Chromosome Quest

by Nathan Gregory

  We trained with spear, knife, and axe too. With metal scarce and valuable, our practice implements were of wood and polished stone, but they were still deadly. In my hands, they soon became deadlier. Having learned the value of experts with sling and bow, I asked for and received expert instruction in the art of spear-fighting, as well as close-quarters knife combat. Even the lowly stone axe, I learned was a deadly art-form. I was getting the hang of this, becoming a highly proficient fighter. But it is not enough to practice against a tree or a rock. One must use these skills in the field. Against a life-form that can run, dodge, even fight back.

  Keeping a large family like this supplied with food is a massive operation. A large percentage of the family turns a hand to the continual production of food. The vast bulk of their diet comes from starches, those ever-present root vegetables, supplemented with meat as they could provide, mainly deer and wild pigs. They farm, raise vegetables and keep some domestic animals, but they also hunt on a regular basis. Petch arranged for me to join the hunt. I was to pit my skill against a living target. The idea made me queasy. I eat meat, and I know someone must kill it. I had become a trained killer, but I didn't want it to be me. I was a trained killer who had never actually killed, and who became slightly nauseated at the prospect.

  A formal enemy faced squarely on the field of battle I thought I could handle. Bambi was another matter. Still, people have to eat, the cycle of life and all that and a stone-age existence does not lend itself well to vegetarianism. As it is, they get most of their calories from starches, those root vegetables, and some fruits. Meat is a minor but highly important part of their diet, providing many nutrients they would not otherwise obtain from their sparse diet.

  I hunted a dozen or so times and accompanied hunters on additional trips as merely an observer. I was able to take down a deer with bow and arrow. The bow had become my default, go-to weapon of choice, though I became deadly with any instrument. Sling and even just throwing a rock lacked the element of surprise. They would hear me winding up to release, and vanish. I hadn't expected that. I practiced my technique, whirling the sling from behind a tree, and stepping out to release. After several tries, I bagged a buck with the sling. Not easy, they were unexpectedly quick. Bow and arrow were much more practical. The spear was effective, and in my hands, bare-arm rock throwing was also deadly.

  Other game had their quirks as well. Wild pigs were suckers for the sling if you were brave enough to stand your ground. If an angry sow is charging you, a miss could all too easily be fatal. If they were running away, they were easy pickings, as long as you were quick. The training was valuable, but I never learned to like it. I seriously contemplated turning vegetarian after that.

  After endless months of fierce training and endless practice fine-tuning my skills, I sensed we were running out of new skills to learn, and reaching the point where continued honing of my existing skills was yielding diminishing returns.

  We had plateaued in our training for some time now. I say “we” and “our” advisedly, because while Petchy had started as my mentor, he and I were much more equal now. He was training just as hard as I. I had become stronger, faster and more capable by every measure, but despite being a lot older than I, he comported himself adroitly. He still refused to give his age, but continually hinted it was more than I would believe. A few wrinkles and a balding pate belie a powerful man.

  Then one morning after my stud duty, I approached the training area and realized we were not alone. Someone was with Petch. I don't mean one of the fur-people was present. Female, tall, lean, muscular, buxom with a flaming mop of waist length crimson hair and of course, nude.

  HER!

  I dropped my bow. And tripped over it!

  Milady

  I picked myself up and continued to stroll into the training field, struggling to seem nonchalant. She had been sitting on a rock with Petch, apparently deep in conversation. If she noticed my nerdy clumsiness, she was polite enough not to mention it, although I imagined I saw her shoulders shake with mirth.

  As I approached, they swiveled to face me. Petch waved me to join them. “My boy, the third member of our jolly band, our leader, has arrived. I believe you may have met briefly once before. I want to introduce you formally to our leader. Fitz, this is Athena. Milady, meet Fitz.”

  Unsure how I should greet her, I stood tall and bowed, nearly falling as my tilt light blinked. She stood and reached out a hand as if to shake. I took her hand gently, leaned precariously forward almost as if to kiss it, but then gave a slight squeeze, a tilt of my head and simply said, “Pleased to meet you, Athena.”

  Somehow the name seemed to fit.

  “Call me Teena. Petch tells me you have done well here.” A deep, sensual contralto with a faint accent, just as I had imagined. Yes, I think she was the masked doctor in that long ago exam room. Or a sister perhaps, difficult to be certain. She did not seem like a 'Teena.' A Teena should be petite, shy, retiring.

  But then I once worked with a giant bear of a man who was known as 'Tiny,' and of course, there is the stooge-immortal Curly with his shaved head. Nicknames have always fascinated me. Commonly, nicknames may be a diminutive of the person's given name; Teena is undoubtedly a diminutive of Athena.

  Nicknames may also describe a characteristic of a person; a chubby person might be called 'Fatty' for example. Or instead of accurately describing some characteristic of a person, the nickname describes the opposite of some particular characteristic, so often that the term ironic nickname was coined to describe the usage. Calling this heroic goddess 'Teena' is most definitely an ironic nickname.

