by the planet itself. Humanity is reaching that point. It is Awakening.”
Richard had an idea. “Okay, so you’re saying that all the stories about faith healers, or people who had visions, or witches, or whatever … they were all really some kind of mutants?”
Alea Chantal laughed. “Awakening, Richard. Or evolving, if you’d prefer a human term. It’s a lot more complicated than that, but you need to understand what’s going on and where you fit in first.”
“When my people came to Earth, Richard,” Sarsoneth continued, “we were the last, shattered remnants of a once-proud race. Too proud. Our arrogance had led us to turn on each other to our utter destruction. Even the truce that allowed a few of us to reach your planet lasted barely long enough to complete the journey.”
The grove faded out momentarily and Richard saw what was obviously a spaceship descending toward a broad plain. When it had settled to the ground, doors opened and scores of men and women – four hundred and fifty nine, a memory whispered to him – emerged from the ship. Some gathered in the meadow around the landing site while others immediately took to the air and scattered. The scene faded.
“That was over ten thousand years ago, Richard. While those of my faction, the Ethicals, sought to aid mankind’s development, those like Faloneth, the Disaffected, sought only to dominate and control. Though there are only a few left, they still do. They must be stopped before humanity fully Awakens.”
Richard considered. “What about your group? The Ethicals?”
Alea Chantal jumped in before Sarsoneth could answer. “They’re no better, Richard. Their methods are different but they want the same thing.”
“Which is?” Richard asked.
“To control humanity’s Awakening. It’s the only chance they have of rebuilding their race; by using us.”
“How many Ethicals are there? Which side is winning?”
“There are only a handful of either,” replied Alea Chantal. We’re not sure how many. But even one is too many Richard. ”
Remembering what Faloneth had been able to do to, Richard tended to agree. Still ….
He’d been leaning against a tree during most of the discussion. Now he pushed himself off. “It seems like you’ve been at each other’s throats for a long time. Humanity’s still here and the bad guys are dying off. I think I’ll just leave you all to it, and go back to my life. If one of you could just point me at my hotel room, I’ll be on my way.”
Sarsoneth started to say something about destiny and responsibility, but Alea Chantal stepped closer to Richard and put her hand on his arm. “Richard, Faloneth killed Nadine.”
Richard spun toward Alea Chantal in shock when the phone rang and he found himself back on the sofa. Dazedly, he noticed that the can of Guinness was empty.
OBSERVATION PAUSED BY REQUEST
Enquiry Response: The Member is correct. The Sarsoneth Construct is deliberately withholding information from Richard. That it is capable of such action is without precedent. One of the tasks of this Panel is to determine if this is a characteristic to be nurtured, or if it signifies an aberration requiring sterilization.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
Richard Redmond – Revelation Part Four
OBSERVATION RESUMES
When Richard came to, he was sitting on a wooded hill overlooking a mountain lake, with his back resting against a pine tree. He could smell the tree sap, and the scent of wildflowers that he could see dotting the slope down to the water was heavy in the air. A bird sang in a tree and he tilted his head upward, looking for it.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? Peaceful.” Richard snapped his head around toward the voice and for the first time saw Alea Chantal. She was beautiful. Long golden hair worn loosely around her shoulders; athletic but “well rounded” as his dad used to say; dressed in clothes that reminded Richard of those French Renaissance period pieces that Nadine loved, with full skirt and frilly bodice. Not too tall; Richard doubted that she’d come close to his six foot one.
Alea Chantal laughed. Not sarcastically. She curtsied. “Why thank you, good sir. ‘Tis a comely description of me that ye’ve offered and I most graciously accept it. You did not, however, answer the question. Isn’t this one of the most peaceful places you’ve ever been?” For emphasis, she made a sweeping gesture that took in the woods, the lake, and the mountain rising in the background; extended it into a pirouette than made her skirt billow out and her hair fly. She ended where she’d started, arms wrapped around herself and facing Richard.
He looked at Alea Chantal, then at the view. He sighed. Then he stood up, walking toward her. “Yes, it’s beautiful; and peaceful. It’s also completely impossible. What’s going on? Who are you? Where am I? How did I get here? A minute ago I was in Central America. This …” Richard stopped.
Alea Chantal finished his sentence. “… is France. Or at least, it’s a part of France that I knew. Once upon a time.” She sighed. “Richard, there’s so much that you need to know, and not much time to tell you. You weren’t supposed to Awaken this way. It was the d’na’nish of course. It attracted the attention of one of the Yannoneth. We don’t know which one yet. It was that woman of course. Once they homed in on what you call the artefact, it was inevitable that they’d get wind of you.”
Richard held up a hand. “Stop. Just stop. You’re not making any sense. If I’m not delirious, and I still think that’s the most likely explanation, then how the hell did I get … here?” He gestured at their surroundings.
