329 Years Awake

by Ellie Maloney

  “Mr. Akiyama, we requested medical records from all passengers and the crew. We know that you were diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor.”

  “I was.”

  “We know that there were two other persons on board with the same condition. We cannot guarantee you, but chances are, that you are in a remission.”

  Speechless, Akiyama stared at the bureaucrat for some time before breaking into tears. Tears of confusion, hope, fear, but mostly of extreme exhaustion. The prospect of the ordeal to be over destroyed all the bravery Akiyama had worked so hard at keeping up.

  “Alright. I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign. But tell me what happened out there. And don’t insult my intelligence by the ‘unusual weather patterns’.”

  “That is exactly what happened, Mr. Akiyama. That is all you need to know.”

  ***

  Ichiro Akiyama never flew again. His brain scan indeed confirmed an unprecedented remission. Akiyama’s doctor kept pressing for information as to where he had received such effective radiation treatment, but Akiyama only laughed it off. His luck did not last forever. In two years, the tumor returned to the active phase, and his time on Earth came to an end. Akiyama did not leave much behind, but a newborn boy. This boy also grew up and began to fly, only not like his father, but in his dreams. In those dreams, he would spread his hands, run off the cliff, and instead of smashing to the ground, he’d soar in the sky like an eagle, resting his weightless body on the currents of Japanese winds.

  MAY 29, 1917.

  BOSTON, MASSACHUSSETS

  To an Irish-American family, a child was born. A baby of great destiny, great talents, and great faults. A baby that one day would lead the United States to the Moon. A baby who would overcome great physical challenges and become a war hero. A baby whose fate was decided by a combination of obscure genes. Later, this DNA sequence would be classified by the human scientists as dead-end, redundant, muted; in other words, the kind that does nothing for humans.

  This assessment could not have been further from the truth. In fact, the whole Unkari civilization was petrified by this gene sequence because of its hidden potential to give rise to a powerful ability - oscillation. There was a major problem with this gene bundle: it was paired with a number of fatal illnesses and conditions. Among them was an adrenal insufficiency that caused immune system failure. Such adrenal insufficiency syndrome plagued John F. Kennedy from birth. In other cases, the gene bundle led to lethal brain tumors, the kind that eventually killed John’s brother Ted. Initially, the oscillation genes presented a death sentence, but throughout the course of humanity, Unkari achieved more resilient human carriers that lived long enough to procreate and in some occasions to pass the genes to the offspring.

  Slowly, these gene-carrying humans evolved to turn muted oscillation genes into functional ones, the kind of evolution they had no idea about, but the kind that was closely monitored by the aliens from their obscured research labs all over the Earth. Humans became developing functionality of the genes. But the more a human subject utilized the gene potential, the faster the health hazards increased, eventually resulting in the subject’s death.

  ***

  A few weeks prior to John F. Kennedy’s remarkable birth, in a remote Portuguese village known as Fatima, three children were tending to their sheep when they saw an apparition in the sky. Enveloped in light, a small woman was hovering in mid-air. Her lips were not moving, but her hands floated in the air, persuasively gesticulating: “Lucia, Francisco, Jacinta, my children, the Lord God sent me to give you a message…” sounded Mother Mary with her lips tightly sealed. “You need to pass this message to your community.”

  EARLY MAY OF 1917.

  THE UNKARI RESEARCH FACILITY, ATLANTIC OCEAN

  Earlier that month, Argon Katu, Ennuturat’s counterpart on the Oscillation Project, held a sub-space video conference with the Home Office on Lenauri. Cozied up in his reclined chair, he sipped something of a consistency and color of unset green apple jello. On the other side of the feed, in the Sagittarius Dwarf galaxy, a panel of five Unkari politicians and two xeno-biologists expected an emergency update. Back home, the Project Super Human Supervisory Committee was alarmed at the rate of mortality in the populations with the oscillation gene sequence. “Master Argon, with all due respect, you’ve been at this project for so long, why can’t you make any progress?” rattled one of the politicians.

  Argon sighed. These conferences were way too frequent for his taste. It irritated him beyond measure when these bureaucrats did not bother reading the reports beyond the summary page, and took his valuable time with these conferences. Plus, they must understand that he is not solely in charge of the project. Every time he and Ennuturat swapped the shifts, there was significant down-time, shift in project’s directions, and all the reports that had to be written to the Katu government bureaucrats; reports they clearly did not bother reading.

  “Pretor Inkishi, do you have a spare month?”

  “Mm for what, Master Argon?”

  “For my explanation! You are asking a question that has been occupying the researchers across all branches of science, and you want it boiled down to a sound bite.”

  Pretor visibly backed off. “I did not want to insult you in any way, but you realize that this project diverts resources from our main goal.”

  “The search for a new home is important, indeed, but if we do not understand how these species are connected to the universe, we are missing the chance to uncover the biggest mystery of all time. I cannot believe I have to go over this again.”

  “Master Argon, I recall you once wanted nothing to do with the humans other than blast them out of existence.”

