Descendant

by Jeffrey A. Levin

  Zeke reflects. “I know it seems like a dream, but it is not. I want you to know that our little journey together is but a tiny interlude in the course of history. Michael, you’re young, and I don’t want to overload your circuits.”

  “You mean freak me out!” I say somewhat frantically.

  Ezekial nods. “Yes. Remember, Michael: every physical entity in the universe can be reduced to energy and vibrations.” A long silence ensues. “And I’m responsible for destroying that?”

  CHAPTER 16

  July 5, 2378

  1:13:32 p.m.

  Ezekial motions to me as we exit the spaceship. We walk toward his house like two ghosts having a séance party. I don’t know how a planet can smell like rotten eggs, but Gaspra smells like a lingering fart.

  “It’s the molecules,” Zeke utters, sounding a little defensive of his hometown.

  “So the molecules are having sort of a fart party?”

  “Keep it up,” Zeke says, whiffing the foul air.

  “Any mediums on this place?” I quip.

  Zeke ignores me. Instead he whispers something into one of his gadgetlike remotes. “Gaspra is considered to be a planetoid. Actually it’s a way station, just not a primitive one. The smell is coming from something else in space.”

  Zeke continues his mental surveillance of his place. Just as we start tiptoeing through his abode, I hear a really loud noise. Zeke’s floating cave shakes like a house being sucked up by a tornado. Three sonic booms crack the sky, exploding like firecrackers on a fourth of July afternoon. The entire sky appears like a kaleidoscope, shooting different colors into the air.

  “What’s going on, Zeke?” I shriek.

  Zeke stares out the window, shooting some sort of chemical into the air. “It’s just a meteorite explosion.” He pats me on the back. “Happens all the time. Sometimes meteorites are just under too much stress. The air burst shock wave can be powerful enough to send a small planet off its axis. Don’t worry; I’ve got this.”

  Sure enough, the crashing booms stop. Zeke wipes the perspiration off his forehead. “So what’s the smell really coming from?”

  Zeke sniffs at the air. “Metallic ionization is what materializes from molecule stress,” Zeke says, smiling. “Molecules are people too, you know.”

  We both laugh. Zeke pats me on the back and takes a deep breath. “I’ll give you the ten-cent tour, if you don’t mind. We’re on the top floor, Michael. My cave house goes down as opposed to up, as you will see. It has seven stories, to be exact. Careful! Hold on to the railings. No gravity—remember?

  “This is an acoustical room that echoes all the way up to the first floor. Each of the frequencies per floor level is different, but they can be altered based on sound and voice recognition. Did you know that sounds can be reinvented or that sound can have its origins in alien technology? Here are some of the channel variations that I need when I’m monitoring my end of the universe.”

  Zeke points to a technological control system. I call this puppy Gen.

  “Why Gen?”

  “Stands for gravitational wave, electron-positive annihilation, near-Earth asteroid. I’ve received pointers from Tesla.” He somberly points to the labels on his receiver.

  “What in the world is this stuff?” I inquire, staring at the labels:

  Alien Robot Noise 07 (152 types)

  Alarm Beeping—Toy Snug (don’t ask)

  Submarine Sonar Beeping (1,115 types)

  Pulse Drone Dark and Pulse Drone Light (3,156,064 types)

  Dream Landscapes (645,322 types)

  Dark Drones—Mystical (74,113,422,033) types,

  Scary Impact (167,055,333 types)

  Departures—UFO Ghostly Effects (653,453,169,226,673 types).

  “Hey Zeke, what is a UFO ghostly effect?”

  Zeke reaches over and adjusts some of the controls. “Try not to touch those,” he states, scolding me like a child.

  “What in the holy hell!” I exclaim.

  Zeke smiles. “They’re all finely tuned instruments… no time to explain. They’re as useful to me as your porn portal is to you.” Zeke stabs me in the ribs with his elbow.

  Zeke continues his tour. “The speakers are placed in, let’s just say, unique places. Floor six is fully appointed with underfloor acoustics, whereas the top level literally has invisible speakers that are amplified by subatomic particles called electropromagnetic vibrationos.”

