Humanity's Testament

by Paul Comstock

 

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Humanity's Testament

  by

  Paul Comstock

  https://www.paulallancomstock.com

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  Humanity's Testament

  Copyright © 2006 by Paul Comstock

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  Humanity's Testament

   

   

  There came a man, sent from God, whose name was John.

   

  Humanity's Testament, John's Gospel 1:1

   

  The cold and blackened titanium bars in the front of the cell isolated Dr. John Lambert from the Narcalin inside, but he did not feel safe. The dark gray and gritty concrete walls gave off no warmth, only cold and despair. Echoes of dripping from the leaky and corroded water spigot jutting crookedly from the wall to his right, grated upon his nerves and would likely allow no solitude or sleep. Even through the repetitive dripping, the Narcalin lay unmoving on the simple cot pushed up against the back wall of the cell. Light diffused through the small cell window directly above the still figure, giving only a hint of Earth's blue sky outside--a sky foreign to this creature.

  Harsh bright light from the fixture behind John cast a shadow that covered most of the back wall of the cell. The shadow of a middle-aged man etched itself onto the concrete surface, showing fringes of skimpy and light hair dusting the top of his head, almost as if a halo surrounded him. He smiled. God had not deserted him, even though the creature before him brought back the memory of deeds unworthy of forgiveness.

  He knew the monstrous form all too well, for it wasn't that long ago that he had helped to program the creatures. A Narcalin was unearthly in its appearance--shorter than an average man, standing at five feet, with stubby arms and thickened thighs genetically created by combining traits inherent in deep sea fish and the intelligence and structure of a human being. It had comically large eyes, small holes for ears, a thin slit for a mouth, and a scaly skin that was as tough as most hardened metals. The purpose of this manipulation produced a creature able to withstand high gravity and high pressure environments, specifically the rigors of the gas giant Jupiter.

  "Aren't you afraid?" he asked, finally getting the courage to face the creature.

  The Narcalin sat up and looked at him, his ruddy red eyes showed brightly in the shadow he cast, reflecting every possible bit of light that fell upon them. "No, Dr. Lambert."

  John couldn't help but shudder, though this was not his first visit to this particular Narcalin. "I told you to call me John."

  "Yes, Dr. Lambert, but I told you that my name was Peter, and yet you continue to resist addressing me with the same respect."

  "Okay, Peter then. Why aren't you afraid? Surely you know that by leaving Jupiter and returning to Earth, you've revealed that Narcalins can break their programming. You're likely to be destroyed."

  "I feel fear, the same as you, but I have no need to be afraid. It's all part of His plan." The Narcalin paused. An unearthly silence filled the room, punctuated only by the sound of the drips from the spigot. Finally, the Narcalin spoke again. "I know why I'm here, John, but why are you? Why did they send you?"

  It was a good question. He had left the Jupiter processing facility three years ago and returned to Earth, hoping never to see another of these creatures again. When the Director had called him and asked for his help, his first response had been an emphatic refusal, but Director Hodges was persistent--and convincing. Now here he was, not more than a few feet away from one of the monstrosities again.

  "You already know the answer, John. They didn't send you. He did."

  "And what makes you believe that? Did He tell you that?" The naivete of the creature amazed him. This Narcalin was more independent in his thinking than the ones John had programmed in the past, but still acted like a child--as if he were something other than a monster.

  The Narcalin lifted his stubby arms in what appeared to be a shrug. Though the body movements and facial expressions were not human, John found it impossible to ignore his translation of the movement. "So He didn't tell you anything, did He?" John asked.

  "No John, He didn't come into my prison cell with its three hundred twenty seven guards and tell me this. You humans have very little faith."

