Tim lowered his head and sighed. He quietly answered, “No. No I wouldn't.” He found his pack of cigarettes. They had fallen through his leather jacket pocket's lining. He took one and offered another to Richardson. He sighed again and in a little voice agreed to filter the tape this evening.
Chapter VII: Filtration & Speculations
June 26th, '92
Miskatonic University
10:20 pm:
They were in the University's hi-tech audio-recording studio. It was a very large room with carpet covered hardwood floors and the walls were covered in spikes of foam – for sound-proofing and to deaden reverberation. The room was large and spacious. Slightly smaller than a gymnasium. It appeared large however. Normally it was filled with musical instruments and equipment, even full orchestras at times. But now it was barren and cold; a large empty expanse.
The studio's west wall was covered with a large window. The window was very thick and no noise or sound perfused. Behind was a much smaller room jammed with electronic recording equipment. Multi-track recorders, sound-mixing boards, noise filters, P.A. controlling systems, tape-decks and much more. An electronic nightmare to the average layman.
Tim Paupst worked in complete silence behind the soundproof window. Veronica stood on the other side of the window with the three men. She watched Tim work.
How proficient, she thought. Nothing seemed unfamiliar to him. None of the equipment intimidated the boy. The three men were talking. Slowly she returned to their conversation. Neilson was speaking: “I would have thought the Filipino wanted to release Nyarlathotep. I can't understand why he ran into the gateway.”
“Maybe he wasn't a cult member,” answered Michael Richardson. He was still immaculately dressed. He repeatedly retrieved his pistol, checked to see if it was loaded and the safety was on. “You know, he could have been one of Nyarlathotep's species. Maybe he just wanted to return home.”
Jim McShaw was a burly red-haired man. He held his revolver in his hand and nervously fingered it. Michael had introduced Jim as a colleague of both himself and Professor Neilson. Michael often practised target shooting with Jim and had even went on weekend hunting trips together.
“Yes, but that would mean one of these things had gotten loose some time ago,” Jim stated.
“Why not?” asked Neilson. “We know Erich Zann had opened this gateway...”
“...And it's a likely assumption that his son, Otto, also opened it,” added Michael.
“And Lorne Gibbons' testimony states that there were other things lurking in the shadows,” continued Neilson. “Maybe this Filipino was a symbiot?”
"Ever wonder where some of these other things came from?" Jim asked.
"Maybe they've always existed." Richardson offered.
"Binary Fission," Neilson stated bluntly. " They have to reproduce through Fission."
"What?" Veronica joined the conversation.
"Imagine that right now, in our world, there existed a singular creature which had survived since the beginning of 'life-on-earth'; that has accomplished this immortality through a sort of reincarnation." Neilson began to explain. "Now, what if I were to also tell you that this singular creature had retained all of its intelligence, experiences, memories, and knowledge throughout each and every one of its incarnations?"
"Since the beginning of 'life-on-earth'?" Jim questioned, "It would be god-like. Possibly even God Himself."
"Exactly!" Neilson snapped his fingers and pointed at Jim. "Now, what if I were to tell you that this creature truly exists?"
"That ridiculous. There's no such creature."
"Jim's right." Richardson continued. "There is no such documented creature."
Neilson shook his head. "No, no, no... You're both wrong. There is one creature; the common amoeba. The tiny single celled animal. Take any given amoeba and you'll have an exact copy of the very first amoeba on the planet. And why? Because they reproduce by fission. That is, by splitting apart. Their nuclei divides and their protoplasm divides and there exists two amoebas which are exactly the same – except for their smaller sizes – but they both will grow and mature.
"In humans and in most higher life-forms, reproduction is accomplished sexually. Whether it is viviparity, oviparity, hermaphroditism, or even parthenogenesis, the offspring is a mixture of the two parents. There is absolutely no chance of the offspring being an identical clone of the original parent.
"Of the asexual methods: Fragmentation: it does not reproduce an original copy of the parent. Oh, in physical form, possibly, but not in experiences or memories. The offspring must reproduce its missing parts. And any memory or intelligence of the parent will not be passed to the offspring.
"Of Sporulation and Budding: again, these are only parts of the original parent. Each separating and growing. It is only through Binary Fission, as in the amoeba, where we find exact duplicates. Since the nuclei itself divides, then both offspring must retain its parent's memories and knowledge."
Richardson, being an academic, a professor himself, had a sour expression of his face. Neilson had slipped into one of his lecture modes.