  “True. But I somewhat changed my mind. The late Honorable Immirtau, may the universe turn his ashes to stars, he had a point. By no means do I believe that by eliminating these species we will reduce the universe to a non-dimensional existence, but you cannot possibly overlook their ability to reset reality. Dare I say, someday their ability may be harnessed for our benefit. Say, if we are ever under attack from a race that actually rivals us, we could use them to change the outcome of the battles. We would be invincible!”

  “Or they will somehow ‘reset’ us,” jumped in another politician who Argon did not know and could only identify by the congressional insignia. “Can you guarantee that somewhere on that planet of yours, someone won’t start oscillating without your knowledge?”

  “You politicians are a breed of your own, aren’t you?” said Argon feeling his nerves unravelling. “I bet you make up ten bogus theories before breakfast. Look, they cannot oscillate. Period. Their brain is largely inactive, and they are only capable of basic mathematics and reasoning. Oscillation is like a piece of software that you install on a hardware that is generations older. The only way you can store this program is in a compressed, inactive state. Even the slightest attempt at accessing this oscillation ability would be lethal.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, so far we have identified several problems. First, the brain starts requiring a lot more oxygen, thus drawing a lot more blood. Autopsy suggests aneurysms to be a prime cause of death. It happens too fast to control. Evolutionarily, they have learned to suppress the ability. However, a number of other things can kill a human who attempts oscillation. Let’s say, an adrenaline overdose. Or hypertension associated with increased heart rate. In other words, their physical bodies and especially their brains are not ready for oscillation.”

  “Any ideas why their body requires additional resources to process oscillation?”

  “Several, as a matter of fact. But mostly it has to do with the fact that the brain starts growing special cells that are, we assume, responsible for successful oscillation. But so far these cells have no time to grow. A human subject dies well before it. In the future, we suspect these cells will form a new region in their brain, and by the time this h
appens, the rest of their body will evolve as well.”

  “So what is your primary strategy?”

  “Our primary goal is that the subjects with the gene sequence live long enough to procreate and to pass the gene to the next generation.”

  “Easier said than done…” said one of the xeno-biologists, deep in thought. “Master Argon, there must be some environmental factors that help the species to evolve…”

  “Indeed, there are several that we know of,” agreed Argon. “They call one of them a prayer or meditation, based on the cultural tradition of that particular population. Basically, human species instinctively pray when in distress. It serves as a chemical regulator in the body. It lowers their heart rate and adrenaline secretion, and produces certain hormones that actually support growth of the oscillation brain cells. We are not exactly sure what happens, but in short, prayer and meditation eases the negative impact of oscillation on the human body.”

  “This is perhaps why we observe higher rates of oscillation genes among religious communities!“ exclaimed the xeno-biologist.

  “Yes, this is it. But these communities also demonstrate serious health concerns, and we are working on measures to treat them on a large scale, without the need for abduction. This is precisely why we requested permission to use radiation therapy from air to treat entire communities at once. This is a very efficient…”

  “Master Argon!” interrupted Pretor Inkishi, who was leading a fringe group of the Unkari politicians who advocated humane treatment for the research subjects. “Wait a moment, Master Argon, isn’t it dangerous to expose healthy humans to radiation treatment?”

  “Well… Technically speaking…”

  “Didn’t you write a report on how this type of treatment causes various cancers among the healthy subjects…?”

  “Well… Yes, I did. But statistically speaking, for the project’s purposes, they are the dead end of the evolution. For all I care they may just all drop dead at once because they only contaminate the research sample.”

  “Master Argon!” exclaimed outraged Inkishi. “I cannot believe what I am hearing! If I didn’t know your excellent academic record, I’d bring you before the ethics board. They are sentient beings!”

  “They are nothing but worms, Pretor! A biological mass of protein molecules diluted in water and stuffed into body bags. They are our research subjects, and I am treating them as such!”

  The meeting seemed to come to a halt. An awkward pause settled in, and Argon looked outside the force field that separated the great Atlantic Ocean from the lab. Outside, the ocean floor glowed green as the lights around the lab’s perimeter illuminated sand, rocks, and a school of small fish. One way or another, he needed to continue the work, so he was the first one to break the silence.

  “Apologies, Pretor. I guess the hardships of this post wear on me. Look, there must be a solution. I don’t want to lose the most promising sample in Fatima due to this cancer epidemic. The gene carriers are humans too, and using your logic, we must give them a chance as well.”

  Pretor sprayed a puff of lilac powder from the orifice of his tentacle as he motioned it in a conciliatory gesture. “You have a point there, Master Argon. What’s the population of that sample?”

  “About 100,000 humans, give or take. Thirty eight percent of them carry varying combinations of the gene. This is the highest concentration of the oscillation gene anywhere in the world, and their habit of praying is keeping them alive longer so they pass the gene to the next generation at the highest rate.”

  “Can’t you somehow isolate the affected population and selectively treat them?”

  “And how am I suppose to do that? Post a message in the local newspaper?” snarled Argon.

  “Wait a minute!” exclaimed a second xeno-biologist, who until that moment remained silent. “I’ve been reading the reports of anthropologists on human mythology. There are many myths about supernatural beings healing faithful humans.”

  “Oh yeah, most of them have to do with us,” shrieked Argon.

