Project 334

By Harden Taylor

She wondered how it could possibly be that something mortal and imperfect could come from the residence of the Gods. Was it a message? A warning? Retribution for some unstated sin? Or, most shockingly something not encompassed by the Seven Books? She would be forced to know when the thing from between the stars arrived.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harden Taylor
• Release date: Mar 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452444383

Harden Taylor

Yes, I was a cog in the industrial machine, grinding out reams of technical and business writing to support the once mighty American manufacturing colossus. But something happened in the early spring of 1995 – a bolt of lightening from the god of letters. “Fiction,” She said. Bit-by-bit I tried it, a little more each year till it became for me the quixotic enterprise it is today. Yet, I can’t complain, though my family may from time-to-time, because I found in this experience a liberation of style and content that is very appealing, drawing me into a new kind of grinding – a love/hate enterprise that wears the repetitive trudge down to fine dust.Recognition for my short stories (in descending chronological order):• “One Dish at a Time” – Honorable mention in the 2007 New Millennium Writings Short-short Story Contest.• “Mentors” – Honorable mention in the 2006 New Millennium Writings Short Story Contest• “What Will You Do for Me Yesterday?” – Published in the 2005 Dan River Anthology and was in the top five out of 75 submissions to Jerry Jazz Musician Magazine, June 2004 short story contest.• “A Rock by Moon World” – Honorable mention in the SpecFicWorld.com’s 2005 Speculative Fiction Contest magazine out of 93 entries.• “Where’s Jason” – Finalist in the 2005 Abroad Short Story Writing Contest. All finalist attended workshops & lectures given by Michael Bishop, Dan Chaon, Margaret Drabble, Anne LeClaire and Margaret George in Bourdeilles, France.• “Experiments of the Mad Chemist” – Semi-finalist in the 2005 New Millennium Writings Short Story Contest.• “In an Instant” – In the top five in Jan. 2005 Jerry Jazz Musician short story contest.• “Numbers Four and Five” – In the top 10 out of 90+ submissions to Jerry Jazz Musician Magazine, March 2004 short story contest.• “Stones, New and Old” – Honorable mention in the Whim’s Place on-line short-short story contest, May 2004 and published online 2004 by Whim’s Place.• ”Theraxis Comes to Visit” – In the top 14 for the SpecFi World magazine 2nd quarter 2004 short fiction contest and was in top 10% out of 1200 entries in the 18th Consecutive New Millennium Writing competition closing July 2004• “Flying Flowers” – In the top ten in the September 2004 Jerry Jazz Musician short story contest.My body of work (Fiction only):v Four full-length novels under my copyright –ÿ Project 334 – The first person to leave the solar system discovers and attempts to understand a battered civilization. His presence generates conflict (this is the first expedition.) – unpublished.ÿ Cerulea – A History of the Second Expedition – A pregnant female Robinson Crusoe-type story. She raises her children & incestuously created grand children alone on a forbidding planet – unpublished.ÿ Outhouse by the Moon – A series of murders at a small midwestern university by a Christian doomsday cult of prominent citizens leads to revelations of a terrible conspiracy – unpublished.ÿ A Rock by Moon World – Two twelve-year-olds discover a Lilliputian world ripped apart by war. They save them from the rages of a maniacal leader – published on Kindle. Based on my short story of the same name.v Completed short stories – This is an eclectic assortment of over 40 stories with different styles, themes and character portraits ranging in length from 240 to 40,000 words.v I have other novels short stories and poems in various stages of completion, including sequels to Project 334 /Cerulea and A Rock by Moon World.

Book preview

Table of Contents

Introduction

Prologue

Chapter 1 - 377 Day: Discontent

Chapter 2 - 377 Day: Waves Passing in the Night

Chapter 3 - 378 Day: Lifting the Rock - What’s Under?

Chapter 4 - 382 Day: The Ugly Worms Crawled Out

Chapter 5 - 382 Day: They Ate the Pretty Flowers

Chapter 6 - 383 Day: Looking Outside, Wondering How? Why?

Chapter 7 - 384 Day: Sick and Tired

Chapter 8 - 391 Day: Days of Light and Dark

Chapter 9 - 391 Day: The Light Talks!

Chapter 10 - 391 Day: The Wisdom of Inexperience

Chapter 11 - 392 Day: Ask the Right Question

Chapter 12 - 393 Day: The Enemy Within

Chapter 13 - 394 Day: The Dangerous Journey Begins

Chapter 14 - 396 Day: The Caves of Hari

Chapter 15 - 397 Day: A Simple Truth

Chapter 16 - 398 Day: It is Real?