Alea Chantal’s annoyance flared up again and was evident in her reply. “You’re not delirious Richard. You really do need to let go of that whole denial thing. There’s …”
The voice of Sarsoneth, seemingly coming from the trees overhead, broke in. “Alea Chantal. He knows. You know that he does. Let him come to acceptance in his own way.”
Alea Chantal locked gazes with Richard for a moment, seemed to find something that satisfied her. “Well. Alright then. I guess I’ve been cooped up with this Ethical (she made a motion with her head toward the trees that Richard took to indicate that she meant Sarsoneth) so long that I’ve lost the knack for subtlety. It’s not their strong suit you know.”
Listening to this byplay, Richard realized that Sarsoneth was right. He did know that whatever was happening was real. He didn’t know how or why yet, but he was damned well going to find out. Richard was used to being in control of whatever situation he was in. This sense of being carried along like a cork in a flood didn’t sit well. He spoke up. “What’s an Ethical?”
Alea Chantal made a rude noise. “The most irritating, annoying, frustrating, self-righteous…”
Sarsoneth again interrupted her. “Alea Chantal’s opinion notwithstanding, Richard, I would suggest that we have more pressing matters to deal with. You are not as safe as the appearance of this place would seem to indicate.”
“… and they interrupt a lot too,” Alea Chantal concluded. “However, he’s right. This place isn’t what it seems. You asked how you got from Central America to France, Richard. Well, the truth is you didn’t. We’re not sure where you are. You’ve been unconscious since you first spotted that Yannoneth bitch. This place, and for that matter Sarsoneth and I, are inside your head. Always have been.”
Richard stared at her. Then he walked over to a tree, tore off some bark and shook it at Alea Chantal. “Make up your damn mind. I just accepted I wasn’t delusional. Now you tell me it’s all in my head? No way. This,” and he shook the bark again, “is not my imagination.”
Alea Chantal sighed. “I’m sorry, Richard. It’s not easy to explain. But you really are in terrible danger, and we really do want to help.” She took a deep breath. “We’re in the d’na’tnek. What you might think of as genetic memory. Every memory of every ancestor in your family tree is stored here, scattered throughout the DNA that makes you who you are.”
“This doesn’t feel like a memory,” Richard countered stubbornly.
“No, the d’na’tnek is much more, and we’re using it in a way that I’m not sure even the Twelve would recognize.”
“Who?” Richard asked.
“Alea Chantal,” Sarsoneth’s cautioning voice interjected.
“I know, I know. Richard, we’ll answer all of your questions. Later. I promise. Right now, we need to get you away from the Yannoneth. To do that, we need your help. She’s going to bring you around in a few minutes. We need you to observe as much as you can. You are our eyes and ears remember. Then, when you lose consciousness again, we can bring you back here and decide what to do.”
“Why don’t you just use your magical powers like you did last time?” Richard asked.
Alea Chantal smiled ruefully at the sarcasm in his voice. “First, they’re not ‘our’ powers, Richard, they’re yours. Second, at the moment we’re kind of hiding out here while you, to all appearances, are lying peacefully in a cell or a box or something, no doubt snoring like every man I ever met. We do know that your body is not under any physical duress.
“Richard, it’s absolutely essential that Yannoneth bitch doesn’t suspect that either Sarsoneth or I exist. If that were to happen, everything the Twelve have been working toward for millennia would be undone. Humanity’s future would be over.”
Richard was going to say something about being overdramatic when everything started to fade, starting with the mountain and moving inward to where he and Alea Chantal were standing. She reached a hand out toward him as she took on a ghost-like transparency.
Sarsoneth’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. “Remember Richard. Observe everything. Reveal nothing. The Yannoneth must not discover your true nature or that we exist.”
OBSERVATION PAUSED BY REQUEST
Enquiry Response: Regarding the Member’s comment on Sarsoneth and Alea Chantal. Yes, I am aware that fully self-aware mental constructs are not standard operating procedure within genetic memory. This was identified in the Observation filed under the title Danaerean Prologue, which I have previously recommended for Concurrent review.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
Richard Redmond – Revelation Part Three
OBSERVATION RESUMES
When Richard regained consciousness, he was a bit surprised to find himself still alive. Then he tried to sit up and discovered two things; that he was pinned under the overturned wreck of the jeep; and that his left arm was broken. At least, the direction it was pointing seemed to indicate that it was broken. So did the end of bone sticking out halfway between his shoulder and elbow. But there was no pain. Not from the arm, not from the weight of the jeep pinning him down. Shock?
“As if,” came the woman’s voice. What had the man’s voice called her? Alea Chantal.
“Give the man a gold star. Now that we’ve been introduced, I suppose you’ll be asking for my phone number.”
