Apeiron

By John Carlisle

JOHN HENRY (JH) develops incredible mental abilities in mathematics and art. Plagued by nightmares of an alien civilization he finds an outlet in painting, which he uses to illustrate his dreams.

His unusual behaviour is brought to the attention of DOCTOR ROBERT HOOD, a neurologist working for the American air force. Some of Hood's research group have suffered similar brain damage and developed mendicant abilities. JH joins Hood's team who are deciphering encrypted alien messages for the military. While travelling to Schriever air force base JH begins to have visions of past lives, which Hood believes to be part of the brains recovery process. JH is not convinced by Hood's assurances and begins to doubt his mental health. He is reassured when he develops a friendship with an alien consciousness in human form EASTERN. Apparently, a young Hispanic woman with similar experiences; she encourages him to focus on the positive aspects the changes.

 JH falls for a blond, sexy, older woman CAPTAIN REBECCA BAXTER (BECCA). Becca works for a powerful African American COLONEL SAUNDERSON. He is head of the Rosetta Programme, which is attempting to decrypt alien signals. JH discovers that the alien signals are capable of controlling human behaviour and the aliens threaten Earth. The Rosetta facility is targeted by a terrorist bomb, and Saunderson links Eastern to the bomber. JH is furious at her betrayal and agrees to spy on Eastern, who is spending time at a retreat in the mountains owned by the suspected terrorist Addi Solarin.

Hood's research team discover JH and Eastern's abilities are due to an additional pair of chromosomes (48). JH discovers Addi's terrorist group all have forty eight chromosomes, and it allows them to remote view anywhere in the universe using meditation. Saunderson employs the sinister Lieutenant Larkin to develop a mind control weapon using the brain from a forty eight chromosome donor.

JH spies on Addi's group as they teach him how to remote-view using meditation and interact with previous lives. These revelations weaken JH's resolve and he begins to fall for Eastern. This cumulates in a meditative sexual experience, that Eastern claims shouldn't be possible. The couple have created an unbreakable bond, and Eastern is forced to reveal her true-self. She is Miah, a manifestation of the universal consciousness in human form, who has come to prevent Saunderson misusing the alien technology.

Saunderson attempts to eliminate Addi using the weapon. Eastern vows revenge and disappears. Becca is ordered to eliminate JH, but she has a crisis of conscience. JH escapes to Addi and finds that he must rescue Eastern, who has been captured trying to destroy the Rosetta facility. Eastern is rescued by Addi and JH, who make a break for Mexico, while being pursued by Saunderson's men.

 

Approximately ninety five thousand words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John
• Release date: Nov 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223721109

Book preview

To Faye, Cameron, and Paul

Frequencies

Ascension Island Southern Atlantic Ocean.

The heels of Rebecca Baxter’s shoes clicked against the white tiled floor as she hurried, ruddy cheeked, to meet her commanding officer.

Colonel Saunderson, dressed in his blue and brass air force uniform, checked his watch and turned to face his most trusted captain. Even in heels she was a foot shorter than the peak of his blue service hat. His deep voice resonated in the low corridor. Rebecca, good to see you.

Rebecca swept her blond hair back and retied the pony tail, revealing a fine line of perspiration. Colonel Saunderson, Sir.

I guess you are wondering why you’ve been dragged to this God forsaken rock? Saunderson asked with a crocodile smile. His ice white teeth contrasted against his black skin.

It did cross my mind, especially with the weather. Could we not have done this back in Schriever?

I take it you’re not a fan of Ascension Island? Command and the ECHELON top-brass love the remote location and this facility.

Sanderson’s nostrils flared at the musty air. He scowled at the stained concrete walls and corroded pipe work green with verdigris. Down the corridor a strip light flickered and buzzed. It’s not called The Devils Ash Pit for nothing. It’s a relic of the cold war I’d like to see confined to history. One of the joys of military intelligence is that we get to visit this place. I’ve been stuck here all week.

The colonel sniffed. I’m afraid there’s some bad news. Command decided they can’t keep the Rosetta Programme under wraps any longer. They’re going to brief ECHELON about the threat. What frustrates me is that we’re so close, and after all these years it could jeopardise everything. We’re close now. If we manage to create a functional weapon we could resolve any conflict in the world, and in our favour.

