Authors: Paula Bradley
Emmanuel ran his fingers lightly over the hard surface he had just sanded, his eyes closed as he savored the sensation. The wood, highly prized Entandrophragma mahogany, felt as smooth and as unblemished as an infant’s skin. Although his back ached from the labor of the past hour, it was well worth the temporary discomfort as he pictured the surprise and gratitude on the faces of the Anorasians when presented with these lovingly crafted rocking chairs.
The square, unadorned back, meticulously carved to accommodate the Anorasians’ broad shoulders, was upholstered with woven cotton, substantial and fibrous, and dyed an azure blue. Deceptively strong, the slim and gently curved arms were partially covered with the same fabric. Brass tacks edged the cloth uniformly to secure it tightly in place. The legs were rounded and contoured, sturdy but elegant in their simplicity. The whole chair balanced perfectly on the smooth rockers.
On his knees also, Simon, his android companion, thumbed the slide on the needle laser. The beam instantly retracted and the pencil thin device now lay coldly in his palm. His wooden device was at the same level of completion as the one the human currently stroked.
“My apologies, Master, I do not comprehend.” The slight frown on Simon’s face was a tribute to the detail oriented designers on Hakilam, the Anorasian home world. “Why do you use antiquated equipment to create your chairs of wood? The laser will rid of imperfections to within a micron, millions of times more precise than the paper with grains of sand you rub into the surface.” While Simon was programmed for tone modulation, he purposely kept his vocal reproductions neutral so as not to appear condescending or arrogant.
Emmanuel grinned as he opened his eyes. He stood, flexing his legs to rid them of stiffness. “Agreed, student, but the finishing by hand adds a personal touch that a cold laser cannot.
“Here, Simon; run your fingers lightly over the unclothed wood on my chair. Can your fingers not communicate to your brain the feeling of accomplishment?” With a twinkle in his eyes, Emmanuel continued. “Can you say the work truly comes from your heart if you do not spend long hours of painstaking labor, suffering sore muscles and lack of sleep, plus developing a scratchy throat from wood dust?”
Simon rose and moved toward his Master’s chair. Placing his fingertips on the arm, he slid them up to where the wood met the upholstery then down in an exact imitation of the gentle caressing motion he had observed. But he was disappointed: he did not receive the aforementioned cranial stimulation described by his Master. What happened in the brain of these humanoids that they continued to enjoy labor intensive work when Anorasian technology would eliminate much time and effort? Shaking his head, he shifted his shoulders, emulating his master’s shrug. He would never comprehend a race that clung to wasteful practices for the sheer joy of the doing.
The android’s silence spoke volumes and Emmanuel chuckled as he raised his arms above his head and stretched extravagantly, weary yet pleased with the result of their labor. Turning to activate the particle collector that would rid the shop of wood chips and dust, the device on his wrist drew his attention. The NMIP aboard the MERS was sending a signal.
His eyes aglow, Emmanuel turned to Simon and said excitedly, “I am summoned to the lab. Please activate the air circulator once the collector is finished. Then shut it down and allow the collector to operate once again. We cannot stain until the room is completely free of wood dust. I will return as quickly as possible.”
So saying, he pressed the HOME button on his belt. Enveloped by the protective energy field, he disappeared in the HST’s blue-white glow.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ton Re’Sateron noted to his dismay that al-Amin was now nearly abreast of him. The human sweated profusely, his heart and lungs functioning at maximum rate. Even so, the Anorasian knew he could not slow the pace. They raced across the hard packed sand, the ocean trying to lure them into its depths by tickling their hot, bare feet with cool water. Neither noticed. Intent on their race, they also failed to see that the sun had created a pair of running partners in the form of elongated shadows.
The Full-Motion, Multi-Dimensional, Audio-Visual display room provided one method of maintaining proper skeletal strength and muscular development. Sateron did not enjoy the more relaxing mode preferred by his colleague. The results were the same, but he needed exertion and competition to stimulate him both mentally and physically.
The spherical room permitted participants to choose from a multitude of experiences: soaring mountains to climb; shrouded forests to hunt; and vast oceans to swim. Images projected on all surfaces allowed for complete participation within the structure. Specialized energy fields simulated surfaces, textures, smells, and weather conditions coincidental with each chosen representation. Therefore, if someone chose to climb a mountain, they would experience thin, cold air plus sharp rock projections as hands and feet tried to find purchase.
The sphere even took variance of size into account when programmed for competition—which was the reason why the five foot nine human was slowly overtaking the seven foot Anorasian.
Sateron sprinted for the goal just in sight, but he had spent himself in the beginning and now had to watch al-Amin pass him with a triumphant grin and a wave of his hand.