The man’s voice broke in. “We do not have time for your sarcasm, Alea Chantal. The danger is far from over. Carlos and the f’pa’tahm will not be delayed long by our misdirection.”
“There’s always time for sarcasm, Sarsoneth.” Then she sighed. “Oh, all right. Richard, the reason you aren’t feeling any pain is because we’re blocking it. The reason you aren’t dead is because we were able, just barely, to cushion the impact of the crash. The reason that Carlos and the boys aren’t here already is because we were able to plant an idea in their heads that you’re actually still careening down the trail ahead of them. Surprised that last worked actually. Carlos isn’t nearly as powerful as he thinks he is. But they’ll be back.”
“Richard,” said the voice Alea Chantal had identified as Sarsoneth, “it would be of assistance if you would concentrate on your arm for a moment. We have never before attempted to manipulate your physical form this directly or on such a macroscopic level.”
Richard, who felt like he’d been on a runaway train since he’d spoken to Jaimie in the temple, didn’t even try to argue. He looked at the unnatural angle his arm made with his shoulder and had to make a real effort to keep from being sick to his stomach. That feeling increased as he watched the ragged end of protruding bone slowly recede back into his flesh. The arm inched around until it was back in what looked like a normal position. The wound made by the broken bone closed over and disappeared except for the dried blood that covered the adjoining skin.
Sarsoneth spoke again. “Now the jeep Richard.”
“You can fix the jeep too?”
“Oh God,” from Alea Chantal. Her tone made it clear that, if Richard could have seen her, she would have been rolling her eyes. “No Richard, we can’t fix the jeep. But we can get you out from under it. Would that be good enough?”
When Richard grunted assent, she added “Okay, so focus on where it’s laying on you. Same deal as the arm, it helps us manipulate the g’ru’tnok.”
Richard didn’t ask what g’ru’tnok was. At this point he’d have been willing to call it magic and be done with it. Except that he kept getting that odd sense of familiarity. As if the answers were all in a book he’d read years ago, if he could just remember what it was. Instead of trying, he looked at the jeep where it rested on his legs. He was slightly surprised that his legs weren’t crushed. He wasn’t at all surprised when the jeep began to lift into the air. After all, he’d just seen a floating truck.
“Alright, Richard, slide out from underneath. We don’t want to attract any more attention to your abilities than we already have by hurling a two ton jeep into the jungle.”
My abilities? Richard wondered vaguely what abilities she was talking about, but he pulled himself out from under jeep as directed just the same. It immediately crashed back to the ground.
Richard got unsteadily to his feet. He examined himself all over, especially the no-longer-broken arm. There was no trace of the wound, no pain; the arm worked fine, as did his legs. It made no sense. And yet…
“Bear with us for yet a little longer, Richard. I realize how difficult this is to comprehend. However, the danger remains grave. We must ensure your safety before we indulge in idle conversation.” Idle conversation? Sarsoneth, whoever and wherever he was, appeared to have a penchant for understatement.
That, as inconsequential as it was, seemed to be the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. Richard shook his head. He’d had enough. “This is ridiculous. No, scratch that. It’s insane.” He looked up the steep embankment where the jeep had torn a ragged path down from the trail. Obviously, he told himself, it was the jungle that had broken his fall. The drop here wasn’t nearly as precipitous as it was where he’d hoped to send the truck over. And his arm, and being trapped under the jeep, he rationalized, were hallucinations. He’d been delirious when he came to and only imagined them. As to the voices …
“Yeah, what about those voices, Richard?” Alea Chantal’s voice sounded amused. In a sarcastic way.
“Shut up!” Richard hissed. “You’re a hallucination too, damn it.” He started to climb back up to the trail.
“Richard, you must avoid the road. As we told you, Carlos and the f’pa’tahm will not be long deceived. They will return to find you.”
Richard clamped his jaws shut and continued to grimly work his way up the embankment without answering. Alea Chantal added, “Listen to Sarsoneth, you lunkhead. We worked like hell to keep you out of their hands, broke a dozen taboos the Twelve put on us. You’re going to ruin everything.”
“I said shut up,” Richard grated out between clenched teeth. He completed the climb without further interruption. He looked around cautiously from the edge of the jungle and, seeing nothing, emerged onto the trail.
Peering down the rutted track in the direction of the landing, Richard didn’t see any activity at all. Maybe whoever had been after him had decided to keep going. After all, they had the artefact. Damn treasure hunters. Richard had just about convinced himself that there was nothing more to it than that – treasure hunters after the loot from a new archaeological dig. They were always dangerous. Add delirium from his luckily non-fatal crash and you had a perfectly logical explanation for everything from floating trucks to disembodied voices. He turned back up the trail to return to the camp to try to help the dig team.
