by Tom Holloway
I do hear sympathy from them when things go bad, but they also acknowledge or praise good results. When we need one another, or if they have something specific needing to be done, I just know it, as I hear their thoughts. Sometimes I feel something like love from them, similar to the affection I had for my dog as a boy. Most of the time, I am sure I’ve satisfied their expectations, and I have been able to do great things for them at times. There have been some truly great military victories over the years, and I have earned their admiration.
My purpose for them was surprising to me because of why they picked me. Mankind on Earth is still young or primitive, an evolution in process. Humans’ genetic programming is still enabled with the ability or capacity to kill. For example, a very kind woman still has the capability to harm others for the right reason: to protect her young, to protect her family, to protect her country, and maybe to sacrifice herself if needed. Those genes or DNA codes are no longer part of advanced cultures. No, my new home is a much kinder place. There is no war and no death, as humans know it. It is a wonderful civilization, hundreds of thousands of years advanced, or maybe much more than that. For sure they are far beyond my comprehension or my body’s evolutionary status. They have achieved technology beyond belief, maybe even reaching a status of supernatural, maybe spiritual. You might imagine heaven would be like this, with the angels as ancient scientists, all-knowing and wise.
Thus my purpose does make sense. This is why they saved me, why I exist. They told me this.
In the universe there were threats that had to be contained, dangerous issues that needed to be resolved, and laws to enforce. Simply put, they needed my genetic coding. They needed guard dogs. They needed to use my genes, my virgin DNA code. Although primitive in comparison to theirs, my chromosomes are untainted, with pure traits they wanted and needed for breeding warriors or guardians. I am their warrior-guardian.
They were clear. They said to me, “Henry, we need a warrior’s temperament yet one who is civilized as well as smart, honest, and loyal. You have all the character qualities of a good soldier—the best traits, the ones most admired: a sense of duty, protection, courage, endurance, strength, loyalty, selflessness, and, the most critical, a good heart. You have this nobility and all that comes with it and more. You will do fine.”
Thus I was cloned, or cyber-cloned, many times…hundreds of times…then millions of times. I was the original, and then, though it was hard for me to believe, I was put in charge of this army of my clones. They are not exactly like me, as they are a mix of both organic and synthetic, more like robots, or you could maybe call them humanoids. I think they’re more human than not, much like me. You can easily see the similarity, although they’re better than I am, as far as what a soldier should be. They’re stronger, hardier, and never ill; they need little food or water and can breathe in almost any atmosphere and function in all weather extremes. They are perfect soldiers. The best part is they still have my character traits: my values, my sense of duty, my honor. They are unselfish, sincere, honest, and without greed. They are as loyal to me as a son is to his father. Actually they are all my sons. My genetic DNA codes are in them, programmed to honor me. They do act like me in a weird way; their mannerisms are just like mine. The astonishing part is there are millions of them spread over the universe.
My job could be described in very simple terms. I was assigned the task of being the policeman of the universe, given command of the largest military police force in the universe (that I know about). I have been given technology beyond human comprehension. Unlimited resources back me. Well, almost unlimited. The long distances with trillions of miles create issues in supplies and sometimes communications.
I have a boss. As I work for a Consortium of Civilizations; their leader is my employer. He is from one of the very old, really advanced civilizations, leading the rest, or at least I think so. Their culture is very functional and kind, plus: unselfish, and filled with respect and love for one another. They are beings that have mostly grown past the need of our type of outlook; humans, at times, can be very self serving.
They have given me this guardian responsibility and the tools to carry it out. They said to me, “Keep the peace, enforce our commandments, cut out the infections when needed”—that’s never easy—“and do the right thing. Always make a bad situation better, and then start the healing process.”
At times justice is easy and comes only when needed, involving little politics, a simplified due process. It is just a simple set of commandments. I was given some basic laws to enforce, told to use kindness whenever possible. I always have a range of options with resulting outcomes, yet I have never been asked to justify my decisions. Sometimes I think they give me too much power and responsibility. I have never lusted after power. It is a curse with a heavy price demanded and constant payments due regularly. I accept it as a duty to endure.
Of course the main challenge is the massive expanse of my jurisdiction, as it is immense, sometimes impossible, just as the universe is almost infinite in size. Plus, I think I am not the only one to command an army for the Consortium now and in the past. There are other parts of the universe I have not seen. Maybe there are others like me across the vastness of space. I have been told there are other military groups, built similarly to this one, beyond my vision, many quadrillions of miles away.
As for my boss, I call him Gabriel; he is considered one of the smartest guys in the Consortium. I don’t know his real name. I think Gabriel might be his real name or should be his real name, not sure. He says it fits. He is part of a group of beings who are very old. I mean really old, many thousands of years old. They are intimidating, and they are constantly teaching me, coaching me, and, mostly, forgiving me. I have become humbler as I’ve grown older. I now realize the immensity and variety of the universe in its construction: the energy, time, movement, dimensions, the vastness of space, and the other beings of intelligence living in it. I have faced many challenges, many problems to resolve; some I’ve handled well, some not. I am sorry for those situations in which I could have done better. I have some real regrets and remorse.