Rebecca grimaced her perfect face. Why now? That’s crazy.

We have a mole in the organisation. We don’t know who yet, but a breach has been detected.

Breach? Rebecca’s rocked back on her heels, her tone almost a screech.

The colonel unfolded a printout from his jacket pocket and struck it with his free hand. This was discovered by our web-crawlers. It specifically refers to electromagnetic radiation being used for thought control and implicates ECHELON.

Surely that’s just the normal wacko stuff that crops up now and then? It’s a coincidence.

The poster tried to conceal their location. It was bounced off three remote servers. We traced it to a mobile device in Colorado Springs.

Becca blew out her cheeks and let the air burst through her lips. It was posted by someone who works on our base?

Almost certainly. Whoever it was caught the attention of a chat-bot. See the replies.

SantaBarbara’s posts are very odd. Rebecca raised a single sculpted eyebrow.

We ran an AI scan. That’s the bot. We believe it’s Russian. The thread was on the website for two hours before being scoured, and the poster’s account has been closed. Even the cached pages have gone.

So why am I here?

The colonel visibly deflated. Because I have to be here, and Command doesn’t trust the secure link with such delicate information. You have to find who posted this and what they hope to achieve. I’ll deal with our people, but I need you to investigate Doctor Hood’s civilian team. Having them on the base is necessary because of his cryptology experience, but a liability at the same time.

I’ll speak to him.

Saunderson glared at this watch. I’m late for the briefing. We can discuss the details when I’ve escaped this place. He shook hands and paced off down the corridor.

Perpetual Dawn

Sacramento California USA.

John Henry had been taken to hospital following a climbing accident in Yosemite National Park. He remembered nothing of the incident, the helicopter recovery, or even setting off. Despite being semi-conscious on admittance, he’d been sedated for surgery, and not woken again. After twelve days in a coma the swelling in his brain had eased, and despite extensive brain damage, he began to show the first signs of waking. The speed of his recovery from a complete state of non-response baffled his doctors, who’d not expected him to survive the first night. 

At ten o’clock, morning light streamed through the window of the hospital ward and cast long shadows on the stark white surfaces. The persistent nightmare of his coma was about to end, and his terrifying dreams were interrupted by other thoughts and sensations. Semi-conscious, the dream world and the real began to merge. It was midwinter, but there was warmth in the sun spilling through the glass, it attracted his attention.

JH woke terrified of the unknown. His hair prickled, and panic produced adrenalin. His pulse raced as an avalanche of sensual information overwhelmed his damaged brain. His eyes, unused for so long, stared without focus, as beads of perspiration formed on his brow. The taste in his mouth was metallic. His hands gripped the bed covers and he tried to cry out. With a feeding tube stuck down his throat there was little sound, but enough to attract attention. Murrgh! 

JH’s conscious mind raced towards the surface of a sea of slumber, gaining momentum, like ball released under water. With blurred vision, he recognised a nurse’s uniform, and a black face moved in closer.

Her words were soft with a thick Jamaican accent. You’re irie me lovely, you’ve been gone a mighty long time, so very long. You’ve been asleep, dreaming, She reached for his feeding tube.

The withdrawn tube caused him to gag and made his eyes water. He winced in pain as he tensed his legs and body in a struggle to form words from a mouth that dribbled like he’d had dental anaesthetic. What, here? 

The nurse took his hand and spoke in a voice that was palm trees and dark rum, Oh my Lord, you can talk. How can it be? I’m Adele darling. 

JH stared at the nurse blinking, mouth catching flies, and then looked around the room. The bright light hurt his eyes. What the fuck?

Lickle less o’dat cursin’, if you don’t mind. You are truly blessed boy. You were in an accident, but the doctor will explain. He’s going to be a very happy man, you never know if... she paused to correct her mistake, when someone is going to wake. We’ve all prayed for you, and now the good Lord brings you back home. 

Where’s my family?

Adele clutched her hands to her breast. Oh, dear boy, do you not remember? We checked with the UK for next of kin, they’ve passed on.

JH’s shoulders withered into the mattress. There was a thickness in his throat, as he retreated back into the shelter of sleep, and another nightmare.

