Lemuria

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Lemuria Page 17

by Burt Clinchandhill


  Lea appeared on the screen at precisely the moment he passed the cabin. “Welcome to the Logynous grounds. In a moment, you will see the entrance to our main building where you can park your car in front of the lobby. Please leave your keys in the vehicle, so we can park it for you. I will meet you inside.”

  Suddenly, the tree line ended and the enormous green concrete structure—nicknamed ‘The Eye’—appeared in front of him. Impressive, he thought. De Cremonese drove through the roundabout, up to the large glass doors, and stopped the car. As he got out, he took a moment to take in the scenery and wondered how they got all the materials to this remote location. They must have cut down part of the woods and later regrown it. He walked through the automatic glass doors.

  “There you are again. How was the drive up?” the Lea hologram welcomed him.

  “How do you...?” He realized his question was probably too complicated for a piece of technology to answer.

  “How do I know?” Leas asked, surprising De Cremonese.

  “Um, yes?”

  “Simple,” Lea said, sounding cheerful. “I am happy to explain. I took your picture from different angles. I cross-referenced that picture on the Logynous search engine, giving me 7.315 comparable results. Of that, there was a reference to Brother Lamberto Natale De Cremonese on 5.312 results.” Lea raised her hand, and above it, pictures of De Cremonese appeared, rotating fast. “I found references to postings on social media, by yourself or people who tagged you. I found pictures and videos from lectures, book covers and even a copy of your driver’s license. Do not worry; your private information is carefully blacked out. That’s why I was quite sure it was you.”

  “Thank you for the explanation.” De Cremonese realized he was being polite to a piece of technology, simply because the technology had been civil to him. Where will this lead?

  “Can I show you to your meeting?” Lea asked.

  “Please do.”

  “If you look over there”—Lea pointed into the left hallway—“you will see a blue light on the wall moving into the corridor. Please follow the light, and it will take you to your meeting.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. If there’s anything I can do for you, please feel free to contact me via your phone any time of day.”

  De Cremonese shook his head a couple of times as he walked into the corridor and wondered who would be the first to lose their jobs when they were taken over by this kind of new technology. On the other hand, when computers made an entrance in the eighties of the previous century, people thought it would create mass unemployment. Now it’s the biggest industry on Earth, employing hundreds of millions. As he stepped into the corridor, the blue light moved forward.

  Lea’s voice sounded from the ceiling. “Please follow the blue light.”

  Obedient, he followed the light. Left and right, he passed offices, meeting rooms and a recreation room where two people were playing Ping Pong, and another one on a bean bag was playing a game on an Xbox.

  Lea spoke again. “Did you know that in the center of our perfectly round headquarters, we grow all the vegetables needed by our restaurants, to prepare nearly fifteen thousand lunches every day?”

  “I did not know that,” De Cremonese mumbled.

  As they passed a crossing, he wondered what would happen if he were to stray from the blue-lighted path? Would Lea materialize to lead him back to the mandatory path? He decided not to try it out.

  “Here we are. Mr. Mulder is expecting you. Please feel free to contact me again if you ever need me in the future,” Lea said as the blue light stopped moving and started flickering next to a set of double doors. “I wish you a good meeting.” The doors swung open.

  “Thank you, Lea.” Mulder’s voice echoed in the dark room behind the doors. De Cremonese took a few steps in when a faint light came on, and he recognized he was in a theater. From the top row, he looked down, passing some twenty-five rows of chairs, before he could distinguish a large stage. A spotlight lit the stage with Mulder in the center.

  “Welcome, Father.” Mulder’s voice echoed through the empty theater. “Forgive me for the echo. Normally the theater is filled with hundreds of people, and the acoustics are better. Please come down.”

  De Cremonese took a deep breath before slowly finding his way down along the empty rows of seats. Behind him, he heard the doors close with a soft wheeze.

  “Please sit down,” Mulder requested, pointing to a seat on the front row. De Cremonese sat down and looked slightly up to Mulder on stage.

  “Why the theatrics?” De Cremonese asked.

  “No theatrics,” Mulder responded. “Though I must admit....” He looked around the theater. “The explanation is simple. I figured that maybe at some point, I wanted to show you something on a screen and, believe it or not, all our meeting rooms in this timeslot were booked solid, so here we are. You like it, the Lancaster theater?” He spread his arms over the stage.

  “It seems nice.”

  “This is the place where I walk onto the stage every fall and do the introductions for the following year’s new products. People love those introductions.”

  “And you don’t?” De Cremonese’s voice pitched.

  “Well, I think they serve a purpose. But if I believed the company could do without them, I know I could.” Mulder walked across the stage where the spotlight followed him.

  De Cremonese looked behind him.

  “Not to worry, Father,” Mulder assured him. “The light is completely automated. It will follow me wherever I go.” He jumped left and right a few times, and without any delay, the spotlight stayed on him. “We’re completely alone. The outer doors are locked, and the theater is soundproof, so no one can come in or hear us.”

