by Mark Kraver
Numen sensed their need for more information and said, “Your world is now crippled. Crippled with pollution, disease, starvation, and overpopulation. The actions of humankind have helped alter the climate of this planet, creating mass extinctions. If left unchecked, nuclear apocalypse will be inevitable. This has happened once in the history of the Elohim, and it unleashed our worst foe—”
“Space bugs,” Logan repeated what she had once heard inside a dream.
“Affirmative. They evolved on the now extinct planet, in the now extinct Mingus galaxy. The Mingus galaxy was destroyed in the recycling of matter in that sector of the universe far, far away.”
“Recycling of matter? Isn’t that the big bang?” questioned Conrad.
“Yes, visually they are always a big bang,” Numen concurred. “You are of course referring to the last regional event. I assure you, it is impressive, but silent. And, the whole universe does not recycle at one time, just in gravitational nodes. Little bangs, I will call them, occur at regular intervals throughout the universes. Their trajectories move through the fabric of the universe like raindrop ripples on still lake water. Where enough galactic waves cross, constructive peaks in matter create enough gravity to precipitate a Brobdingnagian intergalactic accretion disc that condenses into a regional little bang.”
“Brob-ding-nagi-an?” Logan tried to pronounce out loud.
“Yes. More emphasis on the DING, but close enough,” Numen said. “Every given area of a universe is subject to recycling. This region will recycle again in 652 billion years. In a way, a little bang is the best and the worst the universe has to offer.”
Numen paused, noting the looks on Logan and Conrad’s faces. He considered the best way to explain. “Again, the lake model compares well. A region of space is like a desert lake. After the rainy season, fish can spread out across its entirety, having the luxury of space and privacy. As the sun dries up the lake water, the fish get closer together, until they are bumping into each other. When the lake dries up completely, all the fish are either carried off by birds, or they dry up, and decay. All that is left behind is lost. Then, when the rains come back, life renews itself.
“The little bang is like the rain. By the time a region of the universe is ready to recycle, there are countless advanced civilizations with interesting and wonderful lifeforms throughout the galaxies. As the galaxies spins down closer and closer, these lifeforms come together and have a chance to interact. Beautiful alliances are formed between civilizations, technology explodes, and terrible wars are fought. Those who have developed the means to escape to a newer, younger region of the universe are not consumed by the little bang and do not perish forever. Eos, Goddess of the Universes, judges and blesses the worthy chosen to survive into the next regional recycling. The Elohim are her chosen people.”
“That’s unbelievable,” said Conrad.
“Why? You accept that electrons orbiting a nucleus are both particles and waves? You accept the dust nebular accretion disc formation of your own solar system? Planets orbit stars? Stars orbit in galaxies? Why would it not be the same for galaxies in the universe? Are they not just complex particles expanding in infinite space?” Numen questioned. He paused, realizing he was talking to a mentally deficient sapient and should not try to elaborate further, but he did anyway. “You will see that this is true if and when a strong enough telescope sees that the distant most galaxies are not only moving away but are also moving toward you at relativistic speeds.”
Conrad leaned his head back against the soft couch cushion, trying to absorb all that he’d just heard, forgetting about the pain in his side for a few moments. He felt like a child learning for the first time that one plus one equaled something called a two.
Numen continued, “Our first Creator in this universe—he was called Gog—had difficulties with his children on a terraformed planet in the Mingus Galaxy called Hell.
“Ew, there really is a Hell?” Conrad asked.
“Was a Hell. Now it is recycled cosmic dust still congealing into the stars and planetary solar systems so far away that its original light waves have not yet reached this galaxy.”
“What do you mean that Gog had difficulties with his children?” Conrad asked.
“Hell was in a very long line of developing planets. Gog left the job of controlling the human population of Hell to one of his most trusted seraphim, Armilus. As the legend goes, the population of the planet had a great war and poisoned the planet with radioactivity, making it unsuitable for life as we know it. It was upon this planet that a micro-animal population evolved into what is now known as the macro-animal, alphabiotic signatures.”