"Now, I do have to admit," Neilson continued, "I don't believe that amoebas have any intelligence or memories. They react to external stimulus and basic instincts. As for them being 'god-like'? Well, if they could retain memories, experiences, knowledge, and intelligence, then, and only then, could things be different."
"This is all very well and interesting, Howard," Jim said, "but where is it all leading?"
"I used the example of the amoeba to prepare you for my next point," Neilson said. "I want you to understand that a life-form that has achieved a sort of immortality is not as strange as one may think. The fact that a life-form that can reproduce through Binary Fission could be extremely powerful should it be able to retain its memory isn't as alien sounding as one may think.
"Nyarlathotep's species has to reproduce through Binary Fission-"
Neilson was interrupted by Michael Richardson, "-We don't know if they even do reproduce! That's an awful large step you're assuming here Howard. They may have all simply existed. There might have been a set number of them and always will be."
"Not true," snapped Jim, "We all agree that the older the specimen the more powerful it is. If this species all began at once, in a finite population, then how could there be an oldest – or youngest for that matter?"
"Precisely," cut in Neilson, "and for the same reasons this alien-species must reproduce through Binary Fission, like the amoeba. Seeing that at one point in the very distant past there existed the first and only one it its kind – Nyarlathotep. It had nothing to reproduce with so it had to have split. Like the very first amoeba. But the difference is that this life-form is intelligent and It does retain its experiences and does learn knowledge and have memories. Even worse! According to Timothy's story," Neilson continued while pointing his thumb at Tim Paupst through the glass window, "It has the ability to consume other creatures."
"...god-like..." whispered Veronica.
"It is my theory that Nyarlathotep and its species are immortal – at least there is no known lifespan. From what little we have learned, this alien-species grow more and more powerful as they become older, more mature. Nyarlathotep being the first and oldest of the species." Neilson finished.
"So," pondered Richardson, "even a young one would eventually mature to become Nyarlathotep – or at least pose the same threat."
"I suppose it would only take one," Neilson said.
“Could it be possible that these creatures – the Symbiot-species," asked Veronica, "are more like a single-celled organism than you think? What if, in this alternate universe, they are all one entity while in it? Cells of a much larger organism? The corporate collective being truly Nyarlathotep. It is only when they exit this prison-universe and find a way to enter ours that they become individuals and attain some sense of identity.”
Jim chewed this thought over. Then said, "So, according to Gibbons' 1987 t
estimony there were other symbiot-creatures present – and you were suggesting that your Filipino impostor was one of them – that he just wanted to return 'home'.”
"I'm not sure. I'm speculating here, but why else would the Filipino jump into the gateway?"
Jim frowned and was silent for a moment. "Yes but why would he take the tape recording that Tim Paupst just finished with him?"
"Good point," said Neilson.
"Yeah, and why did he take the ghetto blaster?" added Michael checking his pistol's safety again. "Tape. Cassette player. Would it work in the prison-universe?"
"Nowhere to plug it in," chuckled McShaw.
"It was battery operated," corrected Neilson completely missing the joke.
"Maybe he wasn't a symbiot but, like you originally suggest, Howard, some cult member. Do you think he could open the gateway from the other side?"
"I hope not," Michael said.
They fell silent again. Tim Paupst was still busy working behind the wall of glass.
"Maybe he realized what he did after releasing Nyarlathotep," suggested Veronica.
"Maybe this Mr. Samuel was mad, you know? Insane," added McShaw.
"No," stated Neilson rather flatly. "He wasn't mad. He seemed to have some agenda or other. His actions did not seem to be random but quite thought out."
"I don't know," continued Michael, "I think your original theory may be correct," he said nodding at Neilson. "I think he was a cult member who believed Nyarlathotep to be a god. He attempted to free his lord and succeeded. It was only after that he realized the truth: that we humans are insignificant to the Great Old Ones. He went mad from this revelation and jumped through the gateway – a kind of suicide."
Jim McShaw pursed his lips in thought. "No. Why take the ghetto blaster and the tape? No, he wasn't a cult member and I don't think he was out of his mind either."
"He may have seen this action as his only means of escape," Veronica said.
"That would explain the tape and cassette player," answered Michael. "He had hoped to exit the prison-universe afterwards."
"Yes, but why ever open it to begin with?" questioned Neilson.
"Mr. Samuel didn't open it, remember?"
"That's right! Timothy did. He said so himself. He was curious to hear it. Apparently Mr. Samuel had reacted quite horrified to hear the music."
"You mean to say that the Filipino didn't want to open the gateway?" McShaw asked. "What did he want to do with this filtered tape copy then?"
Veronica shrugged her shoulders.
"He must have had some important reasons," answered Neilson. "He crashed my rental car at the airport and impersonated me to get this copy from Veronica."
Their conversation was broken as Tim knocked on the window. He said, "I'm finished," but they couldn't actually hear him through the soundproof glass of course.
"Well, this is it." McShaw switched off his gun's safety. Michael did likewise.
Neilson awkwardly handled his pistol. Michael gently took Neilson by the arm. "Now remember," he said to his friend quietly, "don't panic. It is important that you can clearly see your target before firing." Neilson nodded nervously. "We don't want to be shooting at anything and everything that moves. Okay? You'll do fine."
Howard said that he understood. The three men took positions along the windowed wall. Veronica stayed with Neilson.
Professor Neilson looked at Tim and lipped 'play it'. Tim started the tape. The music was now familiar to them all except McShaw and Richardson.
Neilson motioned with his hand for Tim to raise the volume.
* * *
The night sky was a deep navy blue and the cosmos glittered with its infinite stars. There was no moon nor clouds on this silent summer night.
Juan Emilio Sanchez-Vasquez pulled into the Miskatonic University's parking lot. When he turned off the lights the rental car was plunged into darkness. He switched the engine off and listened intently. At first all he could hear was the engine pinging, but eventually it quieted down.
He rolled the window down and listened in the night air...
Music. A strange monstrously alien composition. He could hear the music of Erich Zann very faintly. Where was it coming from? Which building? There were so many. He had so little time!
Chapter VIII: Nadia!
The soundproof windows shivered and rattled with the deafening cacophony. Neilson brought his hand across his throat motioning to Tim to stop playing the recording. But as the tape was switched off the strange thundering alien piece continued. It had started.
The lights flickered on and off. On and off. And finally off. The emergency lights came on, but they too were leached of their power and blinked off, plunging the entire room into momentary darkness.
In the studio's centre there appeared a small black sphere. It hovered off the floor with an odd light all its own. It appeared like a dull black bowling ball.
Then, suddenly, its surface grew and expanded. The blackness rushed past them like the backdraft from a passing truck. It encompassed the entire building. As the black surface flew past them the music grew in volume. It became near painful!
The five watched the appearance of a small dot of purple light. It grew larger and bolts of neon-blue lightning danced across its vivid surface. The gateway!
The studio windows buckled and rattled loudly against the deafening music but would not shatter.
There appeared a thin mist throughout the room. It gradually thickened and condensed. It seemed to be forming a humanoid figure; a feminine silhouette. One could make out its hair; auburn and flowing. Its eyes were emerald and very predominant in its semi-corporeal form. Then as the music reached a screaming sforzando the figure completely materialized. There stood Nadia de LaFountaine! Her sharp green eyes reflecting an alien intelligence, scanned the room in confusion.
Michael was the first to react. He raised his pistol. He had never shot at a fellow human being before. He simply couldn't pull the trigger. There she stood in the flesh and blood! It was so different when they had planned this. Nadia was only a name. Nothing else. Michael closed his eyes. He said a silent prayer asking God to forgive him, and squeezed the trigger.
The shot was quickly drowned out by the music. The bullet caught Nadia through her shoulder and exited her body. Blood exploded from the wound, but before it could spray it froze in the very air! The blood congealed and returned into the wound. The bullet hole closed, knitting itself shut with no visible markings other than the torn hole in her blouse!
Nadia's lips peeled back in a rage. Michael was struck by an invisible telekinetic force and hurtled across the studio. He slammed into the wall and crumpled onto the floor senseless. Veronica gasped and ran to him.
Nadia ignored Veronica and focused on the windowed wall. She howled in her fury and the telekinetic arm lashed out again. The giant window burst and shattered into millions of pieces and crashed on the floor. Tim screamed in horror and dropped behind the equipment.
Again Nadia's telekinetic arm struck, crushing the electronic equipment. She probed through the wreckage, searching for the tapes.
"My God, Tim! Save the tapes. Save the tapes!" Neilson yelled over the cacophony's roar. He then aimed at Nadia and fired. The bullet whizzed over her head and struck the wall. She turned and faced Neilson. He sensed preternatural power within her swelling.
The Symbiot Page 9