by Jerry Ahern
What would equate to 500,000 years ago in Earth time, the survivors gathered together for one last meeting of minds. They agreed they would have to create instruments for their own survival or the quest for knowledge would exterminate them. Mechanical bridges for communications were established, vessels were now necessary because physical appliances were needed for the discovery and investigation of other species and they were no longer physically equipped to defend themselves. Additionally, some species were so primitive and different they could not be probed by mental powers, the data received was garbled and unintelligible.
Once free to explore everywhere and anywhere, they reversed direction and developed what humans would later define as Unidentified Flying Objects. Their symbol was also modified, Infinity, for them had been turned on its edge and a sword was added to always remind travelers of the danger of exploring the intellect of others. They also began referring to themselves by a name; something that had not occurred in millennia. An unintended result of their return to dependency on physical tools and self-identification was the return of specific emotions; the first was self-preservation. Physically impotent, they learned to draft others for their personal defense and eventually their aggression. They were now known, collectively and individually as The Coalition.
Now, in addition to their quest for knowledge they were forced on a quest for resources and now saw certain planets that had such resources as essential for their own survival. Those planets with the most available resources required however, were found to be inhabited. To effectively obtain those resources, often a weaker, less intellectual race was simply exterminated; the planet mined and discarded.
Unfortunately, Rourke would remain in the dark about this information for some time.
Chapter Twelve
The first reports were coming in from the scrolls the archaeological team and the Rourke’s had retrieved just before the attack at the wreck site. Several of the amphorae had leaked and their contents had been lost to the sea water but several had remained intact. Many of them, those in recognizable languages were being translated already. Several others were in languages no one recognized and had been scanned into computers that were attempting to decipher their messages.
Most intriguing was that several of the scrolls were not papyrus or animal skin rolls, they were metal. The type of metal had not been discerned but the scrolls were being given a chemical analysis using Gas Chromatography—Mass Spectrometry or GC-MS. GC-MS combines the features of gas-liquid chromatography and mass spectrometry to identify different substances within a test sample.
GC-MS, developed in the later part of the 20th Century before the Night of the War, is routinely used for drug detection, fire investigation, environmental analysis, explosives investigation, and identification of unknown samples. Considered the “gold standard” for forensic substance identification, GC-MS performs what is referred to as a specific test. One source identified that “A specific test positively identifies the actual presence of a particular substance in a given sample. A non-specific test merely indicates that a substance falls into a category of substances. Although a non-specific test could statistically suggest the identity of the substance, this could lead to false positive identification.”
Rourke was sitting in the Mid-Wake Scientific Research Facility laboratory straddling a chair, resting his coffee cup on the chair back waiting for that analysis. He knew that popular speculation has always held that the Library of Alexandria contained the accumulated knowledge of Earth’s past, scientific and medical discoveries that were lost forever, perhaps the records of the Lost Continent of Atlantis and other storied ancient civilizations, if they ever even existed. The scrolls discovered in the wine and olive oil jars could detail an intriguing tale of early human history; or nothing of value at all.
That was particularly true of the papyrus scrolls; they could be religious text, scientific theories or shipping records. All had been found before. It was the currently unidentified metal sheets that intrigued him most. First of all, what were they made of; secondly why would someone go to the trouble of engraving metal sheets when papyrus and specially prepared animal skins were available.
He had seen the reports from the first scientific reports. They had classified the Element Classification as a transition metal, density (g/cc): 4.54, melting point (K): 1660 +/- 10°C, boiling point (K): 3287°C and the appearance: a shiny, dark-gray metal. Rourke had a theory, but his theory did not make sense. Of course, he smirked to himself, none of this made any sense. Not yet, he had to wait for the GC-MS.
The machine continued to click and whir then stopped; the enunciator sounded—the printer kicked in. He ripped the first page from the printer, it said the material had an electron configuration of [Ar] 4s2 3d2. The material was dimorphic with the hexagonal a form slowly changing to the cubic b form around 880°C and it noted the metal would combine with oxygen at red heat temperatures and with chlorine at 550°C. “I knew it, I was right,” he exclaimed and rushed out of the lab dialing Michael’s number. “I was right. Get everyone together; I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”
John Rourke had always somehow suspected, mankind had risen and fallen at least once before the Night of the War and possibly several times. He had suspected that eons ago, humanity had reached scientific and technological achievements equal to or far greater than his world had. Now he had something to hang that theory on. By the time he made it home, the others had already gathered. He kissed Emma, Natalia and Annie, shaking hands with Michael and Paul.
“Okay, I have a theory and a piece of very interesting data that could support that theory. I believe that at sometime in humanity’s distant past, I’m talking forty, maybe fifty thousand years ago, mankind had attained a level of scientific and technological achievement greater than anything known on Earth before or since.”
Michael said, “I have heard theories of prior civilizations that were advanced. History is packed with such theories and our legends have spoken of such things. Dad, what is the interesting data you spoke of that could support this notion?”
