329 Years Awake
Copyright 2016 Ellie Maloney
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
All characters, places and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Published by Jalapeno Publishing
PO Box A, College Park, MD, U.S. 20740
www.JalapenoPublishing.com
ISBN (paperback) 978-0-9983614-1-3
ISBN (e-book) 978-0-9983614-2-0
Illustrations by:
Ellie Maloney, Akiko Okabe, Leandro Correa
Design elements:
www.Pixabay.com
Front and back cover design:
www.RockingBookCovers.com
Photography:
Viktor Bondar
Ebook interior layout:
Misha Gericke
Acknowledgements
Writing a book perhaps is a solitary experience, but from the conception of the idea to the product on the shelf - it takes numerous generous souls who volunteer their time and inspire a writer to take the story one step further. I have a long list of thanks to the people who I both know personally and whose minds and ideas I experienced via their work.
To Brittany Micka-Foos and Andrew Reeves, for brilliant editing and beta-reading. God knows what you’ve been through reading my first drafts!
To my parents, who spared no expense on my education. I hope this book, if nothing else, stands as a justification of that investment.
To Rujanee Mahakanjana, Viola Van de Sandt, Sandy and Dom McCarthy, Rosemary A. Johns, Javier Alvarez, Buck Detroit, Bradley K. Bleckwehl, and others for beta-reading the novel. Your feedback was invaluable.
To Akiko Okabe, for helping me make sense of some Japanese context, spot-on suggestions, and for fantastic illustrations.
To Dr. Roger Penrose, Dr. Leonard Susskind and Dr. Michie Kaku, for inspiring numerous science ideas. Namely, Dr. Penrose inspired the idea of oscillation - the fictional ability of humans to change reality through consciousness.
To Laverne Cox and other transgender women and men on screen, in the military, in sports, and everywhere, for showing us how to fight for rights with dignity.
Finally, to all my readers, for giving this book a chance. I am forever thankful to every one of you. You make my efforts worthwhile.
Thank you, my dearest ones. You make this world a better place.
Sincerely yours,
E.M.
...It was a bloody ballet in a cold war theater...
1
TSUNAMI
YEAR 2275.
MONROVIA, LIBERIA
Have you ever had a recurring dream? Mine is always about a tsunami.
In my dream, everything feels real: I taste the iodine-soaked salty spray, I smell the seaweed-reeking air, I hear the thundering wall of death, and feel earthquake tremors gyrate the ground. Many people cannot run in their dream, as if weighed down by gravity, but I can, and as best I can explain, I reset reality. Viscerally, my life hangs on a thin thread, a thread stretching through my consciousness… and I need to pull that thread to reboot the dream once death washes over me, as my consciousness begins to fade.
Fade in.
Sometimes, I stand on a cliff looking down at the washed-out beach. The wind whips my face, soaking me with the ocean mist as the clouds turn ominously black. Behind, for as long as I can see, lies a solid bush - twigs and branches so thick, I cannot escape. Ahead is the cliff and the approaching tsunami.
Am I scared?
Fear is not the right word. It’s rather like I am solving a puzzle. Remember your middle-school exams? The white analogue clock above the green chalkboard with the thinnest arrow nervously running circles? Remember blood pounding in your head and your heightened awareness to any shuffling or whispering in the room? Add to that, it is math class and you suck at math, but you have that lingering sense that the lazy son of a bitch you are, you need to work harder, apply 110 percent of your brainpower, and you may just figure out how to solve this seemingly impossible math problem.
Feverishly you scribble long lines of basic math equations trying to derive new mathematical solutions, bypassing those pesky fractals that you never grasped. Your brain racing like a feral animal in a maze. Your instincts are sharpened by evolution: live, breed, die, repeat. In these dreams, I am this desperate student inventing a new theorem to compensate for the lack of knowledge; or that feral animal digging is way out through the maze wall and beating the system – whichever analogy works best for you.
This is how I feel about beating the tsunami.
Every time the wave approaches, I strategize how to escape: can’t run through the bush and can’t jump off the cliff either; the only remaining solution is to hold on to something and let the wave wash over me.
First attempt:
The wave comes and I hold my breath. It’s not bad at first, deceptively calming, the way I probably felt in my mother’s womb. But oxygen quickly depletes and I suffocate, because the water does not subside soon enough.
Second attempt:
I try the same scenario again. I grab the thorny hickory twigs struggling to disassociate from the pain in my palms. I teach my brain to disregard the thorns pricking the skin and drawing blood. I hear the wave behind me, so close that at any second I will be submerged. I strive to calm my breathing and ration the oxygen in my lungs. This time the wave was not weakened by the impact from the hill, and I receive the full-force blow of water - as hard as a concrete wall - flying at me at the speed of a race car. I black out.
Suddenly something changes: I realize that I am dreaming. Instead of waking myself, a strange sense of calm washes over me, and I continue running different tsunami sequences with full awareness and a lot more efficiency.