Reaching the finish several seconds behind, Sateron threw himself down on the soft sand next to his opponent. As his breathing slowed, his heart settled into its normal forty beats per minute. He peered at al-Amin, noting with satisfaction that the human was just as exhausted as he—and secretly proud that he had been bested by one with the heart of a warrior. With no self-delusions, Sateron knew that if drawn into combat with this human inside the FUMOMULDAV, he might be soundly thrashed.
“You skipped across the finish line like a female,” Sateron growled. “If I had known you would prance in self-satisfaction, I would not have allowed you to cross before me.”
Bristling, al-Amin staggered to his feet. With fists jammed on his hips, he stood above the Anorasian, feet spread apart, chest out, black eyes flashing arrogantly.
“
You
allowed
me
to win? Bah! You were so wobbly at the end,
Old One
, I had thoughts to hoist you upon my shoulders and
carry
you across just so you could tell the others that you finished rather than that you collapsed in a pitiful heap before the goal ... or, better, had to crawl on all fours to reach it!”
Unable to contain his laughter, Sateron lay on the warm sand, his deep bass rumbling in delight as al-Amin joined him, his laugh several octaves higher but no less hearty.
Both stopped abruptly, bringing their wrist devices to their eyes. Sateron launched himself off the sand. Grinning expectantly at each other, they hit the HOME buttons on their personal transport belts and disappeared.
Ton Re’Aleris was suspended in a virtual cocoon. Electro-neural stimulators imbedded in the flexible cocoon that conformed to the contours of Aleris’ body sent measured impulses to the muscles, causing them to contract and release at regulated intervals. This stress free, physical exercise maintained proper muscle tone while allowing the participant to choose from a variety of mental stimulations provided by the multi-dimensional audio-visual display unit built into the hood of the spherical pod.
The Anorasian could listen to soothing music while wandering through fields of fragrant blossoms, the air temperature set at the user’s comfort level. With nothing more than voice commands, the view screen could transform the scene into a gentle skim across the ocean and then an athenaeum with books on shelves of polished wood.
Aleris was perplexed by the current viewing. It was difficult to understand what Sateron found so amusing in this digital signal taken from one of the many communication satellites that orbited Earth. It was proof that humans were in an embryonic stage of development pertaining to their entertainment. Why three human males standing in a circle, slapping, punching and jabbing each other was cause for mirth bewildered the scientist.
Yet, Aleris was even more puzzled at Sateron’s enjoyment of this ... this ... imbecility. No doubt further investigation was necessary to comprehend this form of humor known as “slap stick.” Floating contentedly, the geneticist watched the antics of the three humans as though they were a scientific experiment gone awry.
Aleris’ wrist device began to vibrate. A rare smile formed on thin lips, then widened. With finely attuned, highly developed psychic perception, the geneticist knew the contents of the summons from the NMIP aboard the MERS. Keying a switch on the cocoon’s overhead panel, the neural stimulators ceased instantly and the clear dome of the pod slid down until it disappeared into the base. Vaulting over the side, Aleris donned previously discarded garments then pressed HOME on the transport belt.
Pacing before the screen, Sateron paused as his colleague, the last to arrive, entered the relay facility. His self-regulating garment, hampered by his previous exertion and his current state of agitation, worked feverishly to maintain his body’s proper temperature.
The three humans were equally excited. Their heads swiveled in Aleris’ direction, their expectancy obvious. Being given the nod by the latecomer, Emmanuel notified the matrix processor that all were present and then stepped aside to allow the others equal view.
The NMIP needed no further encouragement. White letters against a blue screen seemed to radiate with intensity.
“
I have received a signal from PS orbiter Valariti. The female has registered an unprecedented increase. Awaiting your command for visual
.”
The only sound in the room was the sibilant sigh of the environmental control system. “The Three” (as the humans were referred to by the scientists) were off to the left, watching eagerly as Aleris advanced toward the relay screen. Sateron grinned, nearly bursting with suppressed excitement, his eyes meeting those of his associate’s. He had intuitively checked the calibration of the relayhimself three days past, even though he knew it to be unnecessary. He was confident there could be no error.
“Do not be unduly aroused,” he said to the Three as his gaze swept them. “We have received increases before.” His words were spoken offhanded, but none were fooled. Beneath his nonchalance, a volcano of emotions bubbled on the verge of eruption.
“Your pardon, Sateron,” Siddhartha said respectfully, “but her aptitude has increased spectacularly in such a short span of time. Furthermore, if I may point out, without our assistance. Surely this substantiates your theory.”