And ran smack dab back into insanity.
Standing about a hundred yards up the trail was a woman, studying him. Richard stared. He could see no vehicle. She was alone , and she wasn’t dressed for the jungle. In fact, Richard wasn’t sure what she was dressed for. Some sort of close fitting evening gown by the look of it. Another damn hallucination. Then she smiled.
Richard heard Alea Chantal mutter “Aww, crap.”
And then he passed out.
OBSERVATION PAUSED BY REQUEST
Enquiry Response: Denial is a common coping mechanism among developing sentient species and is in no way peculiar to humanity nor is it indicative of substandard development. For Members desiring further corroboration, a search of the Universal Repository will yield ample similar references.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
Richard Redmond – Revelation Part Two
OBSERVATION RESUMES
When Richard didn’t immediately respond, two other men, holding what were obviously weapons, though they were unfamiliar to Richard, stepped out of the shadows at the edge of the camp. Where the man who had spoken was well over six feet and muscular, with a swarthy complexion, these two were considerably shorter, stocky rather than muscular, and so pale that Richard wondered how they managed to stand the Central American sun. All three were dressed in clothing that was pretty standard for the jungle, with the odd exception that it seemed to glisten for some reason, almost as if there were metallic threads in the material. The two armed men levelled their weapons in Richard’s direction but the first man held up his hand and they relaxed into an at-ease posture.
As Richard continued to hesitate, the woman’s voice came again. It sounded like she was whispering in his ear. “Stall him Richard. We have an idea.”
When a situation is beyond insane, there are really only two choices – go looking for the rubber room, or accept things as they are and try to make sense of them later. Richard opted for the latter. He stepped out from behind the debris that had concealed him, still holding his gun. “What the hell do you want?” he demanded angrily. “Who the hell are you?”
When the two men flanking the speaker saw the gun, they began to bring their own weapons to bear, but the speaker again stopped them, and laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a projectile weapon; a .45 if I’m not mistaken. What harm do you think it could do?”
He addressed Richard directly again. “Please Richard. Let’s not waste time on pretence shall we? We both know that there’s no point in that between such as you and I.”
“You and I? What the hell are you talking about? How do you know my name? Where are my people?” Richard was still pointing the gun at the man who was speaking. He started to move toward the body on the ground. He could see that it wasn’t Jaimie, but one of the labourers they’d hired to help with the digging. He could also see that the man was obviously dead. He stopped, and the other man spoke again.
“Why do you insist on continuing this farce Richard? You must have sensed who I am by now, what I am. We are equals you and I. And these two are of no consequence. They are only human. However, they swear allegiance to my Lady. There is no need to conceal your true nature here. Let us speak freely, as befits two who serve the Yannoneth.”
Richard had no clue what the guy was talking about. True nature? Who were the Yannoneth? He seemed to think Richard was part of some gang. Again, the woman whispered invisibly into his ear. “Just keep him talking Richard. We’re almost ready. Time for explanations later. We promise, okay? The less Carlos – that’s the talkative one’s name – knows about you, the better.” She seemed to fade away again, with a last “Keep him talking” wafting back like a rustle in the wind.
“Carlos” spoke again. “Your discovery of the d’na’nish,” and at the mention of the name, he bowed deferentially in the direction of the artefact, “was quite an accomplishment, Richard. Not even my Lady knew where it was. She had come to believe that all memory of it had been lost from the d’na’tnek. Obviously there was a genealogical offshoot that was not recorded.”
Gibberish, Richard thought. He decided to try to shake the other’s composure while stalling for whatever his disembodied friends were doing. “A danish? You couldn’t come up with a better name than that, Carlos? It was you and your buddies who planted it here I take it? Looks like a bad prop from a cheesy sci-fi flick.”
Carlos looked troubled for just a second, glanced toward the artefact, looked back at Richard and laughed. “Very good, Richard. I am not easily caught off guard. But we both know the d’na’nish is genuine. I can feel its power even in this state. And you made a second mistake.”
“Which was?”
“My name, of course. You used my name. There was no way for you to know that unless you are the same as I. Now, shall we dispense…” His voice seemed to deepen, slow; then it trailed off entirely. He and his two companions stopped moving. So did everything around them. The trees stopped rustling in the wind. The fire burning in the ruined tent seemed to be nailed to the air. All sound ceased. Richard gaped.
“The jeep, Richard. Get into the jeep.” The woman’s voice was urgent, demanding. “Make it snappy. We can only keep you accelerated for a few seconds. And as soon as you start the jeep, you’re back in objective time.”
“I…” was all Richard could choke out, staring at the world around him, a world that had suddenly become a still picture.