  Was that sarcasm? Narcalins were an abomination and a sneer in the face of God. Now this one was claiming that John had no faith? The mocking tone in the Narcalin's words was unmistakable, though John knew that none could exist. A Narcalin could talk through the use of pulling in air, and ejecting it, much like the human mouth, throat, and lungs, but the biological vocal device that it used was incapable of inflection. The voice from the creature always came out in a steady and constant drone, and gave away no sign of emotion, yet John clearly understood the tone hidden within the words.

  "What would you know about faith?"

  "There's so much you humans have to learn. That's all I've ever talked about. Who do you think He is?"

  "You mean God?" A cold chill coursed down John's back, causing him to shudder.

  A sound no less irritating than that of fingernails on a chalkboard ensued from the Narcalin's mouth. "No, He is nothing like the God that you revere. Can you see your God? Talk to him? Can you touch him?"

  John frowned. "Of course not."

  "Well we can, for He is among us."

  John looked at the Narcalin for a brief instant, then turned and walked out. There seemed little to be gained from further discussion with the creature. Regardless, there were people interested in what he had learned from it.

   

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  John beareth witness of him, and crieth, saying, This was he of whom I said, He that cometh after me is become before me: for he was before me.

   

  Humanity's Testament, John's Gospel 2:1

   

  "I tell you, Director, it thinks its leader is a god," John said.

  Director Hodges stood with his back to John looking out the window overlooking Seattle's Puget Sound Space Port. Outside, John could see one of the huge transport ships being loaded for another trip to Terra Nova, Earth's only viable colony. Hodges turned back to face him, standing erect and poised. "That's absurd. Their leader is nothing more than another Narcalin. We know that."

  "That's what I'm trying to tell you. It thinks this leader of theirs is a living god. I don't think it's something you can take lightly."

  Hodges sighed. "There's nothing harder to defeat than religious based resistance, but I'd rather continue to operate as if this were something else. I assure you, I'm not taking it lightly. Every day the situation gets a little worse."

  "How bad is it?"

  Hodges shook his head. "We process 100 or so new Narcalins every year, and you know as well as anyone how they're programmed. They're supposed to be loyal and follow orders, and are sent to Jupiter with only enough knowledge to do their jobs, nothing more. Yet we only have 212 of them from ten years worth that are still working on a daily basis in the mining and fabricating operations."

  "Only 212? Out of what? A thousand by now?"

  "Out of 1,023 to be exact, and the numbers reduce almost daily. Now you have some idea of the urgency. The problem has to be solved. On top of that is the fact that they can now produce spacecraft. They made the one that this Narcalin arrived in, though it was crude and barely made the trip to Earth."

  "Why don't you simply shut the program down? Don't send anymore of them down there. They can't reproduce naturally."

  "And what happens to Earth then? You know as well a
s I do that to make this program work we need to keep producing new transport ships. Every ship that goes to Terra Nova leaves with 100,000 people Earth no longer has to feed, and returns full of food that Earth can not produce, but until we have at least 50 ships making the runs, it won't even put a dent in the population problem. Without a consistent and reliable source of metallic hydrogen, we'll have to enact stricter population controls very soon, and there'll be even more starving and hungry people."

  John shuddered. He was only a kid when the world-wide population controls were first enacted. He could still picture his parents glued to their Holovids watching news on the food riots and other disturbances, their backs stiff and erect and their faces pasty white and unnatural.

  Even though there had been only minor riots for almost a decade now, surely more stringent population controls and food rationing would lead to more violence, maybe even war. The Narcalin project was the only solution even being considered, since genetics and technology were now stretched to their limits. No, he had to agree. Nothing short of continuing the Narcalin project would be an option.

  Hodges continued. "Until recently, we've been able to build two new ships a year and still provide the fuel for the others. As of this year, we have eleven ships making two runs each year. This year, we'll only have enough materials to build one new one if we want to keep them all flying. Do you realize how much metallic hydrogen it takes to build a single ship?"

  John shook his head. "No, but I imagine quite a lot."