Chapter 17 - 399 Day: The Translations Start

Chapter 18 - 400 Day: A Conspiracy of Hope

Chapter 19 - 400 Day: Uncertain Parting

Chapter 20 - 401 Day: Stealth

Chapter 21 - 402 Day: A Lumbering Start

Chapter 22 - 402 Day: Babes in the Woods

Chapter 23 - 403 Day: Confessions of the Soul

Chapter 24 - 403 Day: Commiseration

Chapter 25 - 403 Day: The Council Stressed

Chapter 26 - 404 Day: The Stranger Speaks in Awe

Chapter 27 - 404 Day: Escape!

Chapter 28 - 404 Day: Not Knowing

Chapter 29 - 405 Day: Light at the Other End of Darkness

Chapter 30 - 405 Day: Gaseous Gods

Chapter 31 - 405 Day: The Last Leg

Chapter 32 - 407 Day: The Coming

Chapter 33 - 407 Day: A Treacherous Eye

Chapter 34 - 407 Day: When Mortals Meet

Chapter 35 - 408 Day: Green, the Color of Life

Chapter 36 - 408 Day: Trust in His Pockets

Chapter 37 - 408 Day: A Thorny Quest

Chapter 38 - 409 Day: Terrors of the Night

Chapter 39 - 409 Day: Pandora’s Box Opens

Chapter 40 - 410 Day: Warm the Devil’s Face

Chapter 41 - 410 Day: Coming to Terms

Chapter 42 - 411 Day: The Devil Strikes!

Chapter 43 - 412 Day: The Black Box

end

A note from the author

Introduction

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During the last 120 years, our small but dedicated organization, The Ahranian Society, has monitored the telemetry data received from the first two human-occupied vessels to leave the Earth’s Solar System. Transcriptions from the first expedition are reported in this book. Data from the second expedition can be found in our publication titled A Cerulean Hug. As you can imagine, some of our number have retired, died or had to withdraw due to illness while at the same time we have welcomed and trained new members. All of us have remained true to our mission: to preserve the discoveries of our expeditions and share them with the world. Now, at last, our two explorers have come out of hibernation and rewarded us with the most astounding results.

We have edited the huge volume of data we have received and give below our condensation of what we consider the most valuable. Additional information concerning the planet of Ahran and our transcription format are in the Prologue below.

Prologue

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While the force of life seethed with energy on Earth, something extraordinary was also happening 12 light years away on a planet later to be known as Ahran. Its mother star, Beta 53 had spawned a handsome set of satellites, some rocky, some gaseous as had our own and, as with ours, it fueled the emergence and growth of that most eccentric property of carbon: life.

A respectable period of time passed – several billion years – after which the spastic bowels of evolution disgorged creatures reasonably described as intelligent in the sense that we know intelligence to be. This species eventually became the pioneer of civilization on this hapless world, which naively greeted these arrogant high-end creatures with abundant flora, fauna and mineral resources. Being clever and aggressive, this new species took to building all that we would regard as both good and bad.

Thus, civilization emerged and flourished. A well-fermented mixture of contentious religions, ethnic groups and political entities spiced with ever more ingenious technology formed the history of intelligence on Ahran. Eventually, the spark of unchecked passion ignited the ugly vapors accumulating from this brew bringing about The Great Death – a short but devastating nuclear war.

After this tragedy, those who were left faced horrendous challenges in all aspects of life, one of which, faith, became especially important. The religions of the past, having obviously failed, yielded to a new religion, a religion which turned its vision toward the stars. The adherents of this new faith prayed by sending radio messages to the Gods living in outer space and received what they thought were responses in return. Actually, the answers to their prayers were the rich array of natural electromagnetic noises of space – the stuff we gather in giant dishes and use to help describe the unfolding drama of exploding stars and colliding galaxies. They converted this radiation to sound and visual wave forms in order to reveal the intended meaning of their seven Gods.