“Please, Richard.” It was the man’s voice. “Much depends on your survival. You must hurry. The world has not stopped; we have compressed time for you. Carlos will realize quickly what has happened. He may be able to counter our action, although I did not sense that he has that skill. Once you have escaped, we will have time to help you to understand. For now, as Alea Chantal says, the jeep must be our goal.”
Not being able to think of any alternative action, Richard ran to the jeep, jumped in, and turned the key. As soon as the engine roared to life, so did the rest of the world. As Richard slammed the jeep into gear and gunned the engine, he spared a glance over his shoulder. The two armed men were preparing to fire on Richard but for the third time Carlos stopped them. He pointed at the truck on the other side of the compound and the two men ran to it while Carlos moved toward the artefact.
That was all the time Richard could spare in looking backward. He manoeuvred the jeep onto the trail that had been hacked through the jungle between the camp and the river landing. If he could get enough of a lead on Carlos, he might be able to get to the landing, get the barge untied, and get far enough from shore that they couldn’t reach him. Since Carlos seemed determined not to kill him that just might be enough for him to get away.
He drove as fast as he dared on the treacherous track. That it wasn’t fast enough became evident as a bolt of some kind of energy streamed past the jeep and scorched a tree just ahead of him. Richard yelled and glanced behind.
Carlos sat in the middle of the truck seat, holding a bag that, Richard assumed, must contain the artefact. One of his companions was driving the truck while the other leaned out of the passenger side and aimed his weapon. Richard thought Carlos must have changed his mind about killing him until he realized they weren’t actually aiming at him but at the trees ahead. They were trying to block the trail. The bouncing of the truck made any attempt at an accurate shot a wild chance at best, but sooner or later they were bound to get lucky.
Richard turned back to the front, considering his options while trying to go faster without wrecking the jeep. There was a sharp turn up ahead where the trail ran along a cliff. If his pursuers weren’t as familiar with the trail as he was, they might not be aware how close it was. He might be able to make it at this speed, but he was pretty sure that the heavier truck wouldn’t. If he was lucky, they’d skid off the path and go over the cliff. At the very least, maybe he could slow them down; give himself more of a lead to get to the landing.
Richard deliberately slowed down for a few seconds to let the truck gain on him as he approached the cliff. Then he gunned the engine in the hope that his pursuers would do the same in order not to lose the distance they’d closed. He wanted them going as fast as possible. When he got to the turn he geared down, spun the steering wheel left, and then floored it. The jeep roared, the wheels spun, dirt and gravel spewed in all directions. Richard held his breath and hung on. The edge of the cliff was sickeningly close, but the jeep stayed on the road.
Once he was safely around the turn, he let off on the gas and looked back to see how the truck had fared. He had been right – the heavier vehicle hadn’t been able to take the turn the way the jeep had. It had overshot the road. But it hadn’t crashed into the jungle below. It hadn’t crashed at all. It was just hanging there, in mid-air, about ten feet beyond the trail. Carlos was gripping the dash, the bag holding the artefact still on his lap, a look of intense concentration on his face.
Richard couldn’t believe his eyes. He just stared, transfixed by the sight. That was his undoing.
The jeep, still moving, hit a rock in the trail, bounced to the right. Richard whipped around, attempted to regain control. It was too late.
The last thing he saw was a mass of green and brown jungle coming up to meet him as the jeep plunged over the edge.
OBSERVATION PAUSED BY REQUEST
Enquiry Response: Regarding the Member’s comment on Richard’s surprise at the vehicular levitation. Although humanity does utilize both ground and air transport, the principles involved are purely mechanical. There is no utilization of the Energy which the Danaereans named g’ru’tnok. I realize that the Setback may be causing discontinuity. Please make every effort to experience this Observation in linear time to avoid confusion.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
Freedom
Sometimes Freedom carries a high price. And the stakes could not have been higher than they were during the struggle for the Shelter.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
Prologue
OBSERVATION BEGINS
SUBJECT – Danaerean System Overview
FILED BY – Gerry – Danaerean Observer
Note: report compiled from third party sources. Editing will be ongoing.
What is Danaerea? (pronounced dan – air – ee – uh) And what is the hidden history of the universe?
Danaerea was the first world in the solar system I Observe on which life took hold. The Danaereans thought of it poetically as the Sprouting of the Seed.
As with any seed, Life didn’t simply appear in full bloom. It needed time to grow. A great deal of time. The Seed became a few simple cells; which became a few simple organisms; which became complex organisms; which became intelligent organisms. And intelligent organisms eventually became sentient organisms.
As the Danaereans evolved, they explored. The more they learned, the more in awe they were of the diversity that had sprung from the simplicity of their origins. Understanding the unity in this diversity was the key to understanding the concept that, aeons later, humanity would come to call Gaia.