On the dark side of Neptune, over the perfect curvature of the planet’s vast horizon, a distant sun rose. Even at this distance, the dawn was so intense it hurt his eyes. As the first rays of light cut through the upper atmosphere, the world took on an eerie blue hue, which complemented the isolation created by the silent vacuum of space. Against the black velvet of the retreating night, a radiant silver ball of electric energy danced. Dwarfed by the planet and with no way to measure distance, it was impossible to comprehend the scale of the aberration.

In his dream-state JH focused on the source and moved closer, as its surface glistened in the distance. He was drawn nearer by the objects gravitational force, and it became clear that it was not a single ball. Three enormous chrome orbs, connected by cylindrical bridges, formed a triangle. Purple lightening arced and discharged from its surface like a plasma ball, and halos of magnetic aurora whipped and spun. He approached a bridging section and became aware of how insignificant he was against its magnitude.

His body felt charged with the static. As he neared the surface, the electrical intensity increased, and he was pulled closer as a wave of gravity built to a crescendo. He’d no control and there was no way to pull away. An explosive eruption threw him backwards and crashed around him, its electric flux ripped through space and blinded his eyes. Propelled at great speed he tumbled like a surfer pinned to the reef by a wave. By the time his senses recovered there was only the darkness of Neptune’s daybreak, the distant glow of our star-like sun and an intense sensation of isolation.

This dream sequence was one of many visions repeated as JH slept during recovery. Over a period of weeks less time was spent asleep, but the nightmares became more vivid. Often, he woke in a cold sweat, trapped in the clasp of damp sheets. The consultants postulated that the intense dreams might be linked to his remarkable recovery rate. Within a month of waking his cognitive abilities were back within the normal range, but this improvement didn’t appear to slow. He progressed from a patient displaying a miraculous recovery to a man with incredible talents, and mental ability. He played chess at the level of a grand master, despite only days of practice. As a result, he gained celebrity status among the patients and staff. 

In contrast to his mental recovery, the physical damage caused by his injuries and subsequent coma was a significant challenge. His leg muscles had wasted, and it took considerable time and effort to walk. During the weeks since waking, rehabilitation had consisted mostly of bed bound exercises to strengthen the muscles and improve his coordination. 

Nurse Adele entered the room with a huge grin. How’s my favourite patient today then, ready for some special exercises?

JH pulled the blanket over his face. Adele was deceptively strong for a woman in her 50s and merciless when it came to his rehabilitation. As long as you don’t work me too hard this time, my legs ached yesterday.

Adele laughed. Are they still aching now?

JH tensed his muscles. Actually, no.

Then it’s time for more exercises. She laughed some more. This time do you want a story? I heard one from the reverend on the radio.

JH pressed his lips together. Adele’s recounted sermons brought back unpleasant memories of sitting in the cold on a hard Sunday school stool and the smell of old books. I’d rather hear about you. Do you have a family? What’s it like to grow up in Jamaica?

Adele gave a series of loud tuts. You don’t want to hear about boring, old me. What about Exodus 14, you can use Moses for inspiration? 

JH was not a religious man and felt no moral obligation, but Adele was at least some company and she’d an affectionate way about her, which made it feel rude to refuse Okay Adele, if you really want to.

You’re a good man, John Henry, I knew that even before you woke, Adele said, with conviction.

"We didn’t meet before I was in hospital, did we?

Good Lord no. I can just tell a good man from bad. Now it’s time for some hard work.

Monday afternoon he had a new visitor. Hi, you must be the John Henry that Adele has been telling me about. 

JH looked up from his newspaper, at a plump woman in her early 30s. Her breasts were so enormous they were barely contained by her uniform. She had bleached blonde hair, streaked through with bright blue in places. In her hand she clutched a long pink foam cylinder, which she beat rhythmically on the palm of her chubby left. With a furtive grin, she used it like a riding crop to draw JH’s attention, as he sat mouth agape.

I’m Trudy your physiotherapist, I’ve come to work with you on these, she explained, tapping JH on his arms and legs with the cylinder. 

I wasn’t expecting you. He responded with an eager smile. The furtive glint in Trudie’s wide eyes and the pout of her full lips demanded his full attention.

