by David Harp
Chapter 23
The ORION Institute
The enormous concrete gate must have weighed several tons, but it seemed to float on air. It swung open to reveal a well-dressed man standing on a smooth polished roadway.
He had a pencil thin mustache, jet black hair and appeared to be in his mid-fifties, but had the posture of a much younger man. His face lit up with a big smile when he saw Haley. She threw her arms around him and they embraced.
Matt and Brian watched nervously. Chris was also beginning to wonder what was happening. “Who are you?” he asked.
“I am Claude Gautier, Director of the Institute and Haley’s cousin.”
“We’re cousins?” Haley asked. “That’s wonderful!”
“Distant cousins but yes, I’m told we’re related.”
Haley’s expression radiated with joy.
“Then I have a million questions,” she said.
“We will have plenty of time for that later,” Claude replied. “First things first. I want to show off the institute. We don’t get many visitors.”
He was standing next to a modest vehicle which looked similar to the trams seen at amusement parks, but there was one major difference. There were no wheels! Dan bent over and looked underneath. Nothing was touching the ground.
“What’s holding this thing up?” he asked.
“A simple diamagnetic gravity vortex,” Claude answered in a matter of fact tone. “People have been using anti-gravity since well before the Egyptian Pyramids.”
“Not in my neighborhood,” Dan mumbled.
“Climb aboard and we’ll get started.” Claude took Haley’s hand and guided her onto the front seat next to him. The others scrambled onto the remaining seats.
As soon as the vehicle began to move, a force began pressing against them like a foam cushion. It was claustrophobic; Haley was having difficulty breathing and began to panic. Claude immediately stopped the vehicle.
“Please forgive me. I forgot to describe the inertia dampening system. It’s a safety device like seatbelts, but feels like you’ve fallen into a bowl of pudding. Most people find it pleasant if they stay calm and don’t try to make sudden moves, but even breathing can be difficult if you panic. I think you will love it when you get acclimated!”
The boys in the back seats discovered the closer any object came to another, the slower it would move. Before long, they were punching at each other and laughing hysterically. It was impossible to hit anything. Haley turned around with a look of humiliation on her face.
“Please stop,” she begged. Claude turned to her and whispered, “Most of our visitors act a little silly on their first ride; watch this.”
He accelerated to sixty mph in an instant and they felt the strange buoyancy like bouncing on a trampoline. They squealed an uncontrollable “wheeeeeee!” until Claude slowed the vehicle a moment later.
The vegetation along the way was equally impressive: Wisteria, Frangipani, Sweet alyssum, Sweet pea, Four o’clocks, Gardenia, Lilly of the valley, Jasmine, Rose, and many plants even Brian couldn’t identify.
The kaleidoscope of colors was beyond anything they had ever seen, and the fragrance was hypnotic. Everyone was captivated, but Brian was squirming in his seat.
“This is unbelievable!” he said. “How do you get all of these plants to grow so well together? Accounting for the differences in water and light requirements alone should make it impossible.”
“Selective genetic manipulation,” Claude answered. “We have many surprises here. How old would you say I am?”
“I don’t know, I’d guess around fifty five,” Brian answered.
“I am ninety-three.”
Brian looked more closely at Claude and asked, “How stupid do you think I am? That isn’t possible, sixty maybe, but there’s no way you are ninety-three years old.”
“It’s true,” Claude said.
“So I suppose you’re going to tell us your genes have been altered like the plants.” Steve said with a laugh.
Claude began to explain why he appeared so young:
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“No, we can’t manipulate human genes yet, but you’ll be even more blown away by the real reason. When my father died in France in 1926, I was given a journal passed down through eighteen generations. It contained the writings of a little known explorer, Henri Jacques.
He claimed to have visited the New World in 1472. His journal described native people in intricate detail. He wrote, the people here don’t grow old. I have concluded there is something in the water where they bathe.”
My family considered it the ramblings of an imaginative old man. They said the journal was a family heirloom and nothing more, but I believed it was genuine. Henri Jacques came to America twenty years before Columbus and discovered the Fountain of Youth.