  I nod. Zeke shoots a quick glance outside, staring at another meteor shower passing by overhead. “Don’t worry; the Allen Belt will save us. It’s all controlled by voice recognition, Michael. Actually, if you’re trained, mental commands work as well.” Zeke pats me on the back. “I know you think that nothing can be more advanced than 2378 Earth technology.”

  I shake my head. “Apparently not,” I whisper.

  Zeke hands me a diminutive remote. “Anything and everything you want to do can be controlled by you, such as voice recognition, and unique options like the circular air couch’s subatomic particle options, which offer diverse levels of softness to hardness, depending upon one’s mood.

  “Watch this,” Zeke says assuredly. “Place the bluish-white-trimmed couch at a fifteen-degree angle, three feet in the air, supporting my friend Michael Eisenstein in a horizontal position.”

  “Whoa!” My body is now suspended three feet in the air; I’m floating flat on my back. I see the most glorious, brilliant red sun, like, ever! She’s blinking right at me, staring at me like I’m her next suitor. Celestial chamber music oscillates throughout the area.

  “It’s called fluid-inspired technology,” Zeke states.

  I witness shooting stars angling and blinking throughout the pitch-black sky.

  “I hope you’re comfortable!” Zeke shouts out.

  I nod as I watch a saucer-shaped spaceship morph into a luminescent yellow light. “Are you going to sleep?” I inquire.

  Zeke yawns. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow, Michael. We’re traveling to Copernicus’s place! After our visit, we’re flying a bit longer until we reach our destination—Mick’s Wormhole.”

  “Why Mick’s?”

  “It’s just an acronym, Michael. It has to do with matter, inertia, conception, and kinetic energy.”

  Zeke shows me my new lair, which contains an elevated freestanding… well, I’m going to call it an invisible bed. The bed levitates three feet upward and then spreads out like a billowy cloud. I’m lying suspended with nothing to hold me up.

  “I call it force field technology. A blanket of subatomic particles will wrap around you like soft angels beckoning to your every need. And yes, if you wake up in the middle of the night, subtle blue flickering hues will capture your essence, sending you back into a wonderful, peaceful sleep.”

  “You sound like a mattress salesman!” I quip.

  Zeke nods. “It’s been a long day. I need my time traveler sleep if I’m going to be any good tomorrow.”

  “Happy z’s,” I say as I climb into my elevated invisible bed. I observe a few UFOs taking off and dissolving into bright lights.

  Guys, did you really think that Michael Eisenstein was going to go to sleep?

  I tiptoe into the adjacent room only to find out that Zeke is already horizontal and already singing a chorus of z’s. I mean, the vibrations that this guy’s singing are wild, wooly, and, of course, warped!

  “Dang, I’m living in a fourth-dimensional world as I speak!” I say out loud.

  Anyway, I leave my designated area, head upstairs, and walk stealthily toward Zeke’s control area. I place my hands on the crystalline walls, directly by the hanging stairs. I tiptoe down the small geomagnetic stairs.

  “In case you’re interested, I feel like a gorilla walking on a tightrope.”

  Thank God I can still hear Zeke singing z’s. A fourth dimension is l
ike a combination of space and time into one well-packed transparent snow globe. Technically it’s like stacking 3D worlds on top of one another over and over again. Then something strange happens, and suddenly you’re in 4D!

  All right, I’m walking down the hall headed to the—well, it must be like a family room. There are no real walls; basically I can walk right through them.

  Damn, what a view… Hard to believe! To my right, I see what’s left of the blue planet; it sort of looks like a tiny pinch of salt. But to my right, I see a bluish-pink nebula blinking like the eye of G_d! However, there’s one exception; I don’t know what’s blocking this glorious view on the south end, but it appears to be black, kind of like a black eye in space.

  And can you believe it? Zeke’s got a file of microchips. It’s marked “Confidential.” Okay, let me review this in my head. Zeke has a file of SMTs—silicon microcircuit transputers. I’m thumbing through them now. “My God! It goes back nearly two thousand years!”

  The file is going to include at least one of my ancestors. There it is—Abraham Eisenstein. Abraham was a military operative, just like my dad. And the White House was blown up because why? Okay, so Ezekial is attempting to counsel my grandfather to not use force and explore other less violent methods.

  I’m fingering through some more files—very confidential ones. What do I see? A file labeled “Michael Eisenstein—Top Secret.” I’m not sure what to do.

  CHAPTER 17

  July 5, 2378

  1:13:29 p.m.

  I hate it when I don’t wake up gradually. What about you? Instead I find myself already strapped in a blood red space suit.

  C’mon, what the hell is Zeke thinking? Maybe he’s contemplating that it’s symbolic. If he is, I don’t appreciate the sentiment one bit.

  I just about jolt out of my seat belt. Actually, it isn’t a seat belt; it’s just another invisible proton force holding me in place.

  Zeke flashes his famous pearlies. “I wanted to get an early start. You understand. How did you sleep?”

  “Like a zombie!” I reply.

  “The last time I looked, you were snooping around my place,” Zeke says, appearing slightly perturbed.

  My entire body goes on red alert.

  “Listen, Michael, if you ever want to know something, all you have to do is ask; shouldn’t we be playing on the same team?”

  Playing on the same team? This guy’s a two-thousand-year-old specter living on an asteroid in a fourth-dimensional world. I’m not even out of high school.

  “That’s one mutha of a sun” were the only words I could actually summon.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Where to? I’m groggier than Socrates after a hangover.”

  “Actually, Michael, Socrates could handle his liquor. It’s you I’d be worried about.”

  “Look over there!” Zeke exclaims, pointing over to the east.

  All I can see is a giant molecular cloud that looks like a vacuous, cloudy ghost.

  “No, not there. There!”

  “Wow.” The nebula, looking like a great eye in the sky, is changing colors like a huge chameleon in the firmament.

  “Why do they call it the luminous blister?”

  “M-42 is just an incredible wonder,” Zeke expounds. “I think it’s because of its gossamer tendrils striking everywhere, creating sort of a sore in space. She’s also called the Great Orion Nebular (Messier 42). She’s fiery and outrageous, extending her luminous clouds of gas everywhere—just gorgeous!”

  “It looks like a huge sphinx.”

  “It does, Michael; sometimes I think of her like a foreign spy, ready to swallow our little spaceship, crushing it into a million pieces.”

  “Tell me, Zeke; what do time travelers do? I mean other than kidnap little kids and force them to go on insane missions across the galaxy?”

  Suddenly I feel a strong surge as Zeke slams the pedal to the metal, reaching speeds that seem to be impossible. For a moment, I think maybe my question really pissed him off.

  Zeke laughs out loud. “Your inner thoughts are hysterical, if not frantically irrational.”

  What just happened?

  “Every once in a while nature likes to show the rest of us who’s the boss!”

  “Okay, I get that! But what in the mutha jumpin’ inferno did I just see?”

  Zeke glares at his controls, studying the frantic numbers shooting onto his dash.

  “You know what happens when you split an atom, don’t you?”

  I take a deep breath. “Yeah, you blow up a bunch of stuff!”

  “Well, Michael, use your head; what happens when you split an atom, creating twins. You know—a nuclear sandwich!”

  “So you’re testing me, huh?”

  “No, Michael; it’s more like a fission cluster.”

  “So that mutha just sent us a real time message?”

  “This isn’t good.” Zeke says. “There are lot of powerful winds coming from the land masses below.”

  “What land masses?”

  “Actually, there’s a lot more to the Orion Nebula than just the constellation. There are many asteroids and other tiny planets that can ultimately cause a lot of turbulence for our small craft.”

  “Great” I say, trying to tighten my subatomic seat belt.

  “You see, the Orion Nebula consists of many younger stars—stars that will someday evolve into medium-sized or perhaps even larger planets.”

