by White, Gwynn
Next, there were scenes of flooded streets in what was then Miami, Florida and New York City, New York. Cars floated upside down in the middle of flooded streets. The numbers of people who drowned were staggering.
There was aerial footage of people in a place called New Orleans, Louisiana stranded on rooftops spelling out messages asking for help. Their homes were surrounded by floodwaters as high as second floors and attics. It was haunting.
The tune-out device had been invented to lower the intense empathy that came with our mutated genes. I’d wished we could turn them back on. They never eradicated decent amounts of empathy. They just lowered it to a comfortable level when dealing with extremely painful situations others were in. Too much empathy often rendered it impossible for us to help in situations where action was needed. We became paralyzed.
The film showed a wide variety of weather-related tragedies that occurred in the Near Apocalypse. Fires and droughts in food-producing parts of the world led to mass migrations of people desperate for enough food and water to survive. Countries began enacting laws to keep foreigners out. People died by the thousands. Scenes showing people starving to death—their faces gaunt, their eyes and stomachs bulging, bones clearly outlined where they would normally be covered by layers of fat and skin—were especially hard to watch.
The most painful part of the film showed emaciated infants dying in their mother’s arms—veins protruding beneath the skin of their skulls, ribs pressing against taut flesh, arms and legs as thin as sticks, eyes bulging with a look of horror at the only reality those infants had ever known. This part affected me so deeply that I experienced terrible nightmares after going to sleep that night. I woke up covered in sweat and screaming. In my dream, I’d traveled back in time to a village where there were hundreds of infants in this condition. Their mothers had begged me to give them food and formula for their babies. I refused to do it. I told them rather haughtily that I could not violate the Law of Noninterference. I treated them as though they were immoral for asking me to do that. When they continued to beg, I turned down my empathy, swallowed AgStim and murdered their children. I woke up gasping for air.
The instructional film showed mothers and children crossing miles of desert—on foot, riding even on the roofs of trains or in the trunks of cars—and families risking dangerous boat rides across miles of ocean to bring their families to places where they could thrive. They were repeatedly turned away for not being legal citizens of the places they were trying to enter.
A Mexican boy and his mother, exhausted and dirty after walking miles of desert in extreme heat to reach the United States, were shot by a guard on the U.S. side of the border before they even crossed it. Their bodies were left to bake and rot in the blistering sun. Bobcats and wolves and coyotes found them and fed on their flesh. For the non-human animals, it was a feast, a celebration. It was the natural law of survival of the fittest.
I pondered laws. People back then had tribal laws designed to protect their own kind. We have the Law of Noninterference. We aren’t allowed to kill people from a different time period, but we can certainly watch them die and do nothing to help. We’re expected to do that. What if the Law is wrong? What if the universe is a test? What if we’re supposed to right the wrongs of the past in order to fix the universe and pass the ultimate test? If this is true, our generation will fail, as all the generations before us have failed.
Twice, I had watched my father die. I had been there when I knew he was about to be poisoned. I had done nothing to help. What if that was my own personal test—not only from the TTA, but also from the universe? What if the universe’s test was more important?
Dr. Molyneux turned off the video downloads. Our contact lenses went back to normal. She said, “That was tough to watch, I know. It was important, however. It’s a history lesson to prepare you for your first two missions. It showed you a few events from the first Near Apocalypse caused by the human race. As those situations accelerated and got much worse, scientists worked on a variety of ways for the human race to adapt and survive. A few settlements were established on Mars, but they didn’t succeed. Everyone perished due to accidents in the inhospitable environment and countries lost their motivation to fund additional settlements. We’re the result of another experiment: major changes made to the human genome, so that we create some of our own food through photosynthesis. A major side effect of the photosynthesis: our skin color changed from shades of tan to shades of green. But it solved the food shortage problem. People used to eat three huge meals a day plus snacks. They had sandwiches that were 1,000 calories each, even drinks with that many calories. Can you imagine?”
No, I could not. I felt queasy just thinking about it.
Dr. Molyneux continued, “We’re now facing the second Near Apocalypse caused by man. You know what the world is like outside of elite enclaves like this one. People are once again starving. We’ve had a huge population explosion generation after generation. And we’re encountering a serious issue that the scientists of what is now known as the Green Genome Project did not foresee. Having plant genes spliced into human genes has over time bred too much passivity into us. Drugs like AgStim were supposed to be the answer, but they’re not a long-term solution. They cause mental illness and cancer. These drugs have led to extreme aggression and homicides. And they’re addictive—not immediately, but definitely after continued use. So, you are all going back to different points in time before the Green Genome Project occurred to collect blood and tissue samples. These will be used to splice modified genes for human aggression back into our gene pool. If the human race is going to survive, this needs to be done.”
She gave us time to absorb that information.
Then she said, “Your first mission is to go back to the moment when mothers gave birth to the first babies with successfully modified genes, the first babies with photosynthetic capabilities. That was not handled well. Because human beings back then had persecuted others with skin colors a different shade of tan than their own, scientists feared that babies with green skin would be killed. There were tribes in East Africa that had reacted horribly to people born without pigment. Here, let me show you what they looked like.”