Trudy stood back, bending her prop into an arch in front of her face so that it looked like a big smile. Did Nurse Adele not mention I was coming? She has told me all about what a nice man you are. But she’s kept how handsome you are a secret, I can see that now.

The heat built in JH’s cheeks, and he tried to divert attention by grabbing his drink of water. In haste, his awkward hand knocked over the beaker. Bugger, he cursed under his breath. He had an awkward knack of escalating fleeting embarrassment in to a drama.

A handful of paper towels mopped up the spill. Mister Clumsy, that is exactly why I’m here. We’ve got to get your motor skills back up and running.

I’m really sorry, I’m not on top form yet, He sat eyes bulging as Trudy bent over in front of him to clean up, her nurse’s uniform straining at the seams as her breasts fought for freedom.

Do you want to get started then, she asked, using her foam tube to bop him on the knee. Adele told me you were strong, so I brought my big pink one.

JH would have happily spent the morning chuckling at Trudie’s innuendo and flirting. The thirty minute physiotherapy session seemed to pass too quickly as it was soon time for her next appointment. Upon leaving, she gifted him a pair of blue stress balls. Now, don’t forget to squeeze your blue balls.

JH laughed out loud, as Trudy disappeared down the corridor. Trudie’s therapy had done more for his libido than his legs.

The physio sessions were fun in the early weeks, and he looked forward to the relief of flirtatious exercise, but the rest of his days dragged.

JH had been catheterised during his coma and early recovery. His episodes of extreme deep sleep led to persistent bedwetting. It not only created an issue for the nursing staff but had caused bedsores. Until now, the nursing staff had replaced the catheter during periods of deep sleep. Amazingly he had not woken once. His snoring was the stuff of ward-wide legend, but over the last week his sleep patterns had improved.

Today you get to lose the bag, John Henry, you can pull that one out now darling, Adele muttered, as she pointed to the catch bag at the foot of the bed.

What? 

Pull it out, or I can do it for you. She chuckled, rubbing her hands together. 

JH scowled at his nurse. Honestly! He tensed his stomach muscles and held the grey plastic catheter tube, with a diameter similar to a pencil. 

The size and position of the thing made his eyes water just thinking about it. He grimaced, clasping the tube. He wasn’t sure whether to pull up, out, or down? 

Bugger, this is going to hurt like hell, he whispered to himself. As he tugged gently, the blood began to drain from his face. 

Bracing himself, he chose to go for it before his nerves got the better of him, or Adele took matters, quite literally, into her own hands. He tugged the tube and withdrew the catheter slowly, as the colour drained from his face. With gritted teeth, finally the bevelled end popped from his body with a small amount of blood. He pulled the sheet to one side and vomited over the edge of the bed. A creak of the door hinge alerted him to the presence of Consultant Doctor James Stinson. He’d obviously watched his performance from the doorway and struggled to hide a smirk. 

"Ah John Henry, I see you managed to withdraw Excalibur." 

JH glared at his consultant, who was obviously devoid of empathy.

Stinson held a straight face and continued. Looks like you’re well on the road to recovery. Nurse Adele has encouraged you to get back on your feet. 

He poured a glass of water from the jug next to the bed and helped JH to take a sip. 

Adele was busy cleaning up the mess, Good Lord, John Henry, I thought you were supposed to be a big tough man, she complained. Adele finished with a disinfectant wipe and left. 

Stinson got straight down to business. Today’s the day we start your physio in earnest. You’re going to have a lot of work to do, and it is not going to be easy. Your new physiotherapist is going to be Charlie Reynolds, she will get you back in shape if you are prepared to work hard. 

No more Trudie! Her and Adele were all that made his life bearable. JH’s shoulders dropped, but he was desperate to get his independence back. How long will that take? 

That depends on a number of factors, you’re young, previously fit and healthy, and you’ve shown a fantastic rate of mental recovery. You’ve the potential to get better very quickly indeed. As a rule of thumb someone with your injury would expect to see a good response within a couple of months, but it would be a year or so before you know for sure. In my experience, it comes down to the determination of the patient and pure hard work. If you give it 100%, I expect you’ll surprise us all. 

A glance through the window reminded JH how much he valued his freedom. I’ll give 110%, no problem.