Uncharacteristically smiling, Aleris faced them. “Centuries of investigation have culminated in the most extraordinary data that now can be shared. The information must be presented from two points of origin for true clarity. The first, with which you are most familiar, is the psychic history of the female, Mariah Adele Carpenter.
“We captured scattered readings when she was a child and were most intrigued at the significance for a human, and one so young. However, they terminated abruptly when she entered puberty. We reasoned that hormonal changes in her body disrupted her telepathic aptitude.
“When, after a hiatus of many years, she began again to register on Valariti, the western hemisphere orbiter, programmed to feed visuals and aural signals keyed to her DNA.”
The humans nodded, well aware of the Anorasian satellites that maintained a geosynchronous orbit twenty-three thousand miles from Earth’s surface. Even though each had a footprint of one hemisphere, their signals overlapped to encompass the entire planet. These intelligent orbiters could not only sense the location of psychic emissions with a resolution down to two hundred and fifty feet, they could also monitor communications, environmental changes, technological deployment, and remain undetectable by Earth’s technology while avoiding physical and visual contact with Earth’s own orbiting satellites.
Aleris turned back to face the relay monitor and addressed the NMIP. “Please display her psychic history.”
The screened blanked. Words were replaced with a chronological chart indicating date, time (down to milliseconds), location with coordinates, age in years/months/days/hours/minutes/seconds, and the recorded psychic notation.
In a commanding voice, Aleris said to the NMIP, “Begin when the female was in her ninth year minus the extended data.” Without turning around, she addressed the assemblage. “This is her first noteworthy record.” Aleris psychically enlarged the end column of green glowing numerals:
This was recorded the day Mariah Carpenter telekinetically moved her white glove in the synagogue, causing it to land on the head of an elderly gentleman. All had seen this number before; nevertheless, they knew the geneticist needed to keep the statistics in a coherent stream.
“Display the next recorded signal of merit,” Aleris ordered. The NMIP responded, displaying two glowing numbers:
This represented the night the thirteen year old “found” her friend, Marty Zablonski. It was a significant increase. Each tenth of the scale was ten percent more powerful than the previous, which meant she was psychically thirty percent stronger than the reading taken four years previous.
Unfortunately, no consequential increases occurred over a span of seventeen years. “Display the next increase of import.” The NMIP responded and the screen shimmered in the dark:
“This was during her spiritual
Joining
with Emmanuel.” They remembered well his attempt to dissipate the effects of the sleeping pills she had ingested while administering a full measure of the dicit. Catching Emmanuel’s eye, Sateron tried to wink, a human accomplishment he had never been able to master. Even so, Emmanuel understood the significance of those two huge eyelids simultaneously closing and opening.
Aleris turned to face them. “Soon thereafter, the readings incremented steadily with the discovery of each child.” The Three awaited the information that had caused the Anorasian such wonder, their heart rates elevating. “There is little doubt the dicit is responsible, at least in part, for these extraordinary increases.”
Aleris turned back to the screen and, in a voice husky with emotion, said, “Display the next six concurrently.”
The digits appeared on the screen, their breathtaking glow seeming to pulse a startling green against the black screen. Instinctively, all knew they were witness to an event of stunning significance:
Not even Sateron knew for what his colleague had patiently waited, but knew it was about to appear on the screen. With exceptional foresight, Aleris had known that soon—
very
soon—the human female would break through the pattern of incremental increases, would perform some psychic act that would confirm their suspicions and allow them their triumph, bringing them to the second point: their genetic history would further them on the path to liberating their species.
Mariah’s psychic energy was now one hundred thirty times stronger than the night Emmanuel had paid his visit ... and in only eight months. The magnitude was not lost on the Anorasians. Even their own race of exceptional psychics had never, to their knowledge, produced a being that could develop at this rate, trained or not.
Drawing in a deep breath, Aleris demanded, in a voice filled with triumph, “Display the latest reading.”
All those present never knew if their minds deceived them, or if the relay screen actually pulsed the digits larger. Sateron sprang from the bench against which he had been leaning, moving forward as though doubting his eyes at a further distance. He roared with jubilation, grabbing Aleris in a hug that would have crushed the humans.
Before them was the culmination of thousands of years of anguish, clandestine operations and painstaking data accumulation. Mariah Adele Carpenter had just harnessed atomic energy in order to save Sophie Celeste Duval and in so doing, had been able to manipulate George René Malchelosse even though he was thousands of miles from her. To the Anorasians, the two numbers on the neural processor relay screen represented the light sought: the understanding of Netsor’ah, the Prophecy, dating back more than sixty-five million years—and the comprehension that finally pierced the darkness of obscurity and deceit: