EARTH PLAN
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He’d just gotten out of his long slog in school for his doctorate in genetics, so at nearly thirty years old he was having a hard time being back at school again, even though this time he was on the opposite side of the desk. And this time he was making money rather than paying it out. He sure wanted to do more than grade papers with his life, but jobs in his field were hard to come by. Should have thought of that, he scolded himself.
He had a burning desire to prove that the so-called human “junk DNA” was something much more special. And he wasn't going to get to do that at an under funded school, on his spare time, with a lack-luster lab. They didn't even do much contract work for local businesses, or even the military, so there was little chance he'd get to do any actual genetic research here, even if such a position were to open up. He sighed. He was not a fan of the military, but they did fund a lot of university research—just not at this school.
The school, Beacon Hill, was known for its left-wing stance, having been a major campus for the counterculture movement of the 1960's, and it had been home to many anti-Vietnam war protests, human “Be-ins,” and all sorts of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll in the Summer of Love, 1967. “Wish I'd been there,” he said under his breath, but he was about fifty years too late.
Still, the spirit of those years lived on in old photos in display cases around the campus, in documentary films of the time (some of them shot at this school), and of course in the music and writing of the era. He'd spent many pleasant moments walking around the campus in the footsteps of those who had come before him in those times, with a bit of envy in his heart.
There were many good things about his time as well, he felt. Still, the Sixties were a magical time, he thought; a generation that really left their mark on history in many positive ways. He wanted to say that his generation would do the same, but that was a bit hard to see due to their generally apathetic, self-centered ways.
He longed to be part of something as vital and important as the Sixties had been, and he kept searching for what that might be in his own time. He suspected it would lay in the discovery of the cure for a great many diseases, maybe even the ability to stop aging and death that genetic engineering of the human genome might bring. And he wanted to be at the forefront of that, not stuck in front of a classroom.
But he had to pay the bills in the meantime. So, he read all of the cutting edge literature in his field he could get his hands on and scoured the Internet for the unapproved breakthroughs from the fringes. When his time came to shine, he was determined that he'd be ready. Right now, he was just biding his time.
He checked his watch and saw that it was time to go. He gathered up the papers for his next class, swigged some cold coffee from his mug, then made his way out into the empty, vaulted hallway. He rushed to get to class where his students were waiting.
CHAPTER 19
There was a party one Saturday night thrown by one of the newly retired professors in genetics from the university, and Charles had been invited, as he’d been one of the professor’s favoured students. They’d shared long conversations after classes in the pub on campus, talking about the future of genetic research and the moral implications that were presented.
Charles was surprised to find out something about himself through his talks with the old hippie professor; he was actually quite conservative in his views for a young man. The professor, Stanton “Stan” Getz, had been trying to loosen up Charles for years, even sharing a joint with him on several occasions, smoked furtively behind the pub. That had led to some spirited discussions on genetics!
Bottle of wine in hand in a brown paper bag, Charles walked the few blocks from campus to the professor’s house. It was a warm fall night, and he was enjoying being outside. He hoped they would be sitting on the professor’s patio and not cooped up indoors on such a lovely evening. There would be time enough for that this coming, frigid winter. He also hoped the wine was decent, as it had been cheap; his cash flow was tight due to paying off his large student loans.
He approached the professor’s house, amazed, as always, at how big and stately it was. Couldn’t afford this now on a teacher’s salary, not these days, he thought. The professor had been lucky and bought his house back in the early 1960’s when the real estate market had not been so hyper-inflated and the dollar bought a lot more.
And, he’d been around to fully enjoy the freedom of that decade at the campus. Charles envied him secretly and wished he could break out of his shell to enjoy life more, like the professor seemed to.
Charles rang the doorbell and listened to it chime inside the house. He’d always liked to hear doorbells like that; there was something about them that was classy, even regal, announcing one’s arrival. The door snapped open. He half-expected to see a butler come to the door in a dark suit with tails, but it was none other than Stan, in a tie-dyed shirt and shorts, his long, white hair flying and his bright blue eyes sparkling, a still-vital sixty-five years old.
“Charles! I’m so glad you could make it!” Stan hugged him.
“Thanks, you too,” Charles said, a bit surprised at the display of physical affection. Stan had always been a friendly guy but had never hugged him before. Charles stepped back from the embrace and held out the bottle. “For you.”
“Oh, thanks!” Stan took the bottle out of the paper bag. “This’ll go down good. Come on in!” Stan showed him through to the kitchen where he deposited the bottle and grabbed a couple of cold beers in green glass bottles. He opened the bottles and handed one to Charles. “Cheers!”
“Cheers,” Charles echoed, and then they drank. The beer was good and quenched a thirst Charles didn’t realize he had. “Where’s Wendy?” He looked around for Stan’s wife.
“Out until later with the girls. It’s just us guys here for a while. Which is good, so we won’t have to share our stash for a while!” Stan waved Charles out to the patio.
