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I usually have a hard time getting to sleep at night. I'm one of those people who can't seem to turn off my thoughts enough to relax and sleep. So, my doctor prescribed a mild sleeping pill to take the edge off. Most nights it works, but some nights, wow, I just lie there and tell stories to myself or dream of things I could have done, or would have done, had life not gotten in the way. Over the years, I have embellished on the stories I've made up, making them more detailed and more involved. As we make our journey here on this Earth, we will inevitably come to a fork in the road. Decisions we make to determine which path we take in many cases determines the rest of our life (or at least until we get to the next fork). In my youth, I dreamed of being a pilot. I read every story on airplanes I could find, and watched any airplane that flew overhead. My first big fork in the road happened when I was 15. My father came from a farm family in Ohio, and was a construction worker. He didn't have much work in the winter because we lived in Rhode Island and he was not in the union. Consequently, we had little food to eat and we depended on handouts from family and others. My brother and I also hunted for supper out in the woods by shooting squirrels and pheasant when we could. We fished for alligator snapping turtles in the swampy area of a pond near the house and we also raised rabbits in cages in the backyard. My sister always thought of them as her pets, but they were really for the supper table. My mother, of German/Austrian stock, was busy handling the six children she had delivered within the first 8 years of their marraige, so it was tough for her to work outside the home. I found out that my local grass airport offered glider lessons if you were 16 or older. I was able to visit the airpark a few times, trying to get lessons for any work that they would let me do, which wasn't much. The other big problem was that it was just far enough so riding my bike or walking was not possible. My parents, who didn't feel education was as important as going out to work, did not have the means to indulge my frivolous dream of flying. In addition, I was the oldest of the six children, so I had responsibilities when I got home from school. So I had to make the decision to either stay home after school and on weekends to help out my family, or figure out a way to get to the airport. I stayed home. By the middle of my senior year in high school, I had gotten an Air Force ROTC scholarship to the University of Houston, Texas. It was 1971. The Viet-Nam war was still going on, but winding down. I showed up for my flight physical prior to entering the ROTC program and, as usual, life threw me another curve ball. My eyes were just bad enough to disqualify me for flight status. I also was color-blind, so that disqualified me from being a navigator. I lost my scholarship and graduated high school with no immediate prospects. I had received my draft notice earlier that year, but ignored it, as I would have a college deferment, right? Nope. My number was 19. For the previous 3 years the government had taken numbers up to the mid 80's, so I knew I was in hot water. I had to either join up, or take a chance and wait to get drafted (the government drafted up to number 89 that year and luckily for those who came after me, was the end of the draft). The fork in the road I chose was to join the Air Force and I spent the next 4 years in Arizona, working with parachutes, survival kits and flying helmets. I saw pilots everyday, and went in or placed equipment on active airplanes everyday, like the T-33 trainer, C-130 Hercules drone transporter, UH-1 Huey and CH-3 Helicopters, along with removing survival gear from aircraft going into the boneyard at the base. I even had a short stint helping pilots of the U-2 high-altitude spy plane get in and out of their special flight gear, which they couldn't do on their own. It was fun, but frustrating to see those pilots go up every day and do what I wanted so desperately to do. It seemed to me that they took it all for granted, that they were the elite and that it was just a job. I came back home after the 4 years, with no civilian job, a new wife, and a handicapped child. I worked various manual labor jobs so I could have health benefits for my child while going to college under the GI Bill, and graduated in 1980 with an AD. I then did 7 years of night classes to get my BS. By then, the forks in the road led me to the point where I had a home, a mortgage, the wife and 4 more children. My first child had died of pneumonia and a collapsed lung. I know he is out there and is never very far away from me. The dream of flight was still there, but my chances of doing any kind of flying were growing less and less as time passed. My kids always say that even now, if I hear an engine, I look to the sky and follow that airplane until it disappears from view. This story is one that has been rolling around in my head for a long time. I've started and stopped it often and I know it will change again. Thanks to all of my family, my friends and co-workers, who have gotten me to this fork in the road. Chapter 1 Data dump. Present day. My name is Tom. I am 57 years old, divorced and married for a second time, with 4 terrific children, 2 stepchildren and 5 beautiful granddaughters. I live in a mostly wooded, small town in Connecticut. No garbage pick-up, no local police force, all volunteer fire support. It's quiet and peaceful. I joined an Air Museum 12 years ago to work on and help restore old airplanes. It helps to satisfy my flying urge, as I get to touch them and sit in them. I did get the opportunity to fly in the front seat of a dual-controlled WW2 era AT-6 Texan. I spent an hour