Third attempt:
This time, tsunami catches me at a beach-side restaurant. It’s a one-story building with its foundation slightly above the sea level. I try running out of the restaurant, but barely make it to the exit when the wave smashes through the panoramic glass windows throwing shards of glass, furniture, and metal railing. The restaurant fills with water immediately, and I am caught in a whirlpool of people, furniture and debris, until my head is smashed against the wall.
Fourth attempt:
The same restaurant overlooking the ocean. The monstrosity of a wall emerges from the horizon. I run through the screaming sticky mess of bodies trampling each other like a herd of gazelles escaping a predator. Running towards the exit, I am knocked off my feet by a sharp metal rod that pierces my body like a hot knife through a stick of butter. The restaurant around me fades out.
Fade out.
Come to think of it, the restaurant in my dreams looks a lot like this one.
***
Anglers was owned by the same Liberian family for over 300 years. Back in the 21st century, Liberia was a poverty-ridden country, with a handful of rich people who either came from Lebanon and ran all the prospering businesses in the country, or locals who made their riches on corrupt government schemes, often related to blood diamonds. Anglers was acquired by a young Liberian, who returned home after earning his business degree in Europe, and who saved enough cash to challenge the owner to a game of billiards. The Lebanese owner did not know that Abu spent five years in Germany working in a famous
bar that held billiards tournaments. He made friends with some of the most famous European players, who gave him free - and often unsolicited - lessons. During the afterhours, Abu practiced his game and became quite good at it. In fact, he was so good, that in his last year he even qualified to enter the championship.
Abu didn’t win it; that would be unrealistic given the amount of talent that flocked there every year from around the world. But Abu’s skill was good enough to win him Anglers.
***
“These days, people rarely bother thinking how things were before the Big Ice,” Otis Solarin mumbled apologetically, pulling the chair for his lovely date as they entered Anglers restaurant, “but chronology is hard-wired into my brain. After all, I am a historian; it’s like an occupational hazard to me. Whenever I am attempting to understand something, I go back in history looking for the linchpin moment, like in case of finding the reason for these damn tsunami dreams.”
Over the last 300 years or so, Anglers went from a marginally profitable fish-and-chips joint in one of the poorest countries in the world to a five-star restaurant, located in the hotbed of human civilization; at least the planet-side part of it. In the 2190s, the effects of global warming were so drastic that the politicians implemented a daring, but half-baked project - chemical cooling of the planet, which resulted in a DIY Ice Age. The ice descended from the poles and stretched toward the equator, easing between the zones of Tropical Cancer and Capricorn - the only stretch of Earth where the ground was not covered with meters of ice.
By 2275, humanity became a broad generalization. Most humans inhabited six orbital stations and a few austere colonies in space. By the roll of the dice, Liberia, and West Africa in general, became prime real estate as a source of romantic attachment of the humans to the cradle of their civilization. The world order was flipped like an hourglass. Thus began the era of the Big Ice.
The natives of the surviving climate zone were lucky, as they were presented with a choice: to stay on Earth or to move to crammed quarters on one of the orbital stations. Space-side living was not for the meek, and no amount of flashy advertisement could convince Africaners otherwise. In a sense, the planet-side folks were blessed to have nightmares about tsunamis. The spacers’ nightmares always associated with boiling in the vacuum.
***
Yenplu (pronounced Nyene-Plu) dug the fork in her vegan fattoush salad, watching the waves through the panoramic windows of the Anglers restaurant. Ny, as her friends called her, was from the native-to-Liberia Bassa people, but the name was not traditional to Bassa. The name meant a “white woman,” and back in the day it was supposed to imply “a very beautiful woman”. Nobody is immune from parents’ ignorance. When Ny’s parents picked this name, they implied it more or less literally, because of her light complexion. Ny wrestled with accepting her name all her life, feeling mixed up about the original connotation. She couldn’t resign to the echo of archaic - and oppressive - beauty standards implied in her name. Finally, she insisted to be called Ny, secretly implying it as the short form of ‘deny’.
Otis and Ny took the table next to the window with the ocean waves splashing against black smooth rocks just a few meters away. A trip to Anglers was a rare treat, as they had to book it a month in advance. That day they felt even luckier because the ocean was stormy, and they both loved to watch the waves roll in. The magic of the force of nature was calming and completely surreal. Otis was watching the waves with an extra edge, searching the horizon for the signs of an approaching tsunami. He knew that when the tsunami is far enough, you cannot distinguish it from the horizon. And when you actually notice it, it’s entirely too late. Otis knew that his tsunami phobia was irrational. The entire Liberian coast was equipped with tsunami sensors, and yet, to him these recurring dreams were as visceral as a paper cut.
The rain grew stronger. It was the rainy season, and the name was everything it promised to be. Neither of the old friends were bothered by the rain; it was merely a romantic force of nature.
Ny pulled the blanket from the back of the chair over her shoulders and reluctantly peeled her gaze from the waves.
...But we don’t have tsunamis here, in West Africa,” she said.