  I did not process the psychology of her name at the moment, however. I was too busy inhaling the fragrance, the presence of the spectacular example of human physicality, trying to retain my composure and not melt down into a stammering, slobbering nerd.

  That damn tilt light was still blinking.

  Fighting for inner calm, I nodded. “I like to think so, but perhaps I lack objectivity. Petchy has pushed me beyond my utmost expectations.”

  “You will be pleased to learn your training's end approaches. Unfortunately, the end of training means we soon embark on a treacherous journey, travel far, infiltrate an impregnable stronghold and defeat a terrible enemy. I have high hopes for our success, but the danger is great.”

  “I would like to ask some questions, if I may. I understand his reasons, I think, but Petch has mostly kept me in the dark.”

  She smiled, and the sun brightened. My calm retreated. The tilt light was now on solid. I think if I had not just come from my morning duty, I might have done much more than smile back. Even so, I felt a stir I dare not acknowledge. I wondered where she stood with regards to social taboos. Somehow she didn't seem to be the type who would be easily intimidated or insulted by a gallant salute. Scratch the 'easily.' She looked much more like the type to do the intimidating.

  Struggling to remain in control, I tried to guess her age. Petch had once hinted she was older than he. Well, he had said he would likely be killed if he revealed her true age, and he considered her something of an old hag. Hyperbole sure, I suppose. She didn't seem the least bit hag-like. Focusing purely on her face, she first seemed perhaps seventeen.

  Letting my gaze descend, I upped the ante by about a decade. Mature, no hint of stretching or sagging. Never suckled. Could not possibly be more than twenty-five, I concluded. A seasoned, well-endowed twenty-five. Twenty-five, well trained, and with access to the same augmentative veggies I had been consuming, or so I imagined. I realized with a sudden start that we were quite alike in build and musculature in many ways, though it wore better on her. She could almost pass for my sister! I was bigger and stronger, especially in the shoulders and biceps, but not by much. She was no delicate flower, rather a well-endowed, well muscled Amazon warrior, equal or nearly so, to my newly developed physicality.

  We took our seats on the convenient rocks as she continued, “You are welcome to ask any question you wish, and I
will try to answer fully and truthfully. Before you do, however, let me clarify something you haven't asked.

  “Petch has kept you relatively ignorant for excellent reasons. Knowledge can be dangerous. More dangerous than you suspect. Dangerous to yourself, as well as to us. We needed to know beyond doubt that you would meet the requirements for the job at hand, and if we chose not to use you, we wanted to be able to return you to Earth with as little detailed knowledge and as little impact as possible.”

  I nodded. “I surmised as much. Petch has been very evasive whenever I have asked questions, and miserly with information.”

  She went on. “Until now we could safely return you to your old life on Earth without much risk. True you could, of course, tell others of your off-world experiences, but no one would believe you. You have massive gaps in knowledge and little with which to support the tale. Your stories would be thought pure science fiction from a fertile imagination, or perhaps less charitably, the lunatic ravings of a madman!

  “That changes now. Today is a day of decision, both for you and us. This moment is the point of no return.

  “You either go home, and we start over with a new candidate, or you fully commit to the mission and get the answers you seek.

  “It's time to chose between the red or the blue pill.

  “Unless you tell me now that you want to go home, that you are unwilling to continue, then you are thoroughly committed. Once we commence the mission, we set in motion forces that no one can stop. If you do not give your utmost effort, your complete commitment from this point forward, you will, we all will surely die a horrible death, and so will many others along with us. Commit, or bail right now. Are you in?”

  I pondered the question. I decided another way to put it was, am I a hero, or am I a boob? If I am a boob, I go back home, to forever remain ignorant despite being consumed with curiosity, desperate to know the motivations behind this mysterious quest. Not only do I intentionally decide to be a boob, but I would also be choosing to remain ignorant, to go back to battling a tight job market for a decent job in my field, to go back to my sleeping room, and leave the fate of humanity in the hands of, who? The second best candidate?

  Before I could answer, she continued speaking. “If you choose not to go forward with us, you will be paid well for your time and efforts. We will not send you back to earth penniless and destitute. You are a professional, recruited for your professional skills. We have taken months of your life, great quantities of your seed and asked you to work prodigiously. We will reward you accordingly. You will go back with payment for your time commensurate with your efforts and risks, enough to be able to resume your old life in relative security.”

  That sounded somewhat better. Money helps, but money is seldom my primary motivation. Of course, I expect commensurate pay for my work. Any competent professional does! When I take a job, I do so because I am passionate about the task. However essential the money may be, I am far more concerned with the passion. I suppose that's one reason I am not wealthy.

  Money was not a factor, I concluded. If I quit now, I would still be a boob. “If I choose to return to Earth and accept the money, what happens to the quest?”

  “You are not our sole candidate. You have scored the most highly in our evaluation and come the farthest anyone ever has. That is why you are here at this juncture. If you choose not to continue, we will start over, do it all again with the next candidate. We also lose a lot of time, and our chances of success diminish, but we will still give our all.”