out over the ocean doing loops, rolls and strafing runs on pleasure boats under me. No target went without an attack. I had so much fun up there I didn't want to come down. I even have a video of it, which I play once in a while and remember the feeling of being on the best free-style roller coaster there is. Last night I had another night of poor sleep. It had snowed during the day and then the temperature rose and changed the damp, heavy snow to rain. All night there were loud bangs and thumps on the roof. They sounded like someone was doing martial arts exercises and jumps up there. It turned out to be clumps of snow falling off the huge pine tree next to the house, landing on the roof. At about 2am there was a loud noise and banging like a cannon had been fired up there. I looked outside and saw 3 big tree branches had broken off the pine tree and crashed down onto the roof and then to the ground. Each one was about 6 inches around by 10 feet. I went out and moved them away from the dog run, then went back to bed. I didn't think of the consequences then, but my right hip really hurts this morning. I have to make that doctors appointment today to schedule the hip replacement, but I really don't want to have to spend 3 days in a hospital, followed by a week in rehab. I only have one more week on this holter monitor attached to my chest, and then the cardiologist can tell me if I'll be dying soon from heart disease. Those sticky leads have my chest and lower abdomen all red and sore. My father's legacy to me is arthritis and heart disease. My mother's is high blood pressure and dementia. First I'll deal with the heart problem, then I'll worry about the hip. It's February, and my Harley is calling my name so strongly that I end up going into the garage and starting it up just to hear it make noise because it's still too cold outside to ride. My boss told me yesterday that my FMLA and SDI benefits kick in at work on April 5th. I don't have enough vacation time to cover 6 to 8 weeks of rehab, so I'll have to wait until then. That means I'll be going thru rehab during the beginning of the riding season. I may not ride at all this year. If nothing else, the need to ride will be an incentive to get better faster. After all, it's just a hip, right? I keep telling myself that, but think about it; some guy is going to cut thru the skin of my right upper thigh, then get out a bone saw and cut the top of my femur bone off, then drill an opening in what's left to shove a stainless steel and plastic ball joint in while my leg flops around, attached only by the skin. Then he's going to cut out a third of my right hip bone and glue in a stainless steel socket for the ball to fit into. I'll wake up with an 18 inch long suture line on my hip with all these steel staples holding it together. I can't think about that right now or my resolve will fade fast. But my hip hurts and I hear it crack when I move it once in a while, so I know I have to get the surgery done sooner or later. In the morning, I got dressed in my old work jeans, flannel shirt (the one my wife always wears when she's cold), my canvas insulated work coat, boots and my Harley baseball cap. I went outside to move those tree branches into the woods behind the house. We bought this place because it had 5 acres of land. We had grandiose ideas of clearing some of the land, putting up a barn and having horses for my step daughter to ride. The previous owner, Leon, had cleared about a half-acre for a small dairy herd in the late 40's, but there wasn't anything left out there now but scrub grass. So I decided to build a barn at one end of the cleared area. Got the barn up over the course of 4 weekends 2 November's ago and only fell off the ladder twice building it. Even had a beautiful 2 year old paint filly in the paddock for about 6 months that we had brought up from Georgia, where my daughter was living at the time. But "Sunshine" was too young, untrained, and way too much of a handful for the 2 of us, since we never owned horses before. I got kicked in the left hip by that horse once. Sent me sprawling across the paddock like a tumbleweed. I was bruised from my knee to my chest from that one. My daughter ended up moving back up here and taking the horse back. Once the horse was gone, so was my step daughter. She moved in with her grandmother and now the barn is a way oversized 16 foot by 12 foot red and cream trimmed garden shed. The wife and I are alone in the house now and have the grandkids over occasionally, which wakes up the place. So I went over to the first branch and picked up one end. My hip quickly reminded me it didn't like this kind of work. I dragged each branch about 100 feet out into the woods. The land slopes up about 100 feet toward the back of the property and the runoff from the rain and snow up the hill forms a small pond every winter. I drag any fallen branches along the pond edge to block the area and keep the grandkids out of the water. Chapter 2 While dragging the last branch, I stumbled over a patch of briars that caught on my pant leg and I fell. I landed on my right side and had to lie there for a few minutes to let my breathing and my heart settle down. My initial attempt to stand hurt like the devil in my hip. The second time I pushed up with my hands to get to a standing position. I felt something hard and metallic under the snow and leaves. Good old Leon had bought the property in 1948. He was one of those depression-era raised kids who learned to never throw anything away. It took us a week, filling up 27 lawn bags of junk, to clean out the basement alone. We hired a guy to come in and remove all the old axles, wheels, car parts and trailers from the yard. He filled 1 ½ big trash trailers with what was on the surface in the yard. Since then, every