I am now ninety-four in Earth years and have seen a life that is beyond belief. I would not change anything. I have many stories to tell, many adventures, although I’m not sure who would believe them, and I’m not permitted to tell. No book deal for me. I miss being a human on Earth. Never having a family or having a special girlfriend has been tough.
All this sounds silly, like some old guy whining. I have ten days to enjoy being here. What to do first?
As severely as I have missed everything on Earth, the most valuable objects for me are its books and music. I take some back with me, trying out new authors and artists. I always need to restock. Thus I think a bookstore will be my first stop. Plenty of newspapers and magazines are there, too.
I have also discovered music is distinctive to each world, as are books, or what we call books. Each civilization does it differently. I love the music from this planet. I can’t get enough of it. All of it is brilliant: symphonies, rock bands, soloists, choirs, country music, and jazz. On this visit I would be thrilled to go to a concert, see a live performance, maybe at a nightclub. I always make time for a bookstore, just to feel and buy new books, then I review them; how pleasing to review the work of creative new authors. I am old-fashioned. I like real books and real newspapers, as they feel personal, not like electronic downloads. I especially love the charm of a real book, as in the sensation of it, the look and shape of it, even the texture and the smell of it. It’s just like when I was a little boy. Having a good book is like holding a little treasure. It is real. The magazines and their photos make me feel good, a quick fix.
There is nothing better than being home.
Chapter 6
June 6, 2014 Henry Benjamin Johnson
This visit will be the best. I feel it. This time back will be different, in the Earth year 2014, and today’s date is June 6, a great time to be here. Although I am
ninety-four years old, age has never been too much of a problem. I have not aged like a normal human because of being rebuilt in 1944; my benefactors dramatically slowed the aging process in me by improving my cell regeneration and by using DNA adjustments, changing codes, enhancing them, reengineering me.
Because they are pleased with me, as a reward I was recently given another overhaul. The Consortium’s original rebuilding of me worked well, yet they felt an enhancement was necessary. They have given me a new lease on life, making me grateful for their kindness and affection. I smile when I think about their warmth toward me. You could call it a birthday gift from them. They gave me youth and enhanced my immortality.
I am physically young again. Yes, I think it’s quite miraculous. I am rid of my ninety-four-year-old body and, thanks to my benefactors, back to around age thirty. At least the physical body I am now using is thirty or even younger, cloned from my previous ninety-four-year-old body. I still feel the same, though. The same DNA and genes were used, just like when I was in my twenties.
All this was done with a perfect clone built with my DNA coming from my body, created two years ago. It was grown in an artificial environment, advanced by enhanced growth hormones plus some synthetic organic material, creating a young physical body, the muscles conditioned by liquid electricity. It is my exact duplicate but better, more enhanced, all within a required two-Earth-year period, so as to meet this deadline for my current visit. My previous body was quite young-looking, even for such an older age, feeling younger and looking maybe more like the midforties. Yet I was starting to feel my age. Now all that is gone.
My personal data was downloaded into my improved body using thousands of microscopic drones copying stored data from my mind, all that I am: every experience, all my human values, memories, military experience, relationships, and spiritual values, all in preparation for the last download, which took place before this trip. These molecule-size magnetic-electron drones magnetized and copied every single neuron in my old brain, then sorted them out, billions of them, loaded them into something like a massive mainframe computer, and prepared the download for the new me.
I nervously made the final transition and know it was successful, as I am now in the new body and feel the same cerebrally. My thinking is the same, no differences. Of course I now feel much better physically than before; I feel young. I am rid of the ninety-four-year-old body with the aches and all the other age-related health issues. All problems are gone. Intense workouts are easy again. The chemical difference physically is remarkable; all my glands are at full output. One big change is I have a sex drive again; it’s been a long time since I felt the strength of those hormones. Now I realize what I lost with aging, as I feel completely restored with this update. I am delighted. I stare at my hands, and they are a young man’s hands.
Although as far as I can tell, I am the same Henry Johnson. The old memories seem unchanged. I remember the same experiences and feel the same emotions. I am just young again. I have more energy, more strength, and more optimism. I am renewed with purpose—I’m once again excited about the future. I had lost some of that enthusiasm in my old body. I now feel inspired again. I feel the youth surging in my veins. Sometimes being part of a highly advanced civilization is a good thing. And, smiling, I say aloud to myself, “I think a youthful sense of humor sure helps, too.”