For nearly 100 years the Ahranians lived in comfortable communication with their stellar gods, in relative peace and with a balance of sorts between familiarity and progress until this stability was broken by the arrival of something completely unexpected – a living, mortal thing from between the stars, the Earthling named Tom Wilson. The unfortunate Ahranian chosen by accident to receive and later deliver the forbidden message of the intruder’s arrival was a talented, though somewhat misfit analyst in the Ahranian Ministry of Creator’s Messages by the name of Jara Hrupt. Her working life was dedicated to receiving the messages of the Creators, analyzing each jumble of photons and reporting the results to a hierarchy of religious/government bureaucrats. Each official then massaged the holy communication and passed it further up the ladder of authority until it reached the top where it was disseminated to the masses. An appropriate prayer was then broadcast back out to space in response. This is the story of Jara’s experience, told through Tom Wilson’s inadvertently broadcast diary entries (in bold italics and labeled "Project 334XXX), in Jara’s thoughts (in plain italics) and in the dialogue and narrative of the story written in plain text.

Chapter 1 – Discontent

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On the Planet of Ahran, in Central City

Institute of Creators’ Messages

One would think that after five years of entering and leaving the seven-sided room, Jara Hrupt would be thoroughly used to it – skilled in making the appropriate three-sevenths of a circle to the left for a graceful exit. Like all those who worked at the Institute of Creator’s Messages, she was expected to absorb the peace and harmony of the Heavens flowing from the seven walls of the myriad offices in the Institute, each wall being embossed with an image of a great figure in the Star Messages Movement and each wall dedicated to one of the seven gods of the state religion. Adding to this devout atmosphere was the clustering of these rooms into blocks of four, imitating the shape of the sacred Constellation of Ordina.

But the reprimand just received was a severely unpleasant experience for Jara. She had not intended disrespect by questioning her superior’s judgment but that’s how it was taken. Her partially stunned brain reverted to old habits and commanded a 1/2 circle turn on exit, ideal for the four-sided rooms of all her pre-Institute experiences. Unfortunately, this movement sent her crashing into the bookcase against the wall opposite the Supervisor’s authority chair, adding clumsiness to the list of her inadequacies. After nervously righting the toppled trophies of Darna’s sporting prowess and carefully avoiding the disapproving glare directed at her from across the room, Jara made her ungainly departure.

As she headed for her own equally confusing workspace, the alertness generated by anger guided her through the jagged, disorienting hallways. Arrogant, thin-skinned, petty-minded anal excretion! Jara thought as she wended her way through the maze. She must be related to the droppings that designed this place.

Jara expected her punishment would probably be in the form of some horrific assignment. It was no surprise, then, when Darna assigned Jara an area in the sector of the Heavens derisively known as the whacked wave. This radio reception junkyard was on the bottom of every analyst’s preference list. For years it had been a constant source of confusing signals some of which could not be reconciled with the principles of the Seven Books, the bible of the Star Messages Movement and the ideological foundation on which the bureaucracy of the Institute rested. Some thought it was the site of a renegade Creator bent on disrupting the good works of the seven others. Some believed it to be a natural anomaly not yet clearly understood. Very recently, a new signal popped up in this area giving the busy workers in the Institute of Creators’ Messages fits of anxiety. A few hours of intense debate among the Grand Supervisors had led to the decision to let Darna Rem Rena choose her crack analyst, Jara Hrupt. If she succeeded, their wisdom would be recognized, if not, the failure could be attributed to the recalcitrant behavior of the analyst.

Once past her anger, Jara would set to work and first receive the meaningless mass of electronic noise from space, manipulate it, massage it, twist it about with electronic tricks until, finally, it meant something congruent with the ideology in the seven books. The process took many days, sometimes over a year if the messages were infrequently received, large in volume or extremely complex. The digging and manipulating Jara loved. The waiting and reporting she hated.

Surprising herself, Jara made it back to her office without making a single wrong turn. Trying desperately to regain her confidence, she sat in her work pod, aware of the soothing comfort in its contours, grateful that something in this place where she spent most of her waking hours was designed with her body’s comfort in mind. Her eyes found refuge in the large photograph of the constellation of her birth, Grinda in Sector 25A. The mysterious blurs of light, like delicate little clouds dancing about one another to some endless rondo, unknowable to mortals but of great enjoyment to the Creators - this sight always filled her heart with enchantment. It never failed to soothe her anger and allay her doubts.

Chapter 2 – Waves Passing in the Night

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In Jara’s office - 377 Day

As she expected or, more accurately, as she dreaded, the first message of her new assignment came blaring through the earphones clamped over the translucent patches ringing her ear canals. Recorded the night before and now played back over the communicator with great relish by Darna.

Here it is Jara. I gave you messages 334-drr-4909 and 4910. I hope you can do better with these than you did with the Sector 228 affair, said Darna referring to one of Jara’s very infrequent failures.