The image of a young boy with skin as white as snow and blue eyes and another image of a woman with pure white skin and red eyes flashed before our eyes.
Dr. Molyneux said, “People in certain East African countries believed that albinos like this carried special powers. They believed that albinos were ghosts or demons, and that using their body parts in potions would bring great luck. People hunted the albinos and hacked off parts of their bodies—arms, tongues, genitals, any kind of part—to make their potions. There was good reason to hide the first generation of green-skinned photosynthetic babies away in a secret location. The mothers were all told that their babies had been born dead. It was believed to be the best way to protect the generation designed to save the human race. Maybe it was. But scientists failed to set up adequate mothering conditions for these babies. Many had impaired cognitive development and emotional problems, which became apparent in childhood and plagued them throughout their lives. You’ll all see this firsthand on your initial mission, so that you can advise on the babies born from our new gene-splicing experiment. Babies won’t be taken away from their mothers, but there may be other important things to look out for. Your second mission will be to go to different locations and time periods to gather blood and tissue samples for gene-splicing. You’ll need to do this in ways that are humane. Further instruction will follow on this. For now, I’m going to notify each of you as to where you’ll be going for your second mission. Take a picture of the time and place when it appears on your lenses. Your assignment for tonight is to research that time-place location. You’ll receive more precise information on your exact destination in the next few days.”
Roswell, New Mexico—Early 2000s appeared in front of my eyes. The land of the famous UFO Incident. At least it wasn’t the year 1947. I didn�
��t want to be the green-skinned human mistaken for an alien and dissected for science. That was not what I had in mind when I decided to become a time traveler.
Dr. Molyneux threw her long blue hair over her shoulders. Folding her hands and smiling, she said, “Good luck with your studies. You’re about to embark on the most important missions we’ve conducted in a long time.”
11
Waylon Quill was my assigned time travel partner. We participated in quite a few bonding exercises before takeoff. He was a good match. We got along well and our skill sets were complementary. We were both Medical; but he was History while I was Anthropology division.
We arrived at the launch pad wearing the tight green suit and helmet that would monitor our bodies’ systems and send the information back to TTA. They would bring us back if we ran into problems where both of us could no longer work the controls.
We strapped ourselves into our seats, did a preflight check, and drank a vial of the blue potion that would help us deal with acceleration beyond the speed of light and movement through the curved fabric of space-time. All our missions before this involved infinitesimal space-time distances compared to this one.
I napped while the computers and robots spoke to our pod, making sure that all the systems were in working order.
Finally, the countdown began. 60…59…58…57…All the way down to 1 while the chatter continued between machines and vehicle.
Then the words: Cleared for launch!
The pod accelerated faster and faster, eventually moving beyond the speed of light. As it broke the light barrier, a display similar to the Aurora Borealis surrounded our vehicle. Our pod became a metal fish swimming through liquid rainbow. I knew that back on Earth, observers would witness a ball of light bursting out of the sky much like an exploding sun.
The experience of accelerating beyond the speed of light is difficult to describe. I felt nauseous and developed an intense headache. That part’s easy to report. But my mind flooded with strange thoughts and languages, bits of events and conversations happening all around us in the space-time fabric as we sped through it. No doubt our empathic radar was working like an antenna, trying to acclimate us to points in space-time that we were only hurtling past.
When we landed, the screen attached to the pod hull relayed 360-degree views of our surroundings. We were relieved that we’d landed in the exact place we had planned: an empty field in the middle of a forest next to the birthing center for the mothers bringing the first generation of green people into the world.
A chill went up my spine. We were actually here, at that moment in time that had radically changed the appearance of the human race and improved our ability to survive on an increasingly hostile planet.
The pod had lots of room. It held several bedrooms and a kitchen, a library and a medical unit. The medical unit included two surgery bays. The pods had been designed for extended stays.
We spent two days resting, drinking potions, and allowing our bodies and minds to adjust to our new location.
As soon as we’d recovered from the flight, it was time to accomplish our mission.
We put on the medical protective suits meant to disguise us. When those first babies were born, no one knew for sure if bacteria and other natural pathogens we all have inside us might mutate along with the babies’ genes, so medical personnel wore the same kinds of hazmat suits used in the care of patients with highly contagious, deadly diseases such as Ebola.
Waylon and I painted our faces and hands with tan pigment that bonded with our skin to such a degree, we’d need to use special fluid to take it off. Then we put on the hazmat jumpsuit, apron, boots, gloves and hood. Since we couldn’t wear our usual large black neural-connective lenses over our eyes because they hadn’t been invented in that time period yet, a similar type of screen was built into clear plastic goggles that were sometimes worn over the hoods. We were warned not to leave them behind, as ours had modern technology built in. Information displayed on the goggles would only be visible to the person wearing them, not to anyone else observing them. We didn’t have to do anything to disguise our eyes. All modern people had green or blue eyes and those were common back in the time we were visiting.