  “True, but you can use their beliefs to have the sick people to come forward.”

  “You want me to run a theatre over there?”

  “Perhaps…”

  “Do you even realize that not all patients affected with brain cancer even experience any symptoms?”

  “Indeed…” agreed the xeno-biologist. “But you can inspect them closer when they all gather in one place. We can create software that would target each sick individual with a focused radiation beam. You can do it if you are close enough and the population is not moving, say if they were gathered somewhere in the open space and listening to a holographic projection of their deity.”

  “You do want me to run a theatre there. You got to be kidding me.”

  “We can send you a few anthropologists to help you with the script and a few technicians to develop a focused radiation beam,” suggested a hopeful Pretor. Argon realized that the Pretor was on board with the idea. Arguing was pointless.

  “Oh black hole on your heads! What can I say. Theater it is!”

  YEAR 1942, FEBRUARY 25.

  CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA.

  OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE (ONI) HEADQUARTERS

  Fred Irving Jr. rushed into the mess hall. At the furthest end of the hall was sitting his buddy John reading a thick volume. He barely kept up with flipping the pages, frequently licking his finger.

  “John! Here you are, buddy!” yelled Fred as soon as he entered the mess hall.

  “I…!” John raised his hand without breaking his reading concentration. “What’s so urgent?”

  Fred walked to John’s table and stood there for a moment, transfixed, watching his friend ferociously flip pages.

  “I swear, John, some days I think it is your practical joke of sorts. How can you read like that?”

  “I can read just fine. Unless I am interrupted, jackass.”

  Fred grinned.

  “John, we are summoned to the meeting room. Judging from the fuss about it, it’s pretty major.”

  “When?”

  “At 1100 hours.”

  John finally looked away from the book and at the white analogue display on the wall. “That’s in nine minutes! Why didn’t you say so right away?” John immediately hurried out of the mess hall across the campus, leaving his buddy lagging behind. To make it on time, they had to run a good sprinting speed for five minutes straight. When they dropped in the war room, it was packed with local staff. Among the newcomers were two Generals with the Pentagon insignia. The Generals looked exhausted, as if they had sprinted to Charleston all the way from DC. The one with a yellow manila folder with a ‘classified eyes only’ seal roared at John and Fred:

  “Take your seats, ladies!”

  “Yes sir! Apologies sir!” saluted John, and Fred followed suit.

  “This country is at war, Ensign. The enemy gives two shits about your apologies.”

  John and Fred looked at each other: must be the Japanese again. The General with the classified folder continued. “Now that we are all assembled, shall we discuss the matter of national security?” The room was quiet. John could hear blood humming in his ears. “Yesterday, at 1900 hours, the US experienced an unprecedented breach of air space. Up to twelve unidentified aircraft entered Californian air space from the Pacific Ocean and headed to several strategic defence facilities, including the Douglass Aircraft Factory. The movement of these intruders was picked by numerous USAF Bases and radars on the jets raised in the air according to the yellow alert. The enemy exhibited unprecedented skill and aptitude of movement, from hovering completely still to immediately accelerating to speeds over 200 miles per hour. Over the course of the incident, the enemy did not discharge any ammunition. However, the nature of the attack forced the US Air Force to order fire at the targets. Between 3:16 and 4:14 am, the ground troops di
scharged 1400 anti-aircraft surface to air shells while the city was on a total blackout.” The General paused and observed the audience. The entire ONI subcommand division tightly jammed into the meeting room was making no sound.

  “It was a bloody 4th of July show out there, boys. We are still gathering the evidence but there were several civilian casualties caught in the friendly fire. The enemy, however, was unharmed. Around 4 am, the enemy moved out from downtown Los Angeles, where the main battle took place, and proceeded to the Pacific shore. There, about 50 miles into the ocean, we lost track of them.”

  John’s mind was spinning miles ahead of the General’s briefing, going over numerous strategy combinations to counteract this stealthy enemy. But how could the Air Force lose track of such a massive amount of enemy aircraft? It made no sense. Of course, the rest of the event made little sense as well. Since the small insurgence by the Japanese submarine at the oil refineries on the Californian coast a day ago, the military was on high alert, expecting another attack was imminent. But this highly technological air attack was not what anyone could expect. All the intelligence pointed that the Japanese forces did not have the capacity for an attack by air, and certainly not the kind to cause the USAF to order a complete blackout of Los Angeles, and firing for an hour straight, to the detriment of civilians caught by shell debris. And all of that caused no apparent damage to the enemy craft?

  Secondly, why did the enemy not return fire? What was the goal of the operation? Perhaps to test the U.S. readiness for the war? Plausible. But without firing a single shot? Japanese were known for their suicide missions, but from the way it looked, the enemy did not suffer any harm. It hadn’t been a suicide mission. This was a mission devised by a cold and calculated enemy. The kind of enemy that was in no hurry, merely toying with the U.S. Air Force, pushing their buttons to see when they would flinch. And by all means, they flinched. Several civilian casualties at the hands of its own military was no small wrinkle on the fabric of public trust and confidence. But losing track of the enemy craft as they leisurely removed themselves from local airspace? That was unheard of.