Rourke held up his hand with the piece of printer paper. “This report states, and is confirmed by GS-MS analysis, that the unknown metal sheets recovered from amphorae raised from the wreck which sank in the Mediterranean Sea at or near the time Julius Caesar accidently burned the Library of Alexandria back in 48 BC, are in fact made of a material not known by modern man until it was discovered in 1791 by the Reverend William Gregor, an English pastor. And not produced in pure form until Matthew A. Hunter an American metallurgist did so in 1910. Folks those sheets are made of titanium.”
“I believe a race of our ancient ancestors stood on the verge of exploring the stars. I don’t know if it was because of natural curiosity or the need to explore or a pending set of natural catastrophes they wished to avoid, or maybe they were just bored. I think a fleet of spacecraft was assembled in near-Earth orbit, surrounding a massive space station—which, in the intervening millennia, suffered orbital decay and burned in the atmosphere, pieces of it occasionally turning up in deep dug mines over the course of time, as mysteriously perfect spheres of unknown metal.”
“That race had calculated then—as it has also been calculated in the present day—that, by travelling at ninety percent of the speed of light, such a fleet could explore a great deal of the Milky Way Galaxy and return to Earth in one hundred twenty years of ship’s time, within the life spans of some of the members of the fleet. Yet, some forty thousand years would pass on Earth.”
“The space fleet departed for the stars, whole families among the ships’ companies. Humankind’s lifespan was considerably greater then, more like that of figures in The Bible. A child of five years old might well live through the entire voyage and return to Earth to live on for several more decades and recount tales of distant stars and the planets surrounding them. Men and women of the ships’ companies would age and die, children would be born, become adults, the fleet a microcosm of the great
civilization left behind.”
Michael stood and started pacing, “Dad, you are making a heck of a jump from the burning of the Library at Alexandria backward in time to forty or fifty thousand years ago back to the twentieth century and then forward to today.”
“Look Michael,” Rourke injected, “less than seventy years after titanium was produced in its pure form, man jumped into space. Titanium was being used to make replacement joints for men and women. Titanium by itself was directly responsible for more technological developments than any other metal except steel. Who knows how long the ancients had it, what we do know is they had it. What could they have been capable of?”
Michael turned and faced his father, “So what, people have theorized for centuries about lost civilizations, some have been found, most have not. Look at Atlantis for crying out loud, was it in the Mediterranean, was it is the Atlantic Ocean, was it off the Biminis, was it in Antarctica? No one knows, no one will probably ever know. Who cares? Look I told you what the President and Vice-President shared with Natalia and me. I am in the political race of my life, for the presidency for crying out loud.”
“I told you, the Progressives are getting ready to examine every shred of my life, our lives. They are going to attack me and Natalia with every lie and half true that bunch of bottom-feeders can uncover or just invent. Now, you my own father have located clones from the Eden Project, tied that to an alien UFO from before the Night of the War. Now, you’re talking about what, Atlantis?”
“I don’t have time for this, I’m trying to get elected so I can make a difference and maybe, just maybe keep the Progressives from destroying this country like they did the last time. Their abject lies, distortions, half-truths and no-truths at all are what crippled America the last time. Now, they are poised to do it all again. And you’re talking about a society that might or might now have lived 50,000 years ago. You are giving my enemies the ammunition that could destroy my bid to be President. I don’t have time for this; I don’t want any part of it. I would appreciate it very much if you would keep your theories and hunches to yourself, at least until after the election. Natalia, come on. We’re leaving.” And with that, they did.
Chapter Thirteen
The Presidential Campaign was in full swing. The first televised debate was tomorrow and Michael had been pouring over charts, polls, think-tanks extrapolations and the materials the current President (who was a lame duck and could not run again) and his Vice-President had been funneling to him. He had been briefed on foreign policy, domestic policy, economics, military relations, labor relations, business relations and everything else everybody else believed to be important. He had not spoken with his father since he had pulled Natalia to her feet and walked out of John Rourke’s home. Michael felt prepared and pretty confident to meet Phillip Greene and share the podium with him during the moderated debate.
At five P.M. the next day he had arrived at the venue, the Mid-Wake Coliseum and Convention Center. After passing through four layers of security, he and Natalia were in the dressing room getting make-up applied for the television cameras. “I feel like a dork,” Michael said. “Make-up is not going to make me any prettier.”
Natalia laughed, “You’re right my husband, you are already gorgeous.” Michael threw a tissue at her. When the time came they were escorted to a waiting position just off stage. They were to enter from stage right, Greene and his wife from stage left and meet in the middle for handshakes from the candidates and greetings between their spouses. This was to be the first time they had actually met, even though there had been constant sparring between them in sound bites and press coverage.