“The Bots. They are still out there,” Logan said, her voice emotionless as she listened to the almost constant voice inside her head.
“Affirmative. They are here in our system, mining matter and energy. This includes the very star plasma that makes life on this planet possible. They’ve placed coronal magnetic bottle implants into the sun’s photosphere. They eject massive amounts of solar energy into the deep regions of space to power their planet smashers and matter-collection ships.”
“They have already crushed the fifth planet in this system,” said Logan, mesmerized.
Conrad looked at Logan. “Jupiter? We just saw it the other night. Remember?”
“No, the asteroid belt,” she said.
Conrad squinted his eyes and could not reply.
“Once the sun loses enough critical mass, and the fusion reaction at the core begins producing elemental carbon, gravity will lose its grip, and the entire solar system will feel the effects of the sun swelling into a red giant star,” Numen concluded.
“Apocalypse,” Logan said, in a submissive voice holding her head down in resignation. She could not discern whether it was her talking or the voice inside her head.
“Elohim rescue is not an option,” Yahweh said, shaking his head. “We cannot expect to send a signal six point six six thousand lightyears and receive help from home before the red giant cometh.”
“Once a Bot hive has formed and downloaded the queen’s genetic memories into the next generation, they make formidable adversaries, even for the Elohim,” Numen continued. “This solar system has one of the most virulent strains of Bot in the galaxy. The seraphim of Ra and El fought a devastating war against the Bot sixty-five million years ago, wiping out over eighty percent of the lifeforms on the surface of this planet with only two iridium bombs. One detonated in the current day Yucatan Peninsula and one where Iceland now lies. Because of that war, an entourage of seraphim and cherubim installed a moon-based deflector grid to ward off future infestations.”
“Why wasn’t this information in the proletariat's mission report when we left? Maybe it was never reported?” Yahweh asked Numen. Numen raised his artificial eyebrows and fell silent, studying his stored data with his quantum mitochondrial-core processor.
“How much time do we have?” Conrad asked.
“A little more than one half anton,” Numen said. He noted neither Logan or Conrad knew how to calculate an anton and added, “Eleven hundred years at the current rate of solar depletion, which appears to be accelerating with these recent solar flare-ups.”
“Wow. So, you’re telling me this planet has eleven hundred years of life left before the sun blows up into a red giant star? Inconceivable,” Conrad said. He turned to his former employee. “Do you believe that Mac?”
“It is what I have feared all of my life,” Mac said solemnly.
“You grew up learning about this in Atlantis—in Antarctica?” Logan asked, so she could hear it with her own ears, again.
Mac shifted his eyes back and forth between Numen and his Lord Yahweh and nodded.
The entire penthouse went silent. Mac nervously fiddled with his fingers, twirling his thumbs, repeatedly. Yahweh and Numen exchanged looks but said nothing. Conrad and Logan leaned into one another, holding hands tightly.
After a moment, Conrad exhaled loudly and spoke. “W
ow, that’s a lot to process. This still doesn’t answer the question: who are the Elohim?”
“We are sentient being like you,” Yahweh felt compelled to answer. “We have lived in this universe for countless millions of antons. Our species, Homo superior, shares 98% of the same DNA as your species, Homo sapiens. Like you share 98% of your DNA with the greater apes of this planet. Our species uses your species to populate the universe with new generations of people called Elohim.”
“Space parasites?”
“Yes, I believe that description will suffice,” Yahweh answered.
An uncomfortable quiet fell across the room.
"Our major differences,” Yahweh added rubbing his hand over his bald head, “not counting physical attributes, are that our brain is larger, we have longer telomeres on our DNA, and we have an extra organ."
"More brains. That makes sense," Conrad said.
"Not more brains. We have the same number of neurons. It's that we use them all, and each cell is larger."