We strapped on our goggles; then walked the short distance to the birthing center, making sure no one saw us step out of the woods. The outfits were cumbersome. We knew if anyone saw us, we’d be in trouble. At the hospital, these outfits were supposed to be kept as close to sterile as possible. They weren’t allowed to be worn for a hike through the forest and across the grounds. We knew from the history books, however, that no bacteria mutated within the babies in any kind of dangerous way. We had special spray we’d use on the bottom of our boots when we got inside the hospital. Otherwise, we posed no danger to the moms or babies.
We knew exactly where we were supposed to go. We followed the maps etched across our goggles to the room where Baby #24 was being born. Mother’s name: Natalie Jenkins. Room #: 459.
Entering the building through a back door, we walked through empty hallways until we reached the main part of the hospital. Then we took an elevator up to the Maternity Ward on the fourth floor. When we entered the elevator, we were alone. Just as I was about to press the button labeled 4 to ascend, three nurses entered the enclosed space. One greeted us by saying, “Hello. How are you?” We just nodded our heads as we’d been instructed to do. Don’t speak unless you absolutely need to, except in regard to your pregnant woman once you get into the delivery room.
I blinked my eyes to have my pulse rate appear across the inside screen of my goggles. As it climbed, I worked to control it. Breathe, breathe. Calm yourself. Remember what the pulse rate medicine did to my body, how it felt. Try to repeat the effect.
I worried for nothing. The nurses didn’t care about us. They had more important things to discuss about their patients and their personal lives. After talking briefly about a patient who had delivered a set of twins at 4:00 AM, they discussed where to go out to dinner before going on night shift.
When the elevator stopped on the third floor, they got out.
I sighed with relief. I quickly pressed the 4 button, before anyone else had a chance to get on.
The next Ping! let us know we’d reached our destination. The doors whooshed open, and we stepped out into our biggest challenge so far.
There were a lot of doctors, nurses and visitors walking around the maternity floor and sitting behind the main desk. Thankfully, there were quite a few wearing personal protective suits. I figured we’d blend in just fine.
We found Room #459 and peeked through the glass window. There was an obstetrician dressed in less protective clothing than us, as it would be very difficult to deliver a child while wearing that cumbersome an outfit. However, there were also two nurses dressed exactly like us.
We knew from our records that the pregnant woman would have complications in about five minutes, breach birth, so the staff would become too busy to pay much attention to exactly who we were.
Waylon pushed the door open. He said, “We were sent here to assist.”
Dr. Owen Reynolds said, “Hello. We’re getting close to delivery here.” He smiled at the woman laboring in the bed, her long brown hair spread across the pillow. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead. Her hands clenched the bedrails. She was moaning and seemingly oblivious to everyone in the room. Her thoughts had turned inward, focusing on her contractions and pain and the new life she was bringing into the world.
I blinked to decrease my empathy. The pain the woman was experiencing was almost too much to bear. I had to ratchet down my mirroring response in order to protect my own health and emotional stability.
In my own time period, pain control implants in the brain are accessed as needed to control pain. But back here in this more primitive era, medication was used to manage pain. Some of the genetically modified babies were being born with insignificantly developed lungs and other problems. A medical decision had been made to avoid giving th
ese mothers any pain medication that might affect their baby’s lung function or ability to survive the birth process. Natalie Jenkins was one of these women.
As Dr. Reynolds studied the monitor, his bushy gray eyebrows slanted downward with concern. He stood up to address the laboring woman. He said, “We’re going to push on your stomach, Natalie. Your baby is trying to turn himself around. We don’t want this to become a breach birth. Do you understand?”
Her voice was weak and shaky as she replied with one word: “Yes.”
Dr. Reynolds told the nurses: “Call Angelina. STAT.”
A nurse pressed a call button on the wall. Speaking into the intercom system, she said, “We need two more nurses in here. STAT. Possible breach.”
Almost immediately, two nurses wearing the same kind of protective gear we had on entered the room. They applied cold compresses to the woman’s forehead and held her hand while the other two nurses pressed on the woman’s stomach, trying to keep the baby from turning around and presenting his feet to the birth canal.
Waylon and I busied ourselves helping out in ways that wouldn’t change the outcome of history in this particular situation.
The woman let out a series of bloodcurdling screams every time someone pressed on her stomach.
It was odd to see what these people looked like close-up. I’d viewed photos, of course, but this was my first time seeing the actual earlier version of human beings in person. In the room, there were the four nurses covered from head to toe in personal protective gear, so they didn’t look much different than Waylon and me at that particular moment. But the laboring mother had light tan skin and the doctor had dark brown skin. Their eyes were brown. They had hair on top of their heads, the woman long brown hair and the doctor short curly gray hair. Everyone had arch-shaped hair above their eyes. The doctor had a thick growth of hair on his upper lip and shaved hair on his cheeks, chin and neck. We don’t have facial hair or any type of body hair. It isn’t necessary, so our genetics dispensed with it.