The stage manager gave them the “go” signal and Michael in a dark suit, white shirt and red, white and blue tie escorted Natalia to center stage. She was in a simple, though elegant black suit with a string of pearls accenting her neck. Greene was also in a dark suit, but his tie was power-red; his wife in an overstated outfit that did nothing for her figure. After the greetings, which were cordial, the candidates retired to their podiums and the spouses off stage.
After the moderator made introductions and set the rules for the debate it began and for the first ten minutes or so, actually went rather well. Michael was growing confident.
Then it was Greene’s turn to ask Michael a question. “Mr. Rourke, can you explain why the citizens of this great country should elect a known killer to this, our highest elected office?”
Michael stared, “Excuse me?”
“Is it not true that you murdered a man at the age of six? Is it not true that you killed repeatedly as an adolescent and that you, yourself cannot total up the number of lives you have taken?”
“I have never murdered anyone. Have I killed? Yes in defense of my life, my family and my loved ones and in defense of the God-given rights ensured to every man and woman.”
Greene pressed, “So, you claim you were on a mission from God, himself. Tell me Mr. Rourke exactly how and how often does God, himself speak to you? Is it not also true you share a belief with certain delusionals, a belief that has never had a single piece of evidence presented in its support?”
Michael was incredulous, “What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“Calling on God again for help and guidance, are we Mr. Rourke? In this age of knowledge, wisdom and technology, is it not true that you believe in...” Pausing for impact, Greene looked at the cameras and audience before saying, with a smirk, “UFOs?”
Greene with the bombastic fervor of an old time Southern preacher from before the war, closed in for the kill, “Is it not true that throughout the Rourke’s family saga, of which we have all heard so much about, the truth is you were a juvenile delinquent with a killing streak that coveted the woman your father was having an affair with. The woman who shared his supposed journey to reunite with his wife. Yes Ladies and Gentlemen, John Rourke was still married at that time. This woman, a Russian KGB agent, who was responsible in no small part for the destruction of your old world and the restrictions we all now live under. The woman that now shares your own bed, a fulfillment of an adolescent incestuous fantasy. Is that not true, Mr. Rourke?”
At that instant, Michael Rourke realized his bid for the Presidency was over; it was truly a dead issue at this point. Nothing he said would change the outcome of the election. He looked once at Natalia, the color drained from her face, shame written in tear lines down her cheeks. Michael smiled at her and nodded. Michael stepped down of the short dais on which the podium stood.
The dais had been constructed for both candidates so that during a wide camera angle, the two appeared more closely the same height, Greene significantly more “chunky” and shorter than the more athletic Michael. Michael then turned, walked over to the other podium, stood for what seemed a long time looking at Greene and then knocked the Progressive Party’s candidate on his ass, complete with a broken nose and several missing teeth. Then he collected his wife and left the venue.
Greene, who in addition to being knocked down had also been knocked out was revived and through blood and broken teeth declined to press charges. He had gotten just what he was after; the election was in his back pocket. He did wish his face hadn’t been messed up, but he would “milk” his battle scars all the way to the ballot box.
Two weeks later Phillip Greene would still be getting used to his new upper plate. The dentist had told him that until the hair-line fracture, caused by Michael Rourke’s fist had healed, his “permanent replacement dental appliances,” namely six fake teeth should not be implanted.
Michael and Natalia were sitting on the patio, a bottle of wine between them but no glasses. Neither had spoken for the better part of an hour. They had finally unplugged the telephone, which had rung insistently since they had arrived home. Michael held her hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth across her palm. He heard a rattle at the gate and rose ready to send some reporter on his way, John Thomas Rourke said softly, “Hello, the house.”
Michael sm
iled and said, “Hello yourself. Come on in Dad.”
John opened the latch and stuck a bottle of bourbon in first, “I do come bringing gifts.”
“Thank God, all we had was this bottle of cheap wine. I’ll get the glasses.”
Rourke, followed by Emma and Paula walked through the gate. Emma hovered over Natalia, “Are you alright?”
“Yes, actually I am.”
Rourke walked up and kissed her on the forehead, “I’m sorry Natalia. That was inexcusable, not to mention nothing but a pack of damned lies.”
“John, you know, I know, Sarah knows and Michael certainly knows better and I pray Paul and Annie do.”
“We do,” Paul and Annie said as they came through the still open gate. “Hey,” Paul said with mock anger. “Who called this family meeting and didn’t tell us about it?”
Michael had heard their arrival and had a tray with more glasses. “Hey guys, y’all here for the funeral?”
Rourke spoke up, “Who died?”
Michael said with a crooked smile, “My candidacy, that’s who.”
“Hope you don’t mind Son, thought you might like to have some family around. I can leave if you would be more comfortable.”
“You try and I’ll shoot you myself, remember I’m a killer. Seriously Dad, I’m glad you guys are here, I mean that.”
Paula popped in, “Damn, Uncle Michael, that’s a pretty good right you have there. We were watching when you nailed Mr. Greene. It was so cool, blood went everywhere and I swear I saw three teeth go flying. And the look on his face, priceless...”