  “The cradle of civilization,” I whisper.

  “Yes, and there’s a lot of life down there—much more than you know.”

  Then, from out of nowhere, I see what appears to be sort of a sext message scrawled right on the sash (space rocket dash): “Love you… are you all right? How’s your friend Michael doing?”

  “Just a friend of mine,” Zeke utters casually.

  “Like who?”

  “It’s a big world out there, Michael, and believe it or not, I’m not exactly dead—at least not yet.”

  Zeke takes a fast right-hand turn. “Just wanted to avoid the glare coming from the ultraviolet light off in the distance.”

  Zeke starts gulping stored oxygen. “The trapezium’s harsh rays can be dangerous. Do you see that array of colors spread across the sky?”

  “So who’s your squeeze?”

  “Long story,” Zeke replies.

  “And she even knows about me?”

  “She’s my soul mate, Michael. She knows everything about me—and now you.”

  “Okay man, fess up! Who is she, and where is she?”

  “I don’t think you’d know her even if I explained it to you.”

  “Try me, TT!” I declare.

  “Okay, if you really need to know, she lives in the Rigel galaxy. She’s at a safe distance from Orion’s sword, so she’s okay.”

  Zeke struggles to keep a stoic face.

  “Orion’s sword! Maybe you could tell me the truth! Oh, this is rich.” I shake my head. I’ve never seen such a goofy grin on the face of a man over twenty-seven hundred years old. “You’re whipped!”

  “Okay, she’s my lady. What can I say? She lives on a planet that is much like Earth, except there are no psychos, just peace-loving, artistic, beautiful people, and she’s one of them!”

  Silence.

  Then I erupt. “Well, can I meet her?”

  “Not now! We’re halfway between a 235U and 236U explosion, and you want to meet my girlfriend?”

  “So you’re not going to land on her planet?”

  Zeke guffaws. “You’ve got that right, soldier.” He places his hand on the Newtonian rocket propellant throttle, launching our craft into hyperspace. He watches me shoot back from the force, and then I incredulously begin floating in the back of the spaceship like a kid astronaut geek on a dirt bike.

&n
bsp; “How long are we going to be traveling?” I ask. “I thought this rig could bust through the speed of light?”

  Ezekial strokes his beard. “You know, you’re right; this is taking too long. My beard needs trimming.”

  “My father has to be going through cardiac arrest,” I say as I attempt a backflip in the zero-gravity space capsule.

  “Your father doesn’t even know you’re gone yet; take it easy. Look! Over there! Our friend Copernicus lives right there!”

  “You mean we aren’t forever stuck in dark, forbidden, unexplored space?”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Michael. Actually, this area is known as XDF. It is a dot in space comprising what is called the constellation of Fornax.”

  Ezekial glances at his dashboard. “Welcome!” appears on it.

  “Copernicus sends hologram messages? Isn’t that kinda like God tweeting?”

  Ezekial lowers the nose of his space rocket. “It’s time to descend.”

  The TT presses down on the hovering mechanism as we both peer at the dwarfish planet beneath us.

  “So would you say that Copernicus has modified this planet?” I ask.

  “Yes!” Zeke replies, steadily lowering our craft. “The entire dwarf planet has been terraformed. Its topography, plant life, cloud seeding, and temperature have been altered to suit Nicolaus’s needs.

  “Its atmosphere seems incredibly similar to our own.”

  Zeke nods in agreement. “You’re staring at the southern circumpolar skies, and the tiny dwarfish planet you’re looking at is called Alpha Crux. It is considered to be a B1 star and is about three hundred seventy light-years from Earth, give or take a few.”

  “Ya know, I’m nervous. I mean, isn’t Copernicus the rock star of all scientists?”

  “Coppy is a regular guy once you get to know him.” He points. “Over there is Beta Crux, which is a BO star. It is about four hundred ninety light-years away from Earth and is more than fifty-eight hundred times more luminous than the sun. It has an eleventh magnitude. It is what’s considered to be a magnitude companion to Beta Crux.”