“Not recently. Since these dreams kept coming back, I looked it up. Apparently, there was one 73,000 years ago. The scientists say that tsunami made any tsunami in human history pale in comparison. It was caused by an eruption of an ocean volcano, that obliterated the Cape Verde Island…”
“Is that so? Maybe you have genetic memory about it. You know, the collective unconscious that Jung loved to talk about.”
“Jung had brilliant intuition, and he cared a great deal about dreams. I’d like to get his take on mine.” Otis smiled.
The wind sharply changed its direction and threw fine rain mist through the open window. The waiter hurried to close it, to the regret of the budding lovebirds who found it bonding to be present in the face of nature. Although there was zero danger associated with this rain, their genetic memory stirred the survival instinct: adrenaline coursed their bloodstream, drawing blush to their cheeks and warmth to cold fingers. Together with a glass of Merlot, it created a cozy magic around the two.
Ny and Otis were in their forties, with university tenures, paid-off mortgages, no children, and each with a sizable retirement account. By 2275, life was theirs for the taking and they were soaking up every drop.
Meanwhile the waiter delivered Otis’ order. They placed their orders a month ago, together with the table reservation, so Ny had no idea what her partner was getting. It was a cod fillet with a side of cassava fries, sautéed chard and garlic, with bright lemon wedges on the rim.
“Is that a real fish? Are you insane?” Ny whispered as if being pulled into one of Agatha Christie’s murder mysteries.
“Oh come on, it’s not like it’s a beef steak!” said Otis with a layer of exaggerated confidence. He himself felt as if he were committing a small murder, if there was such a thing as a small murder, but the temptation was too great.
“Oh Otis, do you have to be so gross? When was the last time you saw anyone eating a steak?” Otis frowned, mimicking intense thinking, and laughed.
“Come on, dear. We’re at Anglers, a 300-year-old seafood restaurant! And it’s not like eating animal food is illegal…”
“It’s not illegal, but you know how I feel about it. Not to mention, it’s so expensive.”
It was expensive alright. Otis could order five vegan fish fillets for the same amount of money. It was easy for Ny to judge him. A third-generation vegan, she had no idea what a real fish tasted like. He, on the other hand, remembered fishing with his dad on the boat off the coast of Sierra Leone as a boy. Back then, he was a fisherman’s son, not a professor of space history in the liberal university, where eating animal products was socially frowned upon.
“Maybe it’s my carnivorous genetic memory percolating today!” Otis tried to make light of it.
“Nice try.”
“Speaking of genetic memories, back to what you said earlier, that I was accessing my collective unconscious memory about this tsunami. Let’s say I take it seriously for a moment. Homo Sapiens species first appeared in Africa about 200,000 years ago. You may be onto something, Ny. I mean, I may be accessing the collective unconscious memory of the tsunami survivors from 73,000 years ago. Wouldn’t that be something!”
“Maybe, maybe… We just scratched the surface of quantum consciousness theories. The results of the latest experiments are mind-blowing.”
“On the other hand, maybe I am simply training my brain for something in my sleep... For example, I am trying to deal with mid-life crisis or mortality…”
“I don’t think you can apply mid-life crisis to yourself just yet, my dear, not after what we did this morning! Yeah...but the rest of it makes sense. When you are asleep, your brain is free from running your body and can reroute its efforts t
o something else. Whether your brain is trying to process your genetic memories or to deal with mortality, it would make perfect sense to do it in your sleep…”
Otis considered for a second how esoteric their lunchtime conversation had turned and smiled. Professors of all generations are a bit prone to philosophic banter, he thought. He also thought that tonight it was time to make his next move. With those thoughts, Otis lightly brushed his hand against an item in his pocket—a black velvet box with exactly one carat of Ny’s happiness.
73000 YEARS AGO.
LENAURI, THE UNKARI HOME PLANET
Ennuturat and Hundigar were ready to skip. They took their seats at the two-person transporter, bringing the systems online and plotting the course. The transporter was positioned at the edge of a deep crater. The perimeter of the crater was equipped with the state-of-the-art wormhole technology. Planet Earth was their destination. It was used by the Unkari as a lab for the most elaborate biological research they had ever undertaken.
The Unkari originated from an ancient galaxy in the process of being cannibalized by a larger, younger one. Living in such a volatile world, they were running out of time. Within several generations, their galaxy would be entirely swallowed by this gigantic monstrosity with a raging black hole in the middle. Their home world, Lenauri, would likely not survive. Although the disaster was several generations away, the sense of urgency was upon every Unkari, and each one of them did their share to find a solution. Numerous Unkari teams were scouting the universe in search of a new habitat.
It was because of this lingering disaster that Ennuturat’s research team had stumbled on a new species that made many Unkari religiously scared. Those creatures could form mental networks and reset reality to the moment of their choosing. They did not manipulate time, as it would appear at first. It was the basic fabric of space-time, down to the sub-atomic level, where everything percolated in a primordial ocean of possibilities - quantum superposition - that they somehow altered. These creatures could lock onto any possibility of their choosing, their consciousness serving as the ultimate observer. The creatures called this mysterious ability to anchor the universe to a four-dimensional reality an oscillation.
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