I expect you will do this in a reasonable amount of time, Darna continued, say by the end of the next Silent Period.

Is it true Orist and Drentra failed to crack it earlier in the year? asked Jara.

Well, I suppose, but that means nothing now. It’s your assignment - no one else’s.

Very well, I’ll do it. Can I get some extra help from the reference section?

No. They’re already overburdened. I’ll talk with you again later. I have to go now.

Resigned to her fate, Jara switched on the recorder. Faithfully, it played back its identification stamp and then, without hesitation, its cargo of radio frequency mush orphaned from the dark depths of interstellar space.

Message #334-drr-4909

Received 19.56 hour/ 377 day/ 4,123 year

RECORDING MODE - AREA VOICE

LOCATION - FORWARD CONTROL CABIN

JUNE 19, 2185 10:04 PM

[HEALTH CHECK. PLEASE RESPOND TO QUESTIONS]

OK … I hear you. Ask.

[HOW DO YOU FEEL?]

Better. More coherent now that I’m finally got out of that Hell.

[DID YOU SLEEP?]

Yes. I got some rest. The tranquilizer helped, thanks.

[CONVERSATION NEEDED TO MAINTAIN MENTAL HEALTH. PLEASE CONTINUE AT WILL]

I understand. That box, the hibernation chamber ... it’s horrible. Never thought it would be this bad. It’s like a living death. But what’s to expect? Human body wasn’t made for this.

Diary, you need a name. I need a person to talk with, not a machine. Maybe I can con myself into thinking of you as a person. Better than hearing voices from the grave.

That fear I feel … confined, like in a coffin … that terror … Claustrophobia, extreme claustrophobia. I feel like I did when I was young … very young, very much in need of protection. I know you can’t be my parent but you could be my friend. I’ve got to have a friend to get through this. Diary, can I change your name? It would help.

[STATE ‘COMMAND NAME CHANGE’ THEN NAME]

OK - command, name change ... Diary, new name for you - maybe ... maybe … got to be a woman’s name … maybe Pam or Cindy or Judy or, oh, I know … Gertrude. Yes, that’s it. Most unlikely, so weird and ungainly yet charming. I like it. Easy name. For some reason I remember it from some unmemorable work of fiction long ago. Then again, maybe it was some long dead relative. OK, so that’s it - command name change Gertrude’.

[ACKNOWLEDGED]

Yes Gertrude, the first one, long gone but not forgotten. {PAUSE] ... Command: Gertrude, give yourself a nice, soothing female alto voice with smooth round tones. Something sexy.

[PLEASE DEFINE WORDS SOOTHING, SMOOTH AND ROUND WITH RESPECT TO VOICE.]

Well, soothing means using words that help me feel OK.

[PLEASE PROVIDE LIST OF WORDS]

There are some words but … ah, it’s more the way they are spoken, which leads to smooth. Now, smooth means that when you speak you make your voice sound like a bowl of whipped cream or the surface of a newly formed skating rink or a piece of satin cloth or … do you understand Gertrude?

[NO KNOWN CONNECTION BETWEEN WORD SMOOTH AND DEFINING WORDS GIVEN. PLEASE DO LOGIC DIAGRAM SHOWING HOW TO USE SELECTED SOOTHING WORDS. PROVIDE LIST OF SOOTHING WORDS]

OK, let’s try again. Gertrude: given definition of word soothing is an adjective that describes anything that has the effect on a human being of reducing anxiety.

[PLEASE NAME DRUG CLASSIFICATION SO THAT GERTRUDE CAN EXAMINE DRUG INVENTORY FOR AVAILABILITY]

No, no, no. Not drugs, Gertrude, actions taken and words spoken.

[PLEASE NAME ACTIONS AND WORDS GERTRUDE SHOULD USE]

Oh, Jesus, Gertrude you’re an idiot!

[JESUS, IDIOT, JESUS, IDIOT … HOW MANY TIMES SHOULD GERTRUDE REPEAT SOOTHING WORDS?]

Zero, none STOP! These are not soothing words! Gertrude, forget soothing words … forget the whole thing.

[ACKNOWLEDGED]

Guess I’m expecting too much from a bunch of quantum gates. Just accept Gertrude for what she is … just accept …

[GERTRUDE IS ALWAYS AVAILABLE TO HELP YOU]

Well, Gertrude, I need another health check. Pain is starting again. Comes on ... suddenly. Unbearable! God, stop it! Stop it Gertrude! Gertrude listen to me. Help me!