  “I see,” I responded. “From what I understand, from what little Petch has shared, this quest is supremely important, and chances of success are poor enough as it is. So let's not go with second best. I require one oath from you. If you can look me squarely in the eye and honestly tell me I am the best hope humanity has, then I'm in.”

  I was shocked when with a slightly squealing “Yes!” she jumped up and threw her arms around me in an enthusiastic bear hug! Better make that 'bare hug,' smothering me with her endowments. I embarrassed myself with an unintended physiological response!

  After a few moments, she unwrapped herself, straightened her tresses, and sat back down. Whether being prodded by my sudden rising was a factor or not I don't know; she ignored it. I tried to do likewise although with difficulty. On reflection, I presumed, for her, such prodding was probably not an uncommon experience; she does manifest an overwhelming presence, a virtually guaranteed woody for any man with a pulse. I think if she asked a man to cut off his own head, he would hesitate only to ask to borrow a knife.

  Again solemn, she said, “Ask away then, we will tell you all you want to know.”

  Taking a deep breath, and trying to slow my pulse, and otherwise reign in my physiology, I said, “I hardly know where to start. How did we get here from Earth, where are we relative to Earth, what is the nature of the enemy we face. There is so much. Please, start at the beginning and tell me your story.”

  Portals

  She began, “As you know, we are not from Earth. Our home, our entire civilization was destroyed by more-or-less the same factors plaguing this world and to a lesser degree, yours. Except in our case, it was much more direct, a much more frontal assault. Our planet was at the epicenter of the disaster that endangers humanity. This world is scarcely on enemy radar. Extension of the threat into other worlds was less dramatic but still devastating.

  “The origin of the threat is not a natural one. I am ashamed to admit that we are, unintentionally, guilty of unleashing this plague upon the universe.

  “Before I explain the source of the plague though, let me digress and cover some more general background, things you must understand to grasp the larger problem. Some of your physicists are beginning to play with new ideas in physics and a construct called 'Hyper-dimensional Physics' is gaining a slight amount of credibility. Unfortunately, it is thus far out of the mainstream and those giving it any attention find themselves mocked, and their careers destroyed. But it will ultimately provide many answers, though that may be decades into the future. You know, of course, the general concept behind the Einstein-Rosen bridge, or as it is popularly known, a wormhole.“

  I nodded.

  “You have doubtless heard it said that that the Universe is 'alive' in some metaphorical sense.”

  I nodded again, wondering where this was going.

  She continued, “What you do not know is that although they have some of the underlying physics slightly wrong as yet, such portals as are imagined are not only possible but occur naturally. All human-inhabited worlds are linked by these portals, naturally occurring gateways that allow humans, animals, and even plants to pass between worlds. Life as-we-know-it has spread throughout the universe via these pathways. Creating such a portal using the energies at man's disposal is seriously challenging. I will stop short of saying impossible, but the ability to do so lies very far in the future for even the most advanced human civilization. The cosmos however routinely plays with naked energy on a scale far beyond that of humanity. We cannot make such portals on demand, but we can make use of the ones that the universe freely grants us, and even influence them a little.

  “The Universe is alive, in a manner of thought, and life has unique properties that function in association with the Universe. The natural flow of energy and space-time is tightly intertwined with life itself. Life is sacred, not just in a metaphysical sense but holy to the very Universe itself.

  “It is unclear which is the original home-world of humans. Countless civilizations have risen and fallen. Humanity has existed for many millions of years. Civilizations rise and fall endlessly. Entire worlds have gone barren and then become repopulated by 'leakage' from other worlds. 'Adam and Eve' style origin stories have occurred countless times when a few people cross through a portal and survive in some hitherto unknown and unpopulated world. Sometimes it happens that an 'Adam and Eve' from a more advanced world intrude on a planet that already has a human population but which is not nearly as
sophisticated, the more advanced humans displacing the prior.

  “Our universe as we know it is nearly 15 billion years old. Humans have existed somewhere in our cosmos for a significant percentage of that time. How much, or where they began we don't know, but humans have been around for millions of years, not just the paltry few thousand Earth science recognizes. In fact, we are not even confident that humans originated in the Universe we know, there are fringe ideas that the human genome may have come from an entirely different Universe, leaked via a portal as surely as we travel from world to world. Our understanding of portal physics does not constrain them only to our universe. These ideas allow for the possibility that human life, at least in some form, predates the Universe itself.

  “Portals come and go on natural cycles. Some pop up for five minutes once every thousand years. Some are almost constant, almost perfectly stable. Hyper-dimensional Physics gives us the tools to detect them, and model them and to predict where and when they will appear. My people have been studying and mapping them for a great long time now.”

  I said, “That's how we got here then. Through a portal?”

  She nodded, “Earth has many such portals. Some worlds have many, some very few, but all inhabited planets as far as we know have at least one. Traveling from world to world requires careful timing, not only knowing which worlds have which portals but when they are open. There are also some tricks to passing through a portal. Many portals are delicate, sensitive things, popping like a soap bubble on the slightest of stresses, while others are much more robust. For example, most portals only permit life to pass, beings enclosed within a strong aura of life-energy.