As the weeks passed, JH’s initial burst of enthusiasm began to wane. He sat in bed and stared out the window. After his Nan died, he had travelled the world going from one challenge to another. Mountain climbing had been his thing, but now he was stuck unable to move without crutches. His only friend was an evangelical nurse who visited a couple of times a day. Growing up on the farm there’d always been plenty for JH to do. Farming was nothing short of an endless list of tasks, the challenge was which to prioritise. In a hospital bed entertainment was limited. He stared at the TV controller with contempt. JH was grateful that his medical insurance covered a private room. If he’d been forced to sit on a ward with the old men watching Ricki Lake, he would have lost it.

Matters weren’t helped by Charlie Reynolds, the new physio. No amount of boyish charm was going to break her down. She must be a lesbian, or a sadist, thought JH. Frustratingly immune from his boyish charm. She had military style crew length hair, pink dyed and spiked up at the front, piercing blue eyes and a well-developed pair of biceps. In his weakened state, JH was entirely emasculated as she demonstrated the way he was meant to use the various pieces of gym equipment. 

Come on John, this is about working, not shirking, she would shout, usually a couple of inches from his ear. They told me you were a tough guy, so let me see you sweat, and similar inspirational commands, which failed to impart the motivation she intended. His immediate goal was to work hard enough to get beyond the one-on-ones, so that he could hide at the back in group sessions.

After an hour of physiotherapy, JH was dog-tired, and his stomach made noises like a wounded bear. He was fortunate that his hand-eye co-ordination had not been affected to the same extent as his walking. He made a fair attempt at eating lunch un-aided and didn’t get too much down his t-shirt. Once finished, it was routine to ask the porter to take him down to the washroom for a bath. He lay back in the water and frowned at a pair of legs that appeared emaciated and floated in the water like a couple of lengths of white string. He flicked at the water with his fingers and watched the ripples dissipate among the bubbles. There were meetings that afternoon with the senior neurologist, a psychiatrist, and his trauma recovery councillor; he was not looking forward to any of them.

JH reclined and tried to imagine bathing in a ski lodge hot tub filled with nubile chalet girls. It was not long before he was asleep and dreaming again.

He was woken by a heavy thud on the door, it was one of the hospital staff. Is everything alright in there? yelled Jason the porter.

JH sat up in his bath like it had just been filled with ice water. Yeah, yeah, no problem, he shouted, as quickly as he could gather his thoughts, half expecting to have the door kicked in at any moment.

He struggled to pull himself towards the door, reached over the edge of the bath and let the porter in.

I thought you’d drowned, then I heard the snoring and realised you were asleep again. He laughed.

JH responded with a curt reply, which did little to hide his indignation, I was having the most amazing dream, I can remember it so clearly. He pulled on a bathrobe and tied it fast, then collapsed into the waiting wheelchair.

Jay, can you take me back via the recreation room, I want to pick up a pen and paper? 

Sure, no problem. It will only take a minute, the tattoo covered young porter replied, as he wheeled JH down the corridor.  

They arrived back at JH’s room with a large blank pad of flipchart paper and a selection of marker pens, which Jay dumped on the bedside table before he left. The porters were instructed to let patients get dressed on their own. It was a key skill that they had to re-learn as part of the rehabilitation process. After dressing, JH grabbed the remote bed control, raised the back support, and pulled a table over so that he could sketch. He used the thirty minutes before the neurologist arrived to draw the images from his dream in primary colours.

Mr James Stinson, Senior Neurologist, was a man very much aware of his own importance. Average height and painfully thin. His arrogant demeanour didn’t win him any friends among the staff, although most appeared to have a healthy respect for his abilities and achievements. JH found his bedside manner patronising. He was hoping to get the meeting over in as little time as possible. It would usually be a quick visit for Stinson’s patients, but the consultant was particularly interested in his case, especially his rapid recovery and advances in cognitive abilities. As he entered the room, Stinson was visibly shocked by his patient’s prolific artistic output. Scattered drawings and diagrams of planets in orbital rotation, galaxies, clusters of stars and detailed nebulae, covered the bed and floor of the room like a carpet.

Jeeze, John, I didn’t know you were an artist. 