Also because of some new genetic enhancements, I am better than before. The muscles are better; this body is much stronger physically. Plus they added titanium cement in the bones, which are now more difficult to break. The muscles are much tighter, laced with polysynthetic compounds causing quicker reflexes and overall built for high-sustained performance with great strength. The only drawback is the weight. The new body, because of the increased muscle density and the metallic bones, is heavier. I am still six foot two and have my same slender frame, yet my Earth weight surprisingly comes in at 290 pounds—much heavier than my original 195. To have the increased strength, I must deal with the extra gravity.
The other new rebuild improvement is my intelligence, which has again been enhanced by my benefactors, who thought I was very primitive. Although I still feel primitive, I am smart enough to know I am not smart enough. They laugh at this. They say I am still very young and to stop complaining; I should be thankful.
In this upgrade, the microcomputer processor and its database, that they had implanted in my brain in my first rebuild, in my original body, were replaced. The new ones are similar but much better. They are now 90 percent organic, part of my body, nourished by my blood, part of my DNA. Thus I have cell regeneration. The processor can now develop, evolve, adapt, grow, and become much stronger with time and use. They also give me even more extensive communications capability. My outgoing telepathy is much more powerful; the incoming more receptive. It feels natural, not strange. In the past I was never able to completely use telepathy well. It was always unnatural, certainly never strong enough to overwhelm another mind, and never able to communicate to more than one being at a time.
However, now, because of this new processor, telepathy is a real strength, a terrific tool for me. I have much more powerful access to others’ thoughts, including many beings at the same time. I can even use my thought waves effectively to broadcast my emotions and then to pull out or guide the emotions of others, as in a mind meld, to create understanding of the real feelings among a group of beings. Opposite of this, it is an awful instrument; it can be a weapon to overwhelm others and forcefully extract information using painful probing when needed. I can transmit back and forth to the starship over long distances just by thinking of it and by using the energy from the Cyclone. The military advantage is useful, too, as by using the Cyclone as an energy source I can amplify my telepathy, focusing on beings within five hundred yards or more, sometimes even through a ship’s hull. This gives me the terrible option of killing all the beings in this range by overwhelming their brain activity, causing it to cease functioning. Too harsh even for me. I probably will not use the processor for this, as it’s hard to tell whom I might hurt, what kind of possible collateral damage there might be, and the flashbacks might damage me. Besides, I find it distasteful to use it to kill. Maybe changing an attitude or controlling a victim’s mind might be useful, or it might help listening to extracted memories or communicating my anger. But more than this does not work for me. I live with a lot of remorse now. I don’t want more.
Anyway, I am now back in the Cyclone, hovering about two hundred feet above Frankfort Avenue in Louisville, Kentucky, close to where I was born many years ago. Thankfully, it is overcast, thus no massive shadow is being cast from the ship to the ground. This huge starship is really near to the surface, maybe too close. It may cause vibrations people can feel, and the massive energy shields cause static electricity, which also can be felt. It causes the hair on the back of your neck to rise, too. I have to keep moving. The Cyclone has just caused two electric company transformers on the tops of phone poles to explode. Shorted out by static electricity strikes from the hull. Not good, both strikes were visible.
I need to be close to the surface to allow me to drop down from the Cyclone using a one-person power beam, which is fast and efficient, mostly invisible. I want see the house I grew up in. The visual images are terrific as I walk along on the sidewalk, trying to act normal. I see people walking or talking on cell phones on their porches, and I say hi; some of them smile back. I see the old neighborhood, not changed that much, and I have many good memories: my paper route, the tree-house tree, Mrs. Slafkes’s oatmeal cookies, and my friends. The people I see can’t see the Cyclone above us, as it is in camouflage mode, yet they can feel it; they peer upward, with funny looks on their faces. I feel it, too; the static electricity is there; the starship is only a few hundred feet up. I know better, but I just like seeing the old neighborhood.
When I was born I was given the name Henry Benjamin Johnson, born to a good Catholic family, several brothers and sisters, a loving father and mo
ther, just working class people. Life was simple then, and I remember it fondly, as we were a close family. My death was tragic for my mother, especially since I was the oldest, the only child to die in World War II. My friends and family have never forgotten me; they truly mourned me. I think my mother came to my grave every year on Memorial Day until she finally died. My sister Jane was there, too, helping Mom and missing me greatly, sad about me the rest of her life. I was given a military grave with a white cross, even though I was classified as missing in action. My family members are all dead now.
My girlfriend then, Pamela, whom I loved, I lost. She eventually married my best friend, Kevin Norris. They had children, the children who should have been mine. I miss her. I miss them both. I miss the children I never had, and even now after all these years I feel the pain. In my previous short visits here, I checked on my family, always checked on my mother. I could never let her know of my existence, only helped them if I could without them knowing. Their children are still alive and having children, their memories of me mostly lost now, the hero uncle who died in World War II. I always come back to our house, hover over it, look at it, and remember those days. I stay hidden, as it would cause way too much commotion if any family now knew about me—and it would be a serious breach of the Consortium’s rules.