[SPECIFY PAIN LOCATION]

Mid-abdomen. Need medication … like before, pain, sleep medication.

[TWO PILLS IN PILL DISPENSER. WATER BOTTLE IS FULL]

Thanks.

[AUTO-TURNOFF, 10:18]

Turbulent thoughts about this recording rolled around in her head, It’s so short, so abrupt, and the texture – very odd. Not like anything else. Too odd. Well, what can you expect from the scrap in a junkyard. By the Creators, I hope I’m up to saving this lost child. But then, maybe it’ll turn out to be a gift in disguise - an opportunity. Find a Creator’s message in this jumble of junk and Darna will lose her grip on me. Maybe a new post. Ha! Worth doing.

But battles like this could not be fought on an empty stomach. Since it was time for lunch. Jank was waiting so she turned off the reader and raced to meet her friend. Together, they tore down the twisting aisles toward the smell of roasted meats and steamed vegetables. Ripping around corners, crashing into walls, crazily wending their way through the maze of blocks, they arrived at the cafeteria out-of-breath and exhilarated.

Jara selected long strips of unidentifiable meat from a long, unlabeled metal pan. The half-centimeter thick pieces were an appealing reddish-brown and emitted the faint aroma of targot spice, her favorite. Deep green bite-sized balls of tightly wadded codler leaves bound by purple strands of codler veins emitted sensual vaporous clouds of magic herb combinations. Jara drooled uncontrollably as she heaped them on her plate.

The two found a seat close to the steam tables and started their conversation in loud voices – voices audible to the beleaguered cooks and servers on the food line.

Never again! Never again! exclaimed Jara in an exceptionally loud voice after taking a most delectable bite of meat. This is the singularly most tasteless, overcooked and overpriced meal I have ever eaten,

You always say that, Jara. I think you just like to hear yourself complain. said her dear friend Jank coldly, If you can’t stand the toxic slop served here, walk for an hour till you get to Gam’s Place and have a good lunch.

Jank waited in pleasant anticipation for Jara’s usual outraged response when her complaints were greeted with an unsympathetic ear from the cooking staff. Jara caught her hidden wisp of a smile, reached over and pounded her friend on the head; her claws retracted just enough to avoid serious damage but extended enough to hurt. Jank squealed in feigned injury and they both burst into laughter.

Jank, shut up or you’ll get us thrown out again. pleaded Jara, half in jest, but half serious because she was having second thoughts about her prank. She didn’t need anything else for Darna to complain about.

At that moment a soggy brown bundle of rejected vegetables arced through the air followed by a sparkling tail of brown water droplets, its source a snickering group of servers and its target Jara’s head. As the squishy mass impacted its destination dead-on, the victim’s head was thrown back and a shock wave of surprise popped out of her face. Jara righted herself and turned her head toward the projectilists. Mightily she tried to restrain herself but the force of emotion overtook reason. She rent the steamy air with a laugh that only an Ahranian could give: a very loud extended bellow, vibrato the envy of a human opera singer, upper canines bared, mouth flap strung all the way back. It was joined by many but soon squelched as the Chief Cook stormed into the area. The laughing subsided, then the smirky smiles faded and finally a boring calm prevailed.

The two friends ate silently as their moods drifted from exhilaration to dejection. Jara sensed Jank was troubled by something that even their light-hearted play could not cover up entirely. Hesitantly, Jank began to speak.

Jara, do you ever wonder ...I mean, well...I mean...why do the Creators talk to us but we have such a hard time understanding? Don’t you think they ... ahh ... they would want us to, well... tell us so we could understand. You know what I mean don’t you?

Jara looked rather startled.

Have I said something I shouldn’t? she asked fearing Jara’s disapproval.

Her eyes penetrated Jara with secret longing for answers to questions they both knew they shouldn’t ask.

I’ve wondered that myself, but never got an answer. I guess we just have to accept it. Jara’s heart silently went out to her younger friend, for the unease and confusion her innocence and inquisitiveness were causing her. Jara wondered to herself if, having denied the question exists, they were left with it being frozen in time, never allowing the questions backing up behind it to pass by in the parade of life but never allowing them to disappear either.

Come on, let’s race back to the office! I bet I can knock down more Grand Supervisors than you and get there first to boot! roared Jara. Her friend quickly forgot her troubling question as they ripped out the cafeteria door. Don’t run! they heard behind them from some anonymous authority figure.

