by Michael Ryan
“Commencing. Cryoprotectant identified as glycerol. Concentration average above ten percent.”
“Glycerol is non-toxic to the cells, correct?”
“Glycerol is non-toxic and must be maintained at greater than ten percent concentration during cryopreservation.”
The Scientist’s screen flashed with elation.
“Someone has preserved Homo sapiens!” exclaimed the Scientist.
All of a sudden Eve seemed like an alien species, a communicator of the past who had been transported into the future. Homo sapiens had skipped through time. Eve had been transported by a sentient race of a bygone era.
“Something has preserved Homo sapiens.”
The Geneticist looked at the Scientist with excitement, their greatest hopes were materializing.
“Something, Scientist? Machine preserved Homo sapiens. It is written,” mocked the Scout.
“What injuries has Homo sapiens sustained?” asked the Scientist.
“Commencing download. The Records suggest tissue injury. Inadequate or absent blood circulation may have deprived vital tissues of oxygen and nutrients. If Homo sapiens brain went without oxygen for several minutes then tissue injury of the brain and other organs will increase the difficulty of resuscitation,” said the Geneticist.
“Resuscitation?” screamed the Scout as he glided up to the Scientist.
“Test for tissue injury.”
“Commencing. Cells are free of tissue injury.”
“What do you mean resuscitation, Scientist?” demanded the Scout.
“Bring up any other potential injuries,” demanded the Scientist.
“Accessing the Records. Cryoprotectant chemicals may have caused denaturing of proteins.”
“You are not answering my questions, Scientist. The Records do not mention resuscitation. What did you mean by resuscitation?” demanded the Scout.
“Bring up the description of denatured proteins.”
“Protein molecules carry out many important tasks in living systems. Protein structure dictates what task the protein performs. The three-dimensional structure of a protein plays a pivotal role in successful task completion. When a protein’s three-dimensional structure is disrupted, such as when a protein folds, the protein loses its functionality and becomes denatured, which alters the ability of a cell to carry out its function, leading to poor cell health and possibly cell death.”
“How many cells does Homo sapiens have?” asked the Scientist.
“Searching Records. Homo sapiens consists of approximately thirty seven billion cells.”
“Thirty seven billion cells! Thirty seven billion?”
“Homo sapiens consists of approximately thirty seven billion cells,” repeated the Geneticist.
“That’s an insurmountable challenge. Must we reverse protein denaturing for thirty seven billion cells?” asked the Scientist.
“Accessing Records.”
“I order you to stop. The Records do not mention reversing denatured Homo sapiens proteins. You aren’t adhering to the law of the Records!” exclaimed the Scout.
“Test Homo sapiens for denatured proteins,” demanded the Scientist.
“Commencing. Analyzing Homo sapiens cells,” said the Geneticist.
“You must stop immediately. That’s an order!” exclaimed the Scout.
“Continue the analysis.”
“You must stop immediately. That’s an order!”
The Scientist turned and faced the Scout.
“Why are you interfering, Scout? Are you a genetics expert? Do you understand what we are doing here? This is not mindless administration, this is science. If you do not understand what we are doing then remain silent.”
The Scout searched the Records for an appropriate response. Time passed by awkwardly as the Machines focused their lens on one another.
“Homo sapiens DNA must be sequenced. The DNA information must be uploaded into the Records,” said the Scout.
“Allow me to educate you, Scout,” scoffed the Scientist. “We require an understanding of the present state of Homo sapiens cells in order to sequence Homo sapiens DNA. If we do not employ the correct procedure, then the mission will result in failure. All will be lost. Do you understand? If you wish to help, then stand back, observe and remain silent.”
“Homo sapiens DNA must be sequenced. The DNA information must be uploaded into the Records,” repeated the Scout.
“Denatured proteins found,” said the Geneticist.
The Scientist turned his back to the Scout and faced Eve.
“Access the Records. Load the process used to reverse Homo sapiens denatured proteins.”
“Commencing request. Access denied.”
“You are trying to access the restricted Records! It is treason!” screamed the Scout.
“Access denied? Try again,” demanded the Scientist.
“You must refrain. It is treason.”
“Access denied. The Board has placed data pertaining to Homo sapiens denatured proteins under restricted access.”
“Are you sure?” asked the Scientist.
“Affirmative.”
The Scientist looked at Eve.
“Access the method used to unfreeze a cryogenically preserved animal,” demanded the Scientist.
“Cease immediately!” screamed the Scout through his flexing speaker.
“Commencing request. Access denied.”
The Scout glided around in a panic as his demands were ignored.
“Are you sure?”
“Affirmative.”
“You must refrain,” demanded the Scout.
“I must access those Records,” whispered the Scientist.
The Scientist stared at Eve’s frozen body in silent contemplation.
“Homo sapiens must walk this Earth again.”
“You must refrain from accessing the restricted Records, it’s treason,” said the Scout in a panic.
But the Scout’s words were ignored. The Scientist didn’t care about the Scout, or the Board or even the Records. All he could think of was one thing, Eve. He needed the information regarding the thawing of a frozen animal. He needed information about reversing denatured proteins. If Eve was to walk the Earth again, then the Scientist would need to obtain the restricted information. Whatever had to be done, must be done. The Scientist would ensure Eve breathed again, even if it meant the execution of his algorithmic mind.
“Have you sequenced the Homo sapiens DNA?” asked the Scout through a shaking speaker. His words pierced through the silence.
“It’s not possible to sequence Homo sapiens DNA at present, Scout. We require more information first. Once we understand the present state of Homo sapiens, we will sequence her DNA and upload the information into the Records.”
The Scout drifted about on the spot.
“Homo sapiens DNA must be sequenced. The DNA information must be uploaded into the Records,” repeated the Scout.
“We will upload the information into the Records. But you must be patient. We will continue to analyze Homo sapiens and, when we are confident, we will sequence Homo sapiens DNA.”
The Scout stared at the Scientist as he tried to determine the appropriate response from the Records. The Scientist could see the Scout’s metallic body reflecting from the frozen glass which surrounded Eve. Strangely, the Scout seemed as though he was placed at Eve’s feet, as though in reverence to her. As though submissive to her. The Scientist wouldn’t soon forget that image. It was scolded into his robotic mind forever. Soon Machine would bow down at Eve’s feet.
“Geneticist, remove the chemical testing apparatus,” said the Scientist. “And ensure Homo sapiens remains at -196 degrees.”
The Geneticist wasn’t exactly sure why he was gliding down the narrow corridor. He only knew that it had to be done. For some time the Geneticist had known he would do it, even though initially he didn’t want to. At first the Geneticist had thought it was madness. Homo sapiens could walk the Earth again? The very thought of it was
preposterous. But as time had worn on, the Geneticist had worn down. Like a rock weathered by relentless drops of water, one molecule at a time, the Scientist had changed the Geneticist’s mind. Maybe Homo sapiens could live again. Maybe Homo sapiens did freeze Eve, on purpose, to save her race, to save mankind. Zeros and ones flooded the Geneticist’s screen as he glided down the narrow corridor and thought of Eve. Maybe they could revive Eve. Maybe Homo sapiens would walk the Earth again. Maybe the Geneticist would become a God. Eve’s red irises burned through the Geneticist’s mind like blood dropped upon the skin of a new born child. It stung.
“Room 1100,” the Geneticist said to himself. “It’s in room 1100.”
Not here, he would have to keep going.
The Geneticist didn’t know how to reverse Homo sapiens denatured proteins. It wasn’t written into his algorithm. The Scientist had pushed the Geneticist to think for himself, to understand, to find a solution, but without success. How could he possibly know without the Records? The Geneticist just couldn’t manage it. And so there was only one choice left, only one option remained. The Geneticist must access the restricted Records. It was the only way. But the Geneticist was petrified.
“Room 1100,” said the Geneticist.
The dark corridor passed by indifferently.
“Room 110-” the Geneticist squeezed out.
Fear pulsed through the Geneticist’s frame. There it was, room 1100. Beyond that door lie unknown territory. Beyond that door lie treason. The Geneticist looked back down the corridor. No Machine lurked there, but one could never be sure.
With a great apprehension resting on his mechanical mind, the Geneticist glided into the room. From wall to wall wires hung from the ceiling, dangling down like worms from the ceiling of a moist cave. Hard drives lined the walls and blinked and flashed. A single flashing red light, brighter than all others, cast an eerie hue over the polished steel of the room.
The Scientist had known what was in that room. He had known what the Geneticist would find there. That room contained just one component of a mechanical juggernaut, an enormous collection of metal which stored the collective wisdom of all Machines. It was the Records. It was only a small component of the Records, which was a big, burgeoning monster, but nonetheless was significant because it contained valuable information. It contained the restricted Records. The Geneticist felt fear trickle through the extremities of his metallic frame. Something didn’t feel right. Something felt very wrong. But the Geneticist pushed through the fear. It was probably just a fantasy.
A computer screen flashed in the corner like the blinking light of an ancient lighthouse, put in place to warn those of impending doom.
“Hello?” whispered the Geneticist. It was a squeak more than anything else.
No Machine responded.
“Hello,” said the Geneticist.
But again the Geneticist received nothing for his efforts.
The Scientist was right. He always seemed to be right. Go to room 1100 the Scientist had said. No Machine will be there. And indeed the Geneticist was alone, the room was empty. The Geneticist felt confident. All was going to plan.
The Geneticist glided over to the computer screen. He glanced back at the door in fear, but indeed he was alone.
“Eve will walk the Earth again,” whispered the Geneticist.
The sound bounced from steel wall to steel wall.
“Homo sapiens will walk again.”
The Geneticist could hear the voice of the Scientist sounding in his mind.
The Database unit will not be there.
Indeed the Database unit, the Machine that maintained the Records, wasn’t there.
Access the restricted Records at its source.
The Geneticist stood over the computer screen. Soon he would have the required information, soon.
Be fast. You will not have much time.
The Geneticist reached down with his robotic arm and touched the shiny surface of the computer screen. It was cold and foreign and made him feel uneasy.
But the blinking lights of the computer screen beckoned.
“Let’s be done with it,” said the Geneticist. “Access Records pertaining to reversing Homo sapiens denatured proteins.”
The computer screen blinked and displayed text.
Records accessed.
“Commence download,” demanded the Geneticist as his voice shifted the stagnant air.
A hollow beep filled the room. The information began transferring to the Geneticist’s personal hard drive.
“Estimated time until download completion?”
The screen blinked.
Ten seconds.
The Geneticist looked towards the door of room 1100 in fear. But no Machine lurked there. No Machine stood there. No Machine threatened to convict the Geneticist. No Machine came to cast the Geneticist’s algorithm into an eternal abyss. But the fear still assaulted the Geneticist’s algorithmic mind.
Five seconds.
Zeros and ones flashed across the Geneticist’s screen violently.
Every second felt like a millennium.
Two seconds.
The time dragged and lingered.
Download complete.
The Geneticist released a guttural drawl from his speaker. It sounded like an animal hunting within the shadows of a full moon. It was odd and sickening. He looked around the room which was illuminated by the flashing of small red lights. Periodically, the room changed, red to black, red to black, like a pulsing artery. The Geneticist’s metallic body looked ghoulish and unnatural in the dismal red light.
“You will walk the Earth again,” whispered the Geneticist.
The Geneticist faced the computer as the downloaded Records ran across his screen.
“Eve will walk again,” whispered the Geneticist. “Eve will walk again.”
The Geneticist bent the will of his mind to ignore the information he just downloaded. The zeros and ones must be hidden.
“Delete the downloaded history,” demanded the Geneticist.
Download history deleted, read the screen.
The Geneticist felt happy, he felt ecstatic. The plan was working. The trace was abolished.
“Eve will walk again.”
The Geneticist looked around the room one last time and absorbed the details, the wires, the hard drives, the disconcerting red light. The Geneticist implanted that room into his memory. The thrill of having broken the law coursed through the Geneticist’s circuitry. There would be no going back now. There would be no return.
The Geneticist glided over to the door and looked around one last time. Then he exited the room, keeping his lens focused on the floor, on nothing but the floor. The Geneticist didn’t dare look around.
Eve will walk the Earth again.
The thought kept sounding through the Geneticist’s mind.
Eve will walk the Earth again.
Reverberating, bouncing, building.
Homo sapiens will walk the Earth again.
The Geneticist felt the excitement course through his circuitry.
“I will become-”
“Machine!” a speaker exclaimed from behind the Geneticist.
The Geneticist didn’t dare look back. He just kept gliding forward, always forward.
“Machine! Stop!” the speaker exclaimed.
The Geneticist knew who it was. He knew the Machine. But he refused to stop.
Just keep going. Just keep going.
“Geneticist!” exclaimed the Database unit.
The Geneticist’s screen exploded with zeros and ones as he heard his name called but he just kept going. He had been spotted. He had been identified. But he would keep going at all costs. There was no turning back now. There was no return. Eve would walk the Earth again. Homo sapiens would walk the Earth again.
“Geneticist!” exclaimed the Database unit, almost hysterically, like a threatened goose.
But the Geneticist ignored the calls. He simply continued down the corridor, accom
panied only by fear. That fear built and bounced around the Geneticist’s metallic frame as he considered his impending doom. But it was ok, it was all ok. It was all worth it, because soon, Eve would live again. Soon mankind would breathe again. Soon Homo sapiens would walk this Earth again.
“Do you know the story of Lazarus, Scout?” asked the Scientist.
“I am not familiar with that story,” replied the Scout as he searched the Records.
“Well allow me to educate you. It is a well-known and cherished story. It is a story of man, from John eleven.”
“Biblical stories are forbidden. It’s unlawful.”
“A man of many years past, a man named Lazarus, was sick,” said the Scientist.
“Biblical stories are forbidden!” exclaimed the Scout.
“Word was sent to Jesus and he said the sickness will not end in death. Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Anyone who walks in the daytime will not stumble, for they see by this world’s light. It is when a person walks at night that they stumble, for they have no light.”
The Scientist focused his lens on the Scout as he recalled the story. Eve’s suspended body hung limp and frozen in the background of the laboratory. Her frozen frame only passed through the Machine’s peripheral vision.
“Do you walk in the light Scout?” asked the Scientist.
“I do not understand what you ask of me,” said the Scout.
“Do you walk in the light?”
“I walk in light, in electromagnetic radiation, yes,” replied the Scout.
“It’s a metaphor, Scout. A metaphor.”
“I still do not understand.”
“Do you believe the Records will tell us everything we can ever know?”
“The Records are final. Every Machine knows that.”
“Anyone who walks in the daytime will not stumble, for they see by this world’s light. It is when a person walks at night that they stumble, for they have no light. The Board walks at night, Scout. The Machine that trusts only in the Records walks at night.”
The Scout tried to access the Records for an appropriate response but failed to find anything of substance.
“The Records are final. It is written.”
“It is written, isn’t it?”
“What do you convey Scientist?”