  "More than can possibly be manufactured on Earth in a thousand years. And that's besides what's needed to fuel all of them. Every projection of Narcalin production shows an exponential increase in the supply of metallic hydrogen, and over ten years, we should now be able to produce five new ships every year. We're down to just one a year. Soon, it'll be none because all of the metallic hydrogen will be required for fuel. After that runs out, we'll have to start decommissioning ships and scavenging their hull material for fuel."

  John didn't understand the physics behind metallic hydrogen, but knew that it resulted from high pressures compressing hydrogen into a solid. On Jupiter, the much needed metallic hydrogen formed naturally. It was used for the hulls of the interstellar transports as well as fuel for the Wigner-Hanstrudt phased engines. Something about it being a stable superconductor for the engine's field made the material ideal. Without a complete hull of metallic hydrogen, the engines were only a fraction as efficient, and only inner system travel was practical.

  Small quantities of the material could be manufactured on Earth, but it was difficult and costly, and took huge amounts of energy. On Jupiter, it was a simple process using some basic equipment, but no human being could survive for long in the atmosphere, even with the best environmental suits Earth could produce. Mechanical solutions had been tried, but proved too unreliable to guarantee a steady supply.

  Jupiter's atmosphere consisted of nothing but pure hydrogen, helium, and methane, and was under terrific pressure. Adding to the difficulties was Jupiter's gravity--roughly two and four tenths that of Earth. With all of these obstacles, mining and manufacturing metallic hydrogen on Jupiter was a pipe dream. That was, until the scientific community came up with the genetically modified Narcalins.

  "Can the operations keep running with so few Narcalins?"

  "Oh, yes, but if this keeps on, it won't be running much longer. We always thought that the Narcalin numbers were decreasing due to death. That is, until your friend Peter showed up."

  "That monster is not my friend. It's an abomination, and I'm insulted by your remark."

  "Well, whatever you call him, you've managed to make quite an impression. The Narcalin demanded that you accompany him back to Jupiter. We... No you need to work out a compromise with the Narcalins so they will get back to work."

  "But I thought he was to be disposed of? You can't just let these creatures..."

  "Enough!" Hodges slammed his hand sharply on the desk. "Look, I know you left the project because you didn't believe in it anymore and got religious, but we're not discussing its morality or your beliefs here. We're talking about the future of the Earth, and like it or not, that depends on the Narcalins and Jupiter. Without the Narcalins, life on Earth will become unbearable. What do your beliefs tell you about that?"

  John had no answer. There was no choice.

   

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  And he said unto them, Ye are from beneath; I am from above: ye are of this world; I am not of this world.

   

  Humanity's Testament, John's Gospel 4:1

   

  Darkness surrounded John and the little courier ship, enveloping him in a silky veil pierced with bright spots of light with the swirling mass of Jupiter rapidly approaching ahead. The stars, vast and infinite, spread beyond the edges of the growing sphere within the viewport. John longingly thought of Earth's blue skies as he looked at the chaos below, but Earth was nothing more than another of those bright dots behind the ship as it approached the outer rings of the gigantic gas planet.

  John knew a few things about the ring system. It began roughly 92,000 kilometers from Jupiter's center and extended to about 250,000 kilometers from the planet. The outer ring was known as the Gossamer ring, and consisted of fine debris from Amalthea and Thebe--two moons that were breaking up. Inside of this, were two more rings--a flattened main ring and an inner, cloud-like ring, called the halo.

  The halo had an unearthly feeling to it, and it had been three years since John had seen it. It was still breathtaking, and instantly he knew that God had his hand in this world, just as he had with all of creation. It was strange how he looked at it now--far differently than how he had seen it just a few short years earlier.

  Glancing down at the roiling maelstrom, a swirling massive red spot looked back. It was huge and soon covered almost half of the viewport. The gigantic swirl looked like an angry red eye glaring accusingly at him. As surely as he knew that God had a hand in Jupiter, so had Satan. This was the devil's eye angrily tearing at the surface of the planet as it stared up in longing at God's halo.

  He glanced over at Peter. To his dismay, though he tried to avoid it, John had come to think of the Narcalin as Peter, but he still held firmly that this monster was an abomination, no matter what good it and its kind did for humanity. Below was the Narcalin world. A world of chaos. A hell that no human being could endure, and a testament to his belief that the Narcalins were something else, something evil.

  Ahead spinward along the orbital direction of the rings, appeared a shiny ball about the size of Earth's moon, glistening and clear. Europa was one of the larger outer moons of Jupiter. Being in a stable orbit that would not decay, it offered a viable location for the Narcalin processing base and for the first step in the construction of new interstellar transports. All of the raw materials necessary for human survival could be found there. The most difficult resource to find among the vastness of space was water, and Europa had plenty of it. Its shiny ice-covered surface hid an ocean of slush and water beneath it.

  As the tiny courier ship slowed, John could feel a tingling passing across his skin and a sharp piercing whine as the Wigner-Hanstrudt phased engine reduced the field strength passing through the stainless steel hull. The opportunity to take a trip in one of the gigantic interstellar transports had never presented itself to John, but he understood that the tingling was absent in a ship with a metallic hydrogen hull. The superconductivity of the material allowed no residual loss of energy, so none was released, hence no tingling. None of the precious metallic hydrogen could be wasted on a ship's hull meant solely for planetary travel, though, so planetary passengers had to endure the annoyance.

  As the courier ship rounded the surface of Europa, it passed very close to the shipyard where the newest transport was being assembled. The new ship loomed above the surface, dwarfing the massive structures and gridwork holding it in place. The front third of the gigantic ship was already covered by
sheets of the dull gray metallic hydrogen, with the rest of the frame left bare. The uncovered sections, waiting for their sheets, looked like the jagged edge of an incomplete puzzle that someday might become another badly needed transport ship.

  At the courier ship's closest approach, John could see quite clearly a lack of activity below in the shipyard. Production had stopped, at least for now. Next to the incomplete transport ship, several of the little tugs that hauled the completed sheets of metallic hydrogen, were sitting motionless on the surface. A bare open space next to the tugs explained the inactivity. No unused sheets remained in the staging area.

  John had seen the construction site on more than one occasion, but to see it motionless presented an ominous view of things to come. As far as he knew, this was the first time that activity had stopped completely. Usually the tugs were buzzing around, either retrieving the sheets of metallic hydrogen that were launched from Jupiter's surface by the Narcalins, or placing them onto the hull of a transport under construction.

  John glanced again at Peter. The Narcalin, sitting motionless in the cabin of the small craft, stared out at the scene ahead. The lack of facial expressions and body language made it impossible for John to discern any meaning from the creature. The only way to get anything from Peter was to ask. "It looks like your fellow Narcalins have stopped production completely."

  The Narcalin did not turn, keeping his eyes firmly on the viewport and the gigantic ship. "As I explained many times, it is all part of His plan. Production will continue when He says so."

  John shook his head. "But what does He want? Surely you know. You're his ambassador, aren't you?"

  Peter paused, then turned to look at John. The red eyes were bright now, reflecting the light from the shiny and bright surface of Europa as it poured through the view port. "He would not say I was his ambassador. Perhaps His voice would better describe it."

  John wondered if Peter even knew what his leader's plan was. John had his doubts. For now, he had to accept whatever Peter said and deal with it as best he could.

  John continued to watch the surface of Europa as they made their way around the moon. The construction facility was purposely placed on the opposite side of the moon from the processing station. The Narcalins themselves and their production facility were more important than any single ship or shipyard. To lose the facility from an accident at the shipyard would have set the project back five years, and would have been unacceptable. When the project started ten years ago, the first Narcalins were grown on Earth and shipped to Jupiter. Now, all Narcalins were processed on Europa.