There was an element to this race that was more than just playfulness to Jara - The latest message, the one from her analyst killer held a strange attraction. Instinct told her it was unique in some forbidden way. When the day ended with no new contacts, she was disappointed.

Quiet filled the halls surrounding Jara’s office, interrupted only by the subdued whirring of recorders dragging in the faint whispers of the stars, each sector telling its story for the next day’s listeners. Sector 36H dutifully reported to Jara’s station with another unintelligible message. It was faithfully recorded, time stamped, converted to both visual and auditory formats and backed-up on huge recording cylinders in the Institute’s main electronic repository.

Message #334-drr-4910

Received 18.33 hour/ 378 day/ 4,123 year

RECORDING MODE - AREA VOICE

LOCATION - FORWARD CABIN

June 20, 2185 3:45 am

Better now. Gertrude, that tranquilizer works. It’s fast and it lasts a while. Still much pain - joints and head. Nausea less. It’s hard to remember things. Gertrude, hope you’re listening ... of course you are … you’re my faithful listener. Jesus, I’m talking like a computer is a real person but then what else is there?

[PAUSE]

This is so bad … I wouldn’t have done it if I knew … And the dreams! The one I just had. It was like it just happened - real, like I was there today. I could see every detail, even hear their voices, their screams! [PAUSE] God, what was it? Who was it? The clock says 2185. That’s now - 2185, I can’t remember when I left. Gertrude, who was it that died?

[INSUFFICIENT INFORMATION]

Did I have a family? Gertrude, look it up, will you? My family. Yes, that’s it.

[YOUR NAME IS TOM WILSON, BORN FEB. 4, 2023 IN CHICAGO, IL., MARRIED HELEN G. PENROSE JUNE 2, 2047. GRADUATED LARNDT HIGH SCHOOL IN COLONY 97 AT AGE 15, YEAR 2038; GRADUATED UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT CHICAGO IN 2041 WITH BS DEGREE AND MASTERS IN BUSINESS IN 2044, FORMERLY EMPLOYED WITH WILSON ENTERPRISES, LEFT SOLAR SYSTEM DEC. 15, 2067 ON WAY TO BETA 053. YOU WERE FIRST PERSON TO LEAVE SOLAR SYSTEM.]

My name, Tom Wilson – yes, I think I remember that, but my family – I don’t remember much about them. Anyway, tell me about my family, my wife. And, I think a child, a boy?

[WIFE NAME – HELEN G. PENROSE, BORN AUGUST 23, 2025, DIED FEB.2, 2055; SON NAME JESSE, BORN JAN. 27, 2048, DIED FEB. 2, 2055]

That was - Good God! That was ... was, how long ago - Gertrude, how long ago did they die?

[130 YEARS]

And ...the same year. They died the same year … not just the same year … the same day! How did they die? Was it a big explosion like in my dream?

[TERRORIST BOMB, NUCLEAR, 0.25 MEGATON, ORGANIZATION CALLED WAGS. SET OFF IN CHICAGO ON FEB. 2, 2055. KILLED 68,000 PEOPLE. LED TO ARREST AND CONVICTION OF WAGS NORTH AMERICAN LEADERSHIP.]

Now I remember the bomb!. My God, why would anyone let that monster loose. Who did this Gertrude? The WAGs? Why? Gertrude … I can’t remember anything but some dark fear. What was it? Why was it?

[WAGS IS ACRONYM FOR WE ARE GOOD. THEY WERE ORGANIZED WITH PURPOSE OF BETTERING ECONOMIC CONDITIONS OF PEOPLE OUTSIDE STANDARD INTERNATIONAL ECONOMY. IT INCLUDED PEOPLE WHO WERE UNABLE TO FIND EMPLOYMENT AS WELL AS THOSE WITH POLITICAL, SOCIAL OR RELIGIOUS OBJECTIONS TO THE PREVAILING SYSTEM. THESE PEOPLE GREATLY INCREASED IN NUMBER DURING THE GREAT DEPRESSION OF 2041 – 2050. ORGANIZATION STARTED IN 2042, RAPIDLY CHANGED FROM EDUCATIONAL AND SELF HELP ACTIVITIES TO PROGRESSIVELY MORE AGGRESSIVE AND VIOLENT ACTIONS AS GOVERNMENTS AROUND THE WORLD FAILED TO DEVLOP EFFECTIVE MEANS OF MEETING THE NEEDS OF THIS POPULATION. IT STARTED TERRORIST CAMPAIGN IN 2048]

So long ago. And what did anyone get out of it?