There were six men sitting around under the patio lights, all about the same age as Stan, some of them past teachers at the school, too. Charles shook hands with everyone and settled into a seat.
“So,” Stan said. “I’ve known Charles here for some time, and I’ve been trying to get him to loosen up for ages,” he told the group. Several of the men chuckled.
“You’ve done a good job with those joints we snuck behind the pub last school year!” Charles reminded him. That got a big laugh.
Stan turned to Charles. “True, but that was just the beginning. I think you’re in need of stronger mental detergent.” He winked.
Charles shrugged. “If you’ve got some extra-strong joints, I’m game. I guess I could stand to loosen up some more.”
“Well, if you want to really loosen up, this is your night!”
“Oh yeah? You got some good weed?” Charles asked, to the laughs of those on the patio who knew Stan’s fondness for the herb. They had probably been indulging with him before Charles arrived, judging by the “roaches” in the ashtray.
“I’ve got that, but I’m talking about something much more interesting!” Stan produced from his pocket a tinfoil package and proceeded to unroll it, revealing several small tabs of white, finely perforated paper squares, each less than a centimeter on all sides. “Acid!”
“As in LSD?” Charles stared at the tabs, not quite believing his eyes. “Wow!” He’d heard of the substance, of course, but it was not exactly easy to come by.
“LSD-25. Owsley would be proud!” Stan said and smiled big.
“You made it?” Charles asked.
“I’m not telling! But I need something to do in my retirement, don’t I?” Stan winked.
“I…uh…” Charles muttered, lost for words.
“Haven’t dropped acid before?” one of the men asked him with a smile.
“No.” Charles shook his head.
“He’s new. Be nice,” Stan said, putting a tab under his tongue and laughing. He passed the acid around and each man took a tab. Finally, one was left, and Stan held it out to Charles.<
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“You want me to take it? I dunno…” Charles said, sipping his beer.
“Only if you want to. But if you ask me, I think it would do you good,” Stan replied.
Charles thought it over for a moment, then reached for the last tab. “Alright. Maybe it’ll make me understand your humor better.” He grinned, putting it under his tongue. The others watched him with interest, amused.
“That’s the spirit!” Stan patted him on the back.
“Now what?” Charles asked, wondering what he should do with the piece of paper in his mouth.
“Get ready for your trip! Got your bags packed?” one of the men called out. The others laughed. Charles looked around at them, puzzled, fearing he was out of his depth here.
“Give it a few minutes to get into your system,” Stan said.
“Should I swallow it?”
“If you want. Won’t really matter. I’ve found it works a little faster if you give it some time under the tongue. Of course, liquid works even faster, but…” Stan looked at one of the men.
“Yeah, but I got out of that years ago,” the old chemist said.
“Swallowing it gives you rotgut!” one of the men shouted, then laughed.
“No, it doesn’t!” one of the others countered.
“Just suck on it for a few minutes, then spit it out.”
“You’ve all taken this before?” Charles asked.
“We were around in the Sixties, at the campus. What do you think?” Stan laughed.
“Oh, OK,” Charles said, suddenly feeling nervous, jittery.
“Just relax. It’s going to be fine,” Stan assured him.
“Thanks, I hope so,” Charles said.
“Too late now, anyway…unless you’ve got some Thorazine!” one of the men quipped.
The trip lasted far longer than Charles imagined it would, about eight hours, though it seemed like a thousand years.
At first he didn’t feel much from the acid, then it kicked it, and he felt like his head was being sucked up through a straw…and his body with it.
Suddenly, everything was weird….distorted….fun-house mirrors in his eyes and echoy hallways in his ears. His body didn’t seem to fit right anymore. But he had some more experienced sailors of the psychic seas to guide him, and he was soon able to level out to a calmer flight, where things really started to get interesting for him!
The party went on, wild at times, quiet at others. The women arrived and things got even livelier, with dancing, singing, and some of the couples making out. People came and went, disappearing into rooms of the house, sometimes alone, sometimes not; watching movies on TV, or just laying quiet staring at the ceiling. Charles couldn’t keep track of it all, and it became a blur in his confused head.
To try and get some focus, Charles sat down on the carpet in the living room in front of Stan’s excellent stereo. The pattern on the carpet was moving under him, but he tried to ignore it.
“Want to hear something great?” Stan asked, grinning big, his voice sounding a million miles away to Charles. After some thought, Charles was finally able to grunt and nod.
“Wait till you hear this!” Stan said, putting on an old vinyl record by the Moody Blues.
Once the music started, Charles realized he had never really heard music before that night; it seemed so alive to him now! Everything seemed vividly alive, especially himself. He closed his eyes and could see the music moving through him in sparkling, morphing colours and shapes.
He looked at his hands and could see down to the molecular level, he thought! This scared the crap out of him, and he didn’t dare to look at his hands for a while.
Eventually, he laughed it off and cast this aside as impossible when someone asked why he was looking so pale. A quick beer calmed him down a little, and he soon was absorbed in other wonders.