"Larger?"
"As your fat cells swell with adipose, our neurons swell with an ancient intracellular parasite called mitochondria. These parasites feed our neural tissues at an accelerated rate. Our extra organ, the infundmitium, found where your appendix is located, produces concentrated adenosine triphosphate and neuropeptides to feed our mitochondria at an accelerated rate."
"Wow, supercharged brains,” Conrad marveled.
Yahweh winked, smiled, and tugged on his earlobe.
“What are telomeres?” Logan asked. She already had a vague idea what they are but wanted a more advanced definition.
“They are biochemical structures on the ends of our DNA that give us long life.” Yahweh paused, sensing complaints about Logan’s lowering blood sugar levels. “Maybe we ought to have refreshments before you learn more,” he said. “Numen, room service?”
“Room service must be delayed,” Numen responded.
“I suppose room service is never delayed on your planet?” Conrad asked.
Neither Numen nor Yahweh responded.
“Okay,” Conrad looked around uncomfortably and settled his eyes on Mac. “Yahweh,” he said, “Did you know Mac here was very excited to make your acquaintance?”
Yahweh turned to address Mac. “Atlantean, Numen is very proud of your people. Thank you for your patronage.”
“I was born to serve, my Lord,” Mac responded, bowing his head, lowering his eyes, and slapping his right hand against his breast.
“What was that? A secret handshake?” Conrad asked.
“It is an Elohim salute of respect. All—” Numen was cut off by the ring of a doorbell.
“Room service? Just in time,” Logan said, giving Conrad a chastising look.
“Numen, you think of everything,” Conrad said, giving Logan a What’s your problem? look back.
“It was Maximilian who arranged this service,” said Numen.
“Mac, you’re a surprise every minute,” Conrad said, as Logan raced past him and opened the door.
Bullet the cherub flew in from the elevator with what looked and smelled like steaming hot pizza and chicken nuggets. As the cherub settled the boxes on the kitchen counter, Logan narrowed her eyes at Conrad. “What’s gotten into you?” she asked. “You are being so—” her voice trailed off confused with how to describe his actions.
“It is his last burst of energy before dying,” Numen said, without regard to its consequence.
“What?” Logan asked, her stomach tightening. She turned to Numen, hoping she had misheard him.
Yahweh held up his hand in the air to stop his emotionless companion, then he looked at Logan and Conrad with a compassion that spoke volumes.
“My last visit to the doctor wasn’t good,” Conrad said. “Stage four cancer with metastasis to my lungs, liver, possibly spine or brain next. Who knows? I think my recent pain, well—” he lamented with an apologetic productive bloody cough.
Logan wasn’t sure what all of that meant, but she was sure it didn’t sound good.
Chapter 58
Children are the anchors that hold a mother to life.
Sophocles, 496-406 BC, Earth
Library of Souls
Thunderclap
Virgins and everyone on Earth are sterilized? I’m not a virgin, so why did you pick on me?” Logan blurted out, not believing what she had just heard from the obstinate robot. She’d finished off both pizzas and every single chicken nugget, so she was noticeably reinvigorated when Yahweh and Numen resumed their discourse. “Elohim are born from virgin Homo sapiens? Really?”
“No, not really. Not as you understand the meaning of the word virgin.” Numen answered. “In today’s epoch it would be nearly impossible or necessary to find enough ‘true virgins’ to fulfill genesis on this planet. If a sapient woman is said to be a virgin, then it is assumed she is uncommitted to a mate, contractually. The Elohim word ‘virgin’ means uncommitted, not that a woman has never enjoyed primordial coitus with a man.”
Logan frowned, not ever hearing it called that before. “But it doesn’t bother you that I’m committed to Vince?” Logan asked, making both Mac and Conrad squirm awkwardly.
“In your case, commitment to Dr. Conrad is a desirable attribute. He can assist you in rearing your Elohim child, while I concentrate on the other children’s gestation and development in this coming superior generation,” communicated Numen.