I set off to trace his steps in 1928 when I was twenty years old. The journal led me to Florida. I was prepared to give up a year later when I became ill, but a friend mentioned an old newspaper article published in the Sebring American. The piece described a region in intricate detail south of Lake Placid, Florida. It sounded exactly like the terrain Jacques described in his journal.
It was January 1930, the winter tourist season. The only room available was at a grand hotel, the Kenilworth Lodge in Sebring. It turned out to be my good fortune. I met a young man there named Donald Roebling. At first he laughed at me. Then he said I was crazy but after a few drinks together, he told me where to look.
He said, ‘You aren’t the first to come in search of the Fountain of Youth, but more people have gone missing than returned; none found anything worthwhile. It is a dark primeval wilderness full of mosquitos, alligators and poisonous snakes. Locals call the area hajo, the Seminole word for crazy. If you are determined to risk your life, they say it’s a day’s walk west of Venus near Fish Eating Creek. Local Indians consider it sacred, so if the wilderness doesn’t kill you the natives might.’
I still had a bad cough, but drove south to a bridge on county road 731, then paddled one mile up the river in an inflatable raft before continuing on foot. I wandered aimlessly in the jungle for hours before setting up a base-camp under a strange tree. I returned to town briefly for supplies, but spent my nights under that tree. I began to notice improvement in my health within weeks. It felt like I had found the Fountain of Youth, but it wasn’t the fountain.”
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“Then what’s the point of the story?” Brian asked. “How do you stay young?”
Claude stopped the vehicle in front a very old tree. “It isn’t much to look at, but this is the tree I was telling you about,” he said.
They were standing at the base of an immense ancient tree almost barren of leaves, twisted and warped.
“Etz Chayim,” Chris nervously whispered. “Etz Chayim,” Steve echoed. “My god,” Haley gasped. “It looks like the pattern on the medallion.”
Claude was surprised by their response. “What? I know it’s ugly, but it isn’t that bad! I call it the Tree of Life. It’s my own source of youth. This is the only tree of its kind, and we have not been able to clone or reproduce it. It emits a gas which slows nuclear DNA damage by impeding the deterioration of telomeres.”
Claude looked back at Steve, “You know what I’m talking about.”
“I thought that was just a theory,” Steve replied.
“Nope, it is true.” Claude said. “This is where the stories of the Fountain of Youth originated. Except it’s not a fountain, it’s a tree. The early European explorers got it wrong. When they saw the natives swimming in a nearby spring, they mistakenly concluded it was the reason for their youthful appearance, but now we know better.”
He laughed and gestured with his hands. “So everybody, breathe deeply.”
“That’s an amusing story,” Steve responded. “You don’t really expect us to believe it do you?”
“I understand your skepticism
, but we have many wonders to show you. I’ll convince you before the day is over. For example, have you noticed how cool it is? It must be close to triple digits at Archbold right now, but it’s around 72 degrees Fahrenheit here. Why do you think that is?”
Brian spoke up. “The trees here reflect a large amount of heat producing light, and they transpire water through their leaves which provides an additional evaporative cooling effect.”
“Good answer Brian, but that is only part of the solution. The woods outside this compound are every bit as thick, but the ambient temperature is still around 84 degrees Fahrenheit.” Claude stopped the vehicle and led them to a tree with large black leaves covered with white dust.
“This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” Brian said, his voice raised with excitement.
“That’s because it was produced in our laboratory.” Claude grasped a limb and pulled it toward them. “It’s based on ancient technology. Touch a leaf.”
They each felt a leaf and were astounded. It was ice cold. It wasn’t dust on the leaves; it was frost.
“This tree uses a process called thermosynthesis. It is similar to photosynthesis except it absorbs heat rather than light and converts it into chemical energy. Leaves of the tree serve as cooling coils and prevailing winds function as the fan. We call them ‘Nature’s Air Conditioner,’ even though they aren’t natural. There are over one hundred on the property and keep us cool in summer.”
“But do they make it cold here in the winter?” Brian asked.
“No,” Claude answered. “They are deciduous and become dormant when temperatures drop below 50 degrees Fahrenheit.”
From that moment on, Haley and the others felt like kindergartners on a field trip to the Kennedy Space Center, eyes wide open in wonder and anticipation of what would come next.