He was drawn back to his hands and stared at them further. He could see the atoms moving in their orbits, like tiny solar systems. He had his first epiphany then, that the universe shared the same pattern at the smallest level as it did at the largest level. “Oh, wow…” he muttered, awestruck.
This surprised him so much he decided at take a look at some other items around the room, like a table. When he found he could see the atoms there, too, it delighted him, putting a big, goofy grin on his face.
But he started to wonder about his mental state, thinking he must have really damaged something in his brain with the chemical he’d taken if he was having the sort of hallucinations he was having.
He then thought he might have gone insane, and indeed, that was one of the effects of the chemical reaction happening in his body, the sensation of too much input, seemingly like what a person having a psychotic episode might experience.
But he knew he was not insane, just probably getting more data into his senses than he was used to. It gave him a lot more appreciation for those suffering from similar mental aliments.
Then he had a deep fear that he’d never come down…that this would never end, that it would be permanent!
He moaned and closed his eyes and felt himself swirling down, deep into his body and through the DNA strands that he had spent so much time studying. They seemed to be in front of him, glowing from within with light, large enough for him to walk around inside of and touch. He saw his hand move out and stroke the large molecules, feeling their texture. He could smell and taste the chemicals that made up his DNA in their distinctive combinations that dictated who he was.
He floated around his DNA strands and pushed and pulled at them. Some of the components would not move, they were fixed solidly. But some did move, and when they moved a scene opened up in his mind's eye.
It was as if a doorway had opened to a vast, grassy plain on a bright, sunny day.
He stepped from inside his body and its glowing strands of DNA onto the field before him. The air was different than he was used to, with a richer mixture of the gases of life. There was more oxygen, he noticed, and he breathed deeply. It felt good to take that air in! It was pure, the purest he had ever breathed before. He thought, I must be in a place where there is no pollution, but where?
It was warm there and the sun was high in the clear, blue sky. He felt that he wanted to go further into the new world and explore. Thoughts of his other life and the party faded from his mind.
He looked around and saw trees like he had never seen before, huge and monstrous in their glory. The leaves were bigger than he'd ever seen and deeper shades of green than he remembered. In the sky, the clouds were very white. Strange birds flew that he could not identify. Animals ran around the plain, large and prehistoric-looking. He thought, Are those dinosaurs?
He was suddenly terrified that he was back in time.
He looked around in a circle, starting to panic. His thoughts jumped around frantically, What if something tries to eat me?
From behind a stand of massive trees came a huge creature. The ground vibrated as it walked. It lumbered around, scales on its back of armour-like bone, its tail many times bigger than Charles. The creature’s eyes were each as big as Charles's head, and they fixed on him with beady, reptilian precision, cold in their glance. And filled with menace.
Charles froze and tried to process what he was seeing.
The creature roared, its shrill cry thundering across the plain and through Charles’s quivering ears.
Terror shot through Charles, and he had an immediate urge to flee. His body twitched by instinct. He moved. He saw a hill with a rock face and ran towards it, wanting to hide in the rocks, or what he thought might be a cave.
The creature saw him running and loped after him. The thing was slow, but it was determined. And big! It plodded onward.
Charles reached the hill and found an opening in the rock, just big enough for him to squeeze into. He lay on his belly and frantically wriggled his way inside, over the sand and loose rocks, ignoring the discomfort. There was a cave inside, and he was above it.
He fell several feet.
When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized he was not alone.
There were several “cavemen” with him, staring at him. There were men and woman of diffident ages, children, and babies, too. There were about twenty in all, he guessed. His shock at this was almost able to overcome the shock of being chased by a dinosaur, but he was now even more afraid. Did these people mean him harm? They were dirty, with matted hair, and dressed in animal furs. Some carried large branches, like clubs, but they didn't raise them at him.
One of the men gestured to Charles and grunted, then took him by the arm, pulling him away from the entrance he had fallen through. Charles guessed they had all come the same way to get away from the dinosaur. They were sitting against the fall wall of the cave, as far away from the entrance as possible.
Charles nodded and let the man pull him. He sat down with the others, watching the opening above with its patch of bright sky that hurt his eyes.
It wasn't long before the bellows of the creature came closer and louder, from right outside the hole. Then, the creature was poking its head near the opening, looking in with its large eye. It knocked down rocks and sand that fell into the cave below.
One of the men with a stick yelled and went to jab it into the creature's eye. But the dinosaur was too fast and pulled back, making a big roar that rattled the cave.
Then the creature put its mouth near the hole, snapping with its teeth and darting its long, smelly tongue inside. They could smell its rank breath.
The man fell back, caught by some of the others as they shrank against the cave wall and tried not to breath in the animal’s noxious odours.
The dinosaur started to tear at the opening with one of its massive claws. The rocks shook as the creature scratched at them, making loud, terrifying sounds, sending more debris down. The humans flattened themselves as much as they could as the claw of the creature stuck through the hole, threatening to skewer them.