Gaia – to comprehend the world and everything in it as a single interconnected and interdependent organism.
The Danaereans believed that for Gaia to exist there must also exist an underlying influence that encouraged it. In due course they identified that influence. They called it g’ru’tnok.
There is no equivalent human word. G’ru’tnok is energy. It’s relationship. It’s life. G’ru’tnok permeated Danaerea. Every atom, every molecule. Every rock, tree and animal. Every Danaerean.
As they became conscious of the awesome potential of g’ru’tnok, the Danaereans were transformed. Abilities that, when first encountered, humans would attribute to gods were theirs. To heal, to move mountains, to soar among the clouds, to travel between one place and another in the space of a thought; these things became as child’s play. Death itself came only after millennia of life, and usually at a time of their choosing. And no one was a stranger to another, for even their thoughts could be shared.
And more than their thoughts. Their experiences, their knowledge, the very record of their days. This was held within the cells of their being, in the d’na’tnek. We might think of it as genetic memory, inherited by generation from generation. Through the d’na’tnek, every Danaerean knew his or her ancestors intimately. They were literally of one flesh.
The d’na’tnek was like a living library. The knowledge of past generations could be used by the living as though they had experienced it themselves. The mistakes of one generation were seldom repeated by the next.
As a result, the world of Danaerea was paradise; the society of Danaerea utopia; the people of Danaerea filled with wisdom and grace.
When the Danaereans had achieved the harmony of Gaia they looked outward.
They knew that the g’ru’tnok was generated through the interaction of their world and its single great moon. It was to that interaction that they owed their existence.
Few other worlds were so favored. They had either no moon, and therefore no g’ru’tnok, or too many, with conflicting orbits that disrupted the flow of the nurturing force. In either circumstance barrenness was the result.
There were two exceptions.
Earth also had a single moon. When the Danaereans visited Earth it seemed like a younger version of home. Life was abundant, although not yet self aware. The Danaereans determined to watch over their cousins and to welcome them when the time came that they should reach the Awakening of their own Gaia.
Yannoneth, whose course lay between Earth and Danaerea, was circled by only two smaller companions. Although their energy was far less than that of Danaerea or Earth, still the two did not entirely cancel each other out. They had generated sufficient g’ru’tnok to entice the Seed to Sprout.
Yannoneth’s g’ru’tnok was not, however, the pure energy that flowed through Danaerea and Earth. It was stunted, twisted. And so too was the Life that it had spawned. Yannoneth was a world of violence, of anger. There was no place here for Sentience.
It distressed the Danaereans to experience Yannoneth’s pain. So they invoked the n’es’tehk, the gestalt of minds through which the knowledge of all living Danaereans and the d’na’tnek of their ancestors came together as one. They reached consensus – Yannoneth would be rehabilitated.
G’ru’tnok from Danaerea was channeled to Yannoneth to enhance and bring order to the planet’s own undisciplined energy. A colony was established. The Danaerean colonists would guide Yannoneth to Gaia. The work would span aeons. Even for the Danaereans, many generations would pass before Yannoneth’s transformation was complete.
And while they had been changing Yannoneth, the planet had in its own turn been changing them.
The colonists gradually ceased to think of themselves as Danaerean in any sense. They became, in whole measure, Yannoneth. And within them, there existed an element of the untamed, a spirit of the wild that was not content to exist at the end of a leash.
The Yannoneth came to consider the g’ru’tnok that flowed from Danaerea, though it was freely given, as just such a leash.
The Yannoneth knew that there was only one way to slip that leash. Their world must generate g’ru’tnok in greater measure. And there was only one way, one very dangerous way, to do that. The moons of Yannoneth must be aligned, their orbits harmonized.
There was irony in that there was only one source of power great enough to accomplish such a feat. Danaerea’s g’ru’tnok.
The Yannoneth knew that the Danaereans would never agree to such a taxing of Danaerean energy, even temporarily. It was a plan that had been considered when the rehabilitation of Yannoneth was undertaken. It had been discarded; the possibility of wounding the Gaia of Danaerea had been deemed too great.
The Yannoneth did not care. Their obsession with independence took precedence over reason.
They would take what they needed. If Danaerea was affected, it would recover. And if not, what of that? The Yannoneth wanted to be free; they needed to be free. Nothing else mattered.
They acted.
For a moment, for two, it seemed as though they might succeed. G’ru’tnok flowed; the moons began to bend toward new courses. But the need was too great, the drain on the Gaia of Danaerea too overwhelming. Danaerea’s great moon staggered. It hesitated ever so slightly, slowed so very little.
And began to fall.
It would take time, but for a people who thought in terms of millennia, that time would be painfully short. The result was already certain. All too soon, the paradise that was Danaerea would be no more; it had been betrayed by those it cherished most.