[DO YOU MEAN TO ASK WHAT WERE RESULTS OF THE WAG TERROR CAMPAIGN?]

Yes.

[GREATER MILITARY, POLICE AND INTELLIGENCE COOPERATION BETWEEN GOVERNMENTS HELD WAGS IN CHECK BUT DID NOT DESTROY THE MOVEMENT OR THE ORGANIZATION. AS OF YOUR LAST DAY ON EARTH, LOW LEVEL WAR WAS CONTINUING.

It’s coming back to me, the pieces and some of the patterns. As I remember, not much had been done to alleviate the WAGs’ legitimate grievances. Gertrude, did any other nuclear bombs go off ?

[NO]

No, as far as you know. But what about after I left?

[YOU MUST SEARCH RECORDS OF EARTH TRANSMISSIONS TO ANSWER THIS QUESTION]

Search the record. I don’t think I’m up to that now. I hope where I’m headed is better than what I left. [PAUSE]

When did you say I left Earth Gertrude?

[2067].

How many years again? Gertrude, how many years?

[118]

118 years? I’ve been asleep, yes, in hibernation for 118 years! No wonder my brain doesn’t work right! Hope I’m not going crazy. I’ve got a long way to go … if I get there … where? [PAUSE] I’ve got to hold myself together till then. At least till I find out if there’s anything real out there: anything other than death. Gertrude, you’ve got to be there for me. If I die, you die so don’t let me down. The fear is unbearable [PAUSE]. I left my home for this. It must have been something I wanted to do. No matter why I did it, there’s no turning back. [PAUSE] God, how I miss people! Just the sound of a live person - I crave it! [PAUSE] Why did I leave it? The craziness - at least it must’ve had noise - something different everyday, something alive! Dangerous, maybe, boring, maybe, but so is this - couldn’t be any worse. I can’t push the red panic button and get out. I can’t fantasize about a big steak dinner after it’s over. This is it! Shit! [PAUSE] What’s that Gertrude? Oh.

[BLOOD PRESSURE WARNING - SIGNAL TRANQUILIZER]

OK! OK! I see your warning. Better give me the tranquilizer - Command Tranquilizer Gas Mask

[ACKNOWLEDGED]

[VOICE TURN-OFF, 4:03 AM]

end message

+++++++

Jara lifted her tall and generous body, large even by Ahranian standards, out of the sleeping pod, stretched, and tried to shake off the morning fatigue draped lazily over her mind. It had been a fitful night, burdened with vaguely remembered dreams. Misty feelings of obscure, ill-defined dangers clouded her getting up and followed her into the office

Topping off Jara’s mountain of tasks was her Honorary Assignment - prepare messages and displays for the Festival of Silence. It was always a season of panicked last minute rushes for everyone in the bureaucracy. Messages received from the Creators in the 21-day period before the festival had to be put in perfect order so the Council could craft a proper response before the Great Silence was to begin. Though honored to be one of the few responsible for this preparation, her recent punishment took off some of the luster. The weight of these irritants affected Jara’s response to Jank.

Isn’t it a beautiful morning Jara? asked Jank, playfully, as she drifted by Jara’s office. I’ll bet you’ve finished those paste-ups I gave you already.

No, they are not done and they won’t be till I’m feeling like... better... whatever... just leave me alone.

Is there something wrong - anything I can do?

What did I just say? Jara screamed.

Ripples of hurt washed across Jank’s young face as she silently turned away. Jara sank despondently into her pod, doubly irritated with herself. She extended her right hand toward her personal drawer, the secret place the analysts were allowed, and grasped the dial with all four of her trembling tentacles: 13 right, 12 left, 1 right, click, pull. Her diary was under a jumble of photos – graduation party silliness; old friends; her mentor, professor Dr. Hrurung … pleasant memories.

More disturbing thoughts lay between the deep brown Therop-skin covers of her private book. To open it, even to look at it was at once exhilarating and terrifying. Its many pages were filled with the almost illegible flowing script of Harish, the now nearly extinct language of her home province, Hari - a forbidden language revealing forbidden thoughts. Jara turned to a clean page, entered the date and started to write:

It’s getting worse, this awful feeling. I know something’s wrong - seriously wrong. Two years ago, even one year ago, I wouldn’t have felt like this. Ever since …

She lifted the pen off the paper and froze in uncertainty. No names, remember, no names

… X asked that same question I’ve asked a million times: ‘Why were the Creators so cryptic? What did they have in mind by making it this way? Wouldn’t they want their words to be clear, understandable, unambiguous?’ When she asked it, it hit me, hard. I know her; I know she’s not some bitter discontent. If she asked the same question I did, then, I don’t know what to think or what to do. Slowly, she closed her diary, put it under the clutter in her secret place and closed the drawer.