Startled from a daydream, JH looked up from his latest creation. There were very few blank pages left in whole pad. I didn’t know I was an artist either. I’m not really sure it is even art. 

It looks dammed artistic to my eyes. Is that the Pleiades? Stinson picked up one of the pictures from the floor. 

The picture had partially rolled up as it fell, so he uncurled it and held up to get a better view, Yes, the Pleiades. But what are these stars here? 

I’ve no idea, I didn’t even know that was the Pleiades, JH answered truthfully. I fell asleep in the bath and woke up with these images in my head. 

Really? I have never seen anything like it. 

I’ve found something to entertain myself. JH beamed. I did think they were good. Are you interested in astronomy? 

Stinson’s eyes sparkled. Yes, ever since I was child. My father bought me a hobby telescope for my tenth birthday, and I’ve been hooked ever since. 

Stinson picked up another handful of drawings. What are these planetary systems? This one has a binary star. 

I have no idea. I can picture hundreds like them, but I’m running out of paper, JH joked.

But this is incredible. I was always impressed with your recovery, but you can’t just become an artist in the space of an afternoon. Were you parents artistic? 

Not that I know of, and my grandparents certainly weren’t. My family are all from farming stock. We are good with our hands, but in a practical way. 

Stinson was pawing through the piles of work. I know someone who will find this remarkable. Do you mind if I take some to show him? 

No worries, take your pick, I don’t need them. JH pointed towards the large pile at the foot of the bed. I’ve no idea what I would do with them anyway. 

The consultant placed a selected pile on the table, sat down on the chair next to the bed, took off his spectacles and thoughtfully chewed on their temple tip. I had come here today to discuss your progress, but this is something else. Well, this and the chess. What other talents do you have locked up in there? Stinson gestured at JH’s head with his specs. I discussed your case with the psychiatrist. There’s a possibility of using medication to help with your nightmares, but I wonder if your nightmares aren’t part of the healing process. Let’s leave it for today. I need to speak with an external specialist. I’ll have one of the staff drop you in some more materials. This is incredible stuff, you must keep at it. 

Stinson rose out of his chair and made for the door. Hopefully, I’ll have a better idea of what we are going to do before the end of the week. 

He popped his glasses back on his nose, turned and left without saying goodbye.

JH sank back in the bed and smiled. The meeting was shorter than he’d expected. All done in ten minutes. He picked up a marker pen and set to work on the remaining paper in the pad.

The next day, one of the hospital mailroom workers dropped off a courier package. True to his word, Stinson had ordered a selection of art materials. 

JH gave a whistle as he unpacked the art materials laying them out across the bedside table, there was so much. The final item, wrapped separately to the rest, was a large hardback book titled, ‘A Guide To The Universe’. Unlike a lot of boys, he’d never really had any interest in astronomy, or becoming an astronaut. His knowledge of the universe was limited to the ‘Big Dipper’. His granddad had taught him that the alignment of the stars in the bucket could be used to find the polestar Polaris, true north. This single piece of astronomical trivia was all he knew about the subject and was a favourite to drop into conversation to show-off his outdoor survival credentials.

He picked up the weighty tome and reclined against the raised back of the bed. Flicking through the pages looking at the pictures of nebulae and galaxies, something caught his eye, a full-page colour picture of the Pleiades cluster. He stared at it for a moment. There was a tingle of recognition. The alien spacecraft from his dream was connected, but how did he know?

JH leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed the roll of pictures he’d drawn in marker pen. He tried to match them to star maps in his book. Stinson had identified the Pleiades from his drawings, it had a very distinctive shape, but the rest of his constellations appeared to be random. He laid the sheets out over the floor and stared at them. There was something familiar about the brightest star in the Pleiades cluster, labelled in his book Alcyone. Recalling his dreams, he was convinced that the brightest star in each picture was the same in each of the constellations, but why did they all look different? This piqued his interest and he set to work trying to identify the rest of the stars and make sense of it all. 

What the hell is going on? he asked himself aloud. He sat back on the bed to think and closed his eyes to concentrate. As he started to construct a mental picture of the star cluster, it began to make sense. The scores of different constellations he’d been drawing were not different at all. They were the same stars, just viewed from different angles. He