“Why? Because you made me who I am? Your little science project?” she shot her words back as quickly as they came. The growing discomfort on the faces of both Numen and Yahweh was clear. “Give me a command, and watch me perform? Is that it? Well, I’m not playing your little games anymore. When were you going to tell me about this little gift of yours in the first place? Huh? You didn’t have anything to do with my last child, did you?”
“That was very unfortunate,” Yahweh said. “No one should experience that loss.”
Logan was unmoved by the compassion in Yahweh’s voice. “Oh really? What would you be doing if I was pregnant with Vince’s baby now?”
“Waiting,” Yahweh answered.
“Waiting? Waiting for what?”
“Waiting for the delivery of your baby, of course. We are not savages.”
“You mean savages like me? I’ve lost a baby before, and I can lose this one too, for all I care.”
“Kit don’t say that,” Conrad said. It hurt to hear her say such things.
“And by the way, when and how did you give me this little package in the first place?”
“Around the campfire,” Yahweh said telepathically so not to alarm Dr. Conrad and Maximilian.
“Campfire? You mean when I was sleeping?” Logan jumped up from her chair. “You little pervert,” she said, lunging at Yahweh. Within a split second she felt like she was hit by a brick wall in her face. Looking at the little naked baby who stopped her, Logan shook off the sensation of being slapped. “What’s the matter?” she said, her voice slightly calmer. “Can’t handle a little primitive female aggression?”
“Of course. You were handled successfully,” Numen said. “And Elohim are not involved in bestiality. It only took a small flake of exfoliated skin to impregnate you with the first Elohim of this planet.”
“What?” Logan gasped, feeling a small kick in her side. She looked to the place on her arm where she vaguely remembered getting scratched. When was that? she tried to recall. Almost immediately the moment appeared in her mind: Campfire, the solar system, Heaven. Logan took in the smoothness of her forearm and the small faint line on her skin just below her elbow. She touched it delicately with her finger and looked up at Numen. “How is that possible? I’ve never had a baby before, but this feels like I’ve been pregnant for months, not hours.”
“Correct. The incubation rate for Elohim is quite different from other hominin,” Numen said.
“What are we talking about as far as time? Months?” Conrad asked.
Numen shook his head. “One lunton.” When h
e saw blank faces, he reiterated, “One month.”
“Holy shit,” responded Mac, surprising both Logan and Conrad with his explicative.
“One month, how is that possible? I’m not growing a pouch like a kangaroo, am I?” Logan asked, half in disbelief and half in fear.
“The metabolism of Homo sapiens and Homo superior are not completely compatible during surrogate gestation,” Numen explained. “The insatiable growth rate of the fetus cannot be sustained by a sapient mother’s anatomy and physiology. The babies’ head circumference will grow too large for the womb; if left to run full term the mother would surely die, and the infant would suffer irreconcilable grief over the cause of that death.”
“So, will I deliver normally, or do you gut me like a fish?”
Numen frowned his artificial eyebrows. “Our time here is coming to an end. Please stay constructive. You will be the prophetess for the entire world, and need more training,” Numen said. He could sense his master’s fatigue. Yahweh blinked his large eyes with a faraway stare, clearly needing to either sleep or hibernate soon, but there were still many important facts left for her to absorb.
“I’m the prophetess of the world,” she said, touching her forehead, and feeling dizzy from low blood sugar. Logan fell into the chair beside Conrad as Mac grasped her arm, so she would not fall onto the floor. “Everyone’s supposed to listen to me? What do you think they’ll say when I tell them everyone on the Earth they are sterile? Hey, long healthy life is worth it? So, what are we talking about, as far as life expectancy? Eighty years old? Ninety? One hundred?”
Numen shook his head until Logan reached one hundred, at which point he nodded. “One day humanity will erupt into a beautiful rose,” he said, “but today it remains a peanut buried in the ground.”