Yet, there were no recriminations on Danaerea. No remorse. That was not in their nature.
Once again, they invoked the n’es’tehk; they deliberated; consensus was reached.
Twelve were chosen. Into these Twelve was entrusted the d’na’tnek of all of Danaerea. The knowledge of uncountable ages, the memories of an entire race, poured into these few living vessels. Then the Twelve were sent to Earth, with a twofold geas. First, protect Earth from the Bombardment that would rain throughout the solar system when Danaerea died. Second, bestow the d’na’tnek of Danaerea onto humanity once it had reached its own Awakening to Gaia.
When the Twelve were safely departed, the entire Danaerean race bent itself to one last task. They would concentrate all of their incredible abilities on mitigating the havoc that would result as their descending moon tore Danaerea apart.
The stories of those final days are epic in themselves. The last noble acts of an ancient noble race. As the time grew shorter, a trail of rubble appeared and lengthened behind Danaerea, rubble released one piece at a time under control of the sheer will of the Danaereans. That trail remains still, forever a memorial to their existence and to their courage.
Eventually however, the time came when the g’ru’tnok failed; when the struggle was concluded with a violence that defies description. On that day, the universe became a little less.
From Earth, the Twelve felt the passing of the Gaia of Danaerea. They mourned. Then they redoubled their efforts. They knew what was coming.
Through the power of Earth’s g’ru’tnok they shielded us from the Bombardment. To those who would one day claim the name humanity, staring upward to the heavens without understanding, this time of thunder and light was pure inexplicable terror.
When the Bombardment had passed, the Twelve entered a’sa’mlek, the hibernation. They knew that humanity’s Awakening would be long in coming. We were young. And they would not interfere with our maturing.
They would wait.
The Yannoneth fared differently.
Their action had sealed the fate of not only Danaerea, but their own world as well. The flow of g’ru’tnok from Danaerea had ceased when its moon had begun to fall. Their own moons’ orbits had not been changed. Yannoneth’s g’ru’tnok alone would not be sufficient to deflect the Bombardment. When Danaerea died, Yannoneth would die as well.
But the Yannoneth did not want to die. They too invoked n’es’tehk. And they too emerged with a plan.
There were caverns deep beneath the surface of Yannoneth. They would build a Shelter, a place where ten thousand might escape the consequences of their own actions.
The Shelter was barely completed as the Bombardment began. The Ten Thousand entered. Millions more did not.
The Destruction of Yannoneth was as complete as it was brutal. The Bombardment left no part of the surface intact. The atmosphere was ripped away. The ground buckled. The seas boiled.
The Sheltered could do nothing to prevent the cataclysm above; Yannoneth’s g’ru’tnok could not create the shield that the Twelve had invoked around Earth. It was barely sufficient for the Sheltered to protect their one tiny bubble of life.
But protect it they did. When the Bombardment finally subsided, the Shelter remained. The Yannoneth survived.
While the Twelve waited and the humans evolved, the Yannoneth reflected. They knew that they alone were responsible for the destruction of two worlds. But they did not understand why.
With the clarity of hindsight, they knew that the interconnectedness of Gaia should have made it impossible for them to act in a way that endangered either Yannoneth or Danaerea. How had they so deluded themselves?
Entire new disciplines of study were created in order to pursue the question. When at last the Sheltered understood, the reason was impossible to deny and even more impossible to accept.
It was Yannoneth itself which had betrayed them. The planet’s energy, though intertwined with that of Danaerea, had not been wholly benign. In creating the Yannoneth Gaia, they had not simply tamed the wild Yannoneth biosphere. An element of its primeval violence had also been instilled in those who had come to call it home. The Yannoneth were more primitive, more aggressive, than the original Danaerean colonists.
The Sheltered could not accept this of themselves. They looked for solutions. They found only one.
The Ethical Imperative.
The Ethical Imperative required nothing less than the manipulation of Yannoneth genetic structure. They would implant a modified gene into their genetic makeup in order to reclaim the moral certainty that they had lost.
And yet again the Yannoneth would be betrayed by their own arrogance.
They had failed utterly to appreciate the power of Yannoneth’s primordial energy. The artificial EI gene simply could not counter aeons of evolution. Given enough stimulus, it was rejected by its host, taking with it the last vestiges of moral intuition. The result was a Yannoneth motivated entirely by psychopathic self interest.
These Disaffected Yannoneth cared only for their own self-gratification, their own individual supremacy. They would employ any means to achieve that end.
Strong emotion was the trigger for crossing what became known as the EI Threshold. The Yannoneth realized that they must control their emotions or succumb to racial insanity. A new philosophy came into being, centered on emotional detachment and the rigorous application of logic. Those who followed this discipline became known as the Ethicals.