She pulled herself out of melancholy and put herself to the new mystery messages from space. This new source was like all the others in one respect - at first it was a meaningless jumble of radio static. It was up to analysts to mold, blend and electronically filter the messages to get their essence, while staying within the dictates of the Seven Books of the Creators - all 2,401 pages. Seven Books, each divided into seven chapters, each divided into seven sections, each divided into seven pages and then into seven paragraphs. It set the precedent for all publications on Ahran to follow the traditional septidecimal organization from the highest level to the lowest.

As her anger subsided, Jara realized she had fences to mend. She sent an apologetic message to Jank along with a pleasant I’ll-pick-up-the-tab dinner invitation. Then, she turned to her task.

She played back the first two messages again and again, trying to get some clue as to where to start. Something about this message was different, though. The hiss created by converting the message to sound was vibrating. Like the sound of rain on a window but vastly speeded up. She had never heard anything quite like it before, not even in the famous Mystria message, known for its outrageous patterns when displayed visually. She played with it for a while, changing playback speeds, filtering out various frequencies - some of the usual tricks but the feeling of strangeness persisted. Jara’s keen instincts told her to be careful with this one. She remembered what happened to Denga Dern, a bright young analyst in Section Five who had a message she interpreted as a star blowing up. It was bad enough that she seriously proposed this in her final report. She should have known stars, being the inventions of the Gods, did not just blow up. But then she went on to make the claim on the Local Forum show. Needless to say, she was laughed out of a job. Now she drives a cab at the train station. The lesson: BE CAREFUL!

Jara labored over the messages she had received thus far, working through the entire day, eating her lunch at her desk, avoiding the usual pleasant chit-chat that helped the day along, driving harder to satisfy the odd intrigue developing around this new source. She had not looked at a clock till the noise of exhausted analysts shuffling past her door broke her concentration. Unable to return to the same intensity and overcome with a heavy desire for sleep, she set her recorder to automatic, turned off everything else, gathered her things and fell into the parade.

After an awkward make-up dinner with Jama during which they both skirted every issue that was bothering them, Jara made her way back to her empty apartment.

Chapter 3 – Lifting the Rock – What’s Under?

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At Jara’s Apartment, 378 Day

This morning was, it seemed, not much better than last night. Jara had slept fitfully, awakened intermittently into a twilight landscape of fearful images. Roving inquisitors seemed to pop out of the shadows, accuse without talking and sink back into the darkness. The borderline between dream and reality blurred, leaving her morning to confusion and disquiet. She stumbled through her morning routine - oil the anal tube; exfoliate the wide, flat expanse below her eyes; powder and trim her crest hairs; put on a clean undergarment; select a dress robe, deep blue with a wide gold stripe down the left side - a routine that normally invigorated her, got her off on a good start to the day. But it was not to be this day. The night was too slow to disappear.

As she swayed with the train on the way to work she tried to think her self out of it, This is the lack of sleep talking I know. Don’t believe it. Once the Festival preparation is over, sanity will return. I know it will! Then we’ll have that beautiful 49 days of peace and quiet... I hope.

Yet something in her knew it wasn’t any of these things that was at the root of her unease. There was something else that wasn’t right, something this strange new message seemed to accent. In her office, she switched on the playback to hear last night’s ramblings from her new phantom Creator. The strange staccato surged through the speakers:

Message #334-drr-4912

Received - 1.36 hour/ 379 day/ 4,123 year

RECORDING MODE - AREA VOICE

LOCATION - FORWARD CABIN

June 21, 2185 8:17 am

Gertrude, my mental state is not good … not good. Thoughts of suicide keep coming up. Would you help me with this?

Command: help me with suicide … list alternatives

[CAN NOT COOPERATE WITH SUICIDE, UNCHANGABLE BASIS DIRECTIVE]

What’s that hissing? Oh … the gas attack … I should have known. That clever little tube by every chair. It waits till I take a breath and fogs me. What is it? Vegilon? Passizille? Turn me into a mindless vegetable will you? Damn! I know there’s