  “And if I wanted to get out?” De Cremonese glanced at the doors.

  “Oh no, not to worry, Father. If you were to walk up to a door from the inside, it would immediately open.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “Did you know, Father, that ever since I was a child, I knew I was destined to make a difference? So I made a choice. My family immigrated here when I was a child, chasing the American dream. Probably my mother’s dream. I watched my father work his ass off—working odd jobs to feed myself and my younger sister. My mother was sick most of the time. One day when I was twelve, as my father sat on the couch in front of the television, I told him I fixed dinner and asked him if he wanted to join me and my sister at the table. He didn’t answer. He never answered again. He died at forty-two, watching television. He had lived my mother’s American dream for six years by working day and night. It was at that moment that I felt—no, I decided—I was going to make a difference. My sister and I took care of my mother from then on. The first few years were hard, but at fifteen, I opened my first webshop, and in less than two years, I was able to get my mother the treatment she needed. It was there all the time, you see, but we simply couldn’t afford it. Today, she’s still very much alive and healthy. From there, well, the rest is history, I guess.” He took a deep breath. “And how about you, Father? Did you always know you would become a priest? Was it a real calling, so to say?”

  De Cremonese doubted the answer for a moment. Should he indulge Mulder for a moment, or confront him right off the bat? “The short answer is no, and to be frank, the long answer is also no. If you don’t mind, I didn’t come here today to swap childhood stories.”

  Mulder fell silent for a moment. “You’re right. I guess I’m rambling. You asked for another appointment. I guess you’re still worried?”

  “There’s that,” De Cremonese replied.

  “There’s more?” Mulder jumped off the stage and sat down in the chair next to De Cremonese, the spotlight now encompassing both of them.

  “How’s your assistant?”

  “You know Amie?”

  “I spoke to her once, a few months ago.”

  “Then you must have heard what happened?”

  “I heard she was
missing, but that’s about it.”

  “Kidnapped.” Mulder sounded fierce. “The Young Earth Movement, they call themselves.”

  “I saw your press conference. You gave them an ultimatum.”

  “That passed almost a day ago now.” Mulder hung his head.

  “I figure you heard nothing?” De Cremonese asked.

  Mulder shook his head. “You know them?”

  “Who, the Young Earth Movement?”

  “Yes. I figure, since you’re in the same line of business.” Mulder lifted an eyebrow.

  “I know of a few other fundamentalist Christian organizations like ‘Answers in Genesis,’ the ‘Institute for Creation Research’ and the ‘Creation Ministries International,’ but nothing about the Young Earth Movement.”

  “What could they be after? I know they wanted me to stop all my work on artificial intelligence, and gene-based therapies, but why?”

  “Well, what I know from other Young Earth-like creationist organizations is that they are so-called creationist apologetics, and they will do almost everything to defend their beliefs. They are more or less obsessed with the idea that Earth and every lifeform on it were created some six- to ten-thousand years ago. Created by a deity through a supernatural act.”

  “God?” Mulder smirked.

  “Not really. In any case, not necessarily the God that I believe in. However, they do believe in Genesis. In fact, they take it quite literally and are convinced it took their creator exactly six days to create everything. They even built a complete pseudoscience around it, Creation Science, they call it. Personally, I’m more of an Old Earth Creationist, believing that Genesis is consistent with the scientifically established ages of the Earth and universe.”

  “But you’re also a scientist. You clearly have found a way to combine science and religion.”

  “I did,” De Cremonese confirmed. “And that’s exactly the difference between me and the creationists. Creationists reject any form of scientific evidence on the creation of Earth and the universe. I look for ways for one to be explained by the other.”

  “I myself am more of a Eugenic, I guess.” Mulder gave a half-smile. “I don’t have a strong opinion on how we got here, but I have strong beliefs that our purpose in life is to improve the quality of humans. The genetic quality of life if you like.”

  “That’s a dangerous supposition.” De Cremonese frowned. “One that might just have gotten you into this situation.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to create a better, stronger and healthier human. Plato even suggested it in 400 BC by applying the principles of selective breeding.”

  “Wars have started over this.” De Cremonese tried to hide a wave of growing anger. “Though it might sound idealistic, it’s usually followed by excluding groups of people that are considered to be inferior.”

  “That’s not what I said, or meant, Mr. De Cremonese,” Mulder snapped. “For every good and noble idea, there’s someone who will use it to do something evil. It’s the same as the gun discussion. Do guns kill people, or do they keep the peace? They probably do both. Besides that, my research is in the field of genetic engineering, and artificial intelligence will possibly benefit everyone, and not one single species or race.”

  “Nonetheless, that could be what the Young Earth Movement had in mind when they kidnapped Ms. Coleman, trying to convince you to stop what you’re doing. What was it they said? Stop playing God?”

  Mulder stayed silent, his jaw tightening, taking long, deep breaths. “Listen,” he said in a firm voice. “I’m not sure why you’re here. You told me you spoke to Amie once. Was that what you wanted to talk about?”

  De Cremonese thought long and hard. It was clear he struck a nerve, and confronting Mulder now might just close him up even more. “When we spoke a few months ago, we discussed the consequences of your, um, experiments on humans.”

  “I asked you, as a scientist and man of the cloth, your professional opinion on how you thought the church and the government would react to my experiments. If you thought I should go public or not.”

  “And I told you then, and I will tell you again, I think that what you’re suggesting is unethical, and I think the public will think so too. But what I came for was to find out if there was any connection between the kidnapping and your experiments.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Mulder snapped again.

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I just thought that if what you told me about your experiments got out somehow, it might be connected to the kidnapper’s opinion of you playing God.”

  “Only a handful of people know about my plans, and I trust all of them explicitly.”

  “You trust me?” De Cremonese asked.

  The corner of Mulder’s mouth curved up. “I trust you enough that you won’t break the seal of confession.” He looked at his watch. “Now, if that’s all? I expect the police any minute now to inform me about the status of the investigation.”

  De Cremonese rose from his chair. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “I will,” Mulder replied. “I trust you’ll find your way out?”

  Chapter 19 – Number Twenty-Six

  Reserva Indígena Mashco-Piro, Peru, Three Months Ago

  The missionary station had been abandoned since the late 1990s, when the Peruvian government decided the so-called “controlled contact” was no longer in the best interest of the Mashco-Piro tribe members. The station—about a mile from the Mashco-Piro shabono—now served as basecamp for Mulder’s expedition. It was the ideal location from where to operate, since the Mashco-Piro avoided the place like the plaque. To them, it was a place of the Jáahuipirácaná, the dog, as they had called Father Ignatius, after he tried to approach them several times, at the shabono and the riverbed. At first, the locals were curious, but days later, Father Ignatius was driven from the shabono with spears and bows and arrows. After another month of trying, the government revoked the permit, and “the dog” left the country.

  The three cabins, built for Father Ignatious and his servants, now offered a workplace for Logynous employees. One cabin served as a kitchen as well as flight-control center for the drones that roamed the skies day and night. Another cabin was furnished with lab equipment, complete with a DNA sequencer, mass spectrometer, a flow cytometer, imaging systems, microtomes, surgical instruments and histology equipment. The third cabin functioned as sleeping quarters for the three scientists working the location.

  “So, what do you think?” Mulder asked, after giving Jennifer a tour of the location.

  “It’s cozy,” Jennifer replied, taking a water bottle from her backpack.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get your own sleeping arrangements.” Mulder pointed to a small open space next to the three cabins, where locally contracted native Peruvians were building floors and setting up tents. “Did you already get your daily physical?”

  “I did,” Jennifer replied. “Cotrina is nice and thorough.”

  “I know. I’ve worked with Dr. Ahlström for almost four years. She’s one of the brightest neuroscientists in the world and a wonderful person. I’m incredibly happy I was able to convince her to abandon her position at the Stockholm Brain Institute to come work for me. I know I said it before, but I’m thrilled you decided to join me.”

  “I am too,” Jennifer replied.

  “Follow me, please.” Mulder started walking. “So, these are the three main cabins,” he pointed out. “Lab, kitchen slash flight control center and sleeping facilities. Oh, and very important. Follow the path over there.” He pointed behind the place, where the tents were being set up. “There you will find the bathrooms and toilet facilities. Mucho más importante,” he joked, as they walked into one of the cabins. “This is the drone control center,” he explained. “From here, we monitor the movements of all tribe members. But who am I to explain?” He turned to a blond, freckled man in his thirties, wearing a T-shirt, shorts and sandals. “If you
please?”

  “It’s my pleasure,” the man spoke in a German accent. “I’m Martin Stromberg, expedition leader.”

  “Jennifer Porter.” She shook his hand.

  “I know. Your reputation precedes you. How are you now? Any special feelings?”

  Jennifer smiled. “Nothing specific.”

  “If you don’t mind?” Mulder stepped away. “I will leave you alone with Martin for a moment. I have some business outside. Martin and I go way back, so I’m sure you’ll be fine in his capable hands.”

  Jennifer nodded.

  “I’ll see you later.” He left the cabin.

  “So, what do you do here?” Jennifer asked, looking at a row of computer screens.

  “We watch and analyze,” Stromberg replied. “Mainly, we watch from the skies and analyze poop.”

  “Yuck.” Jennifer curled her nose.

  “It sounds dirtier than it is. We use any measures possible to analyze the Mashco-Piro without invasion or letting them even know we’re here. Fortunately for us, they don’t use a toilet but like the bears they, um... well, you understand. So, we gather the feces from the woods and analyze it in our lab in one of the other cabins. We have a small but excellent equipped mobile lab set-up.”

 

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