The unquenchable ambition of the Disaffected eventually led to civil war in the Shelter. A war in which the Ethicals incurred as many defections as they did casualties. For how could one maintain emotional detachment during such a conflict? Many crossed the EI Threshold, and became forever the enemy.
The Disaffected however, by their very nature, were incapable of cooperation, even with each other. The ultimate individualists, they were unable to work together for long.
In the end, it was that which defeated them. The Ethical Yannoneth prevailed. But it was victory at a terrible price. Only a few hundred of the Sheltered remained.
It was clear to the survivors that neither the Ethical Imperative nor their philosophical discipline of detachment would shield them from the corrupting influence of Yannoneth’s g’ru’tnok.
There was only one course open to them.
They would go to Earth.
Humanity had not yet achieved Gaia when the Yannoneth arrived. Indeed, we were still primitive bands of nomads competing with other predators for survival.
For the Disaffected, nothing could have been more ideal. Here, they were free to engage in the ultimate realization of their megalomaniacal desire to be worshipped. With the power of Earth’s g’ru’tnok flowing through them, they became gods among men. They dispensed life and death on a whim. Their least thought, their most selfish desire, was irresistible. The myths and legends of gods and demons, and the ancient ruins of their monuments, still bear witness to the cavorting of the Disaffected Yannoneth among us.
The Ethicals remained aloof. They could not allow themselves to become involved with humanity in ways that might invoke emotional attachment. To do so was to risk the EI Threshold. The stories of wandering teachers and beings who brought wisdom to primitive peoples attest to the indelible impression of their presence.
Regardless of how the Yannoneth chose to interact with humanity, there was one purpose that united them. For their race to continue, there must be new generations. The d’na’tnek must be passed on.
The Disaffected refused to mate amongst themselves. They would not relinquish control to another in even such a necessary way.
The Ethicals would not mate at all. To them, bequeathing the flawed EI gene to future generations was unconscionable.
Each by their own tortured trail of reason concluded that humanity must therefore become the vessel for the rebirth of the Yannoneth.
Without the Awakening however, human genetic makeup was inadequate to the task. Our DNA could not retain the intact d’na’tnek of even one Yannoneth.
The Disaffected resolved this by mating with multiple partners; sometimes establishing harems and communes to facilitate the process. Fertility cults sprang up around their efforts. They kept detailed genealogical records, tracking which elements of the d’na’tnek had been passed to whom so that they could eventually, when humanity was ready, recombine those elements and recreate the whole.
The Ethicals, with their eternally flawed logic, turned to the genetic engineering practices that had created their predicament in the first place. They manipulated the genes of pairs of human beings in an attempt to force human evolution without also passing on the EI gene. They intended to create humanity in their own image, but without their artificial sense of good and evil.
The world is rife with tales of demigods and heroes whose abilities were borne of the attempts of the Ethical and the Disaffected to make humanity their surrogate hosts.
The Twelve of Danaerea were aware of the arrival of the Yannoneth, although they themselves remained concealed. Outnumbered and by now incredibly ancient even by the measure of Danaerea, they could not directly oppose the Yannoneth’s actions on earth. Nor would they have been willing to simply destroy those who were, in some sense, still their children. But neither could they allow humanity to be reduced to mere breeding vessels for a Yannoneth rebirth.
The Twelve reached out. Ever so subtly, they influenced the Yannoneth. They reinforced the revulsion the Disaffected felt for mating with each other. They disrupted the Ethicals’ genetic manipulation. They prevented the Yannoneth d’na’tnek which had already entered human genetic structure from being reinforced between generations; eventually it would be eliminated.
The process, in true Danaerean fashion, would take time. Its outcome, however, was certain. As centuries passed, the Yannoneth dwindled in number. The d’na’tnek that had been implanted in humanity became increasingly attenuated. Our evolutionary path would soon become our own once again.
Our story might end there.
Except…
A few of the Yannoneth remain. Snippets of Yannoneth d’na’tnek, here and there, still rests dormant in the genes of a handful of humans.
And the Awakening is beginning.
Facing the imminent failure of their geas, the Twelve undertook an action which was previously inconceivable.
They themselves changed us.
Not everyone. Not everywhere. Just a few. A few who were on the very precipice of Awakening in their own right. The Twelve “encouraged” them, ever so gently.
There are not many, and not all are aware of who and what they are. They must discover that for themselves.
With one exception. His is a critical role. On his shoulders rests the fate of humanity, and the success or failure of the geas of the Twelve.
The remaining Yannoneth, those who serve them, and those who unwittingly carry fragments of their d’na’tnek; must be found. They must not interfere with the coming of humanity’s Gaia, with our Awakening.
The time is now. These stories are theirs, and ours.
Observation will continue.
REPORT ends.