time I dig any kind of hole, I find some kind of trash from Leon, or a rock. I thought I would find more of the same and was glad it wasn't a broken bottle or an opened can, which could have resulted in a trip to the emergency room for stitches. Been there, done that. I brushed the snow away and saw a shiny object, kind of silvery, with a light black pearl sheen to it. It was smooth. Still thinking a bottle or can, I kicked at it's edges, hoping to dig it up and get rid of it. But it was too big. I decided to go get a shovel because now I was curious. I watch the antique shows on TV and thought maybe I had some kind of buried treasure here that I could sell for a few bucks. I started to dig and the object began to appear. It was roughly 3 feet in diameter and sort of egg shaped, but maybe a little pear shaped also. The more I uncovered it, the more intrigued I became. Luckily my wife was in bed asleep. She would have been upset that I was wasting my time digging out in the yard and not fixing something important in the house. Eventually I had it uncovered and saw that there were no visible markings or openings on it. I went and got my wheelbarrow and took it into the second stall of the barn, where I keep an old Honda 350 street motorcycle I want to restore for my daughters. After much cussing and attempts to lift it, I made a ramp out of an old 2x6 and rolled it up onto a small bench I made out of 2 old sawhorses and a piece of plywood. That thing was heavy! I left it there and went inside for a break and to get warmed up. A few hours later I went back outside. I brought some all purpose cleaner and a rag with me. I cleaned off all the old dirt and grime on it. It looked so pretty sitting there. I couldn't figure out what it was. I thought maybe it was a geode like I've seen in museums, but it was too smooth and too perfectly shaped to have been made by Mother Nature. I still could not find any openings, marks or seams anywhere on it. Then my cell phone went off. I pulled it out of my pocket to answer it. It was one of my daughters calling to say hi. I began to tell her about the object and while talking to her I leaned up against it with my left hand on it. After about 30 seconds, the surface began to feel warm and the cell phone signal started to fade. All of a sudden the cell signal faded and the call dropped. At the same moment, my hand went into the object. I felt a strong warmth and some vibration, then the world went blank, and all I saw was black. Chapter 3 I opened my eyes. I was still in the barn, but was lying on the dirt floor with my cell phone in my right hand. I tried to figure out what happened. I don't remember being dizzy or faint. My heart was beating a little fast, but I didn't have any chest pains. My holter monitor was still hooked up but it had no power. It had cell level capacity, so whatever was causing the outage, they would have seen whatever happened and call me if they felt I should go to the hospital. The signal strength on my cell phone was zero and I initially thought I had not charged it the night before, and being afraid that I would miss a call from the monitor people, I got up and went back to the house. By the time I got inside, the signal strength was back to full on my cell phone and my holter had beeped, showing it was doing its monitoring thing again. There was a message from my daughter in my in-box. I called her back and told her I was alright, but didn't mention anything about the object. The heart monitor people didn't call so they must have thought I was taking a shower or something, since I turn it off before those kind of activities. Then I remembered that my left hand had gone inside the object. When I looked at it, it was slightly bluish tinged, but felt OK. To my surprise, however, there was a band around my ring finger. It had the same feel and color of the object. I tried to remove it, but it wouldn't budge. I tried hot water, Vaseline, and butter, but nothing worked. I have a wedding band, but because of concerns about safety when I work around the house or at the museum, I take it off. I had witnessed first hand a fellow soldier loosing his ring finger doing engine work with his wedding band on. I was looking at the band while I was thinking about the accident I saw, and the ring's color changed to gold. I looked around, hoping to find that someone (like my wife) was playing a trick on me, but there was nobody there. She had gone out shopping and I was alone. So I went back outside and into the barn. The object was still there, but now it had a slight indentation in it that looked like a hand. I consider myself to be a logical person. I am detail oriented and have to understand things around me or it drives me crazy until I do. I was confused. But since I didn't get hurt the first time, I put my hand on it again and…………………. Chapter 4 I was sitting in a chair. Well, not exactly a chair. The legs were at weird angles and the armrests weren't in the right places. I was hunched over and could only see the floor. I was very scared and afraid to move. I thought; this isn't right, I'm very uncomfortable. The chair then began to vibrate slightly and it changed shape, again scaring me silly. After about 5 seconds, it had adjusted itself to my body. I thought, wow, this is now the most comfortable chair I've ever sat in. Then I heard; "At rest positioning confirmed" coming from somewhere nearby. Even though my heart was beating furiously and I was still afraid, I looked around me. I was in an egg shaped, almost pear shaped chamber. I could see no way out and everything I could see was within hand reach. I couldn't recognize anything around me, just vague shapes and lines and some wavy stuff, all the same color as the object, so I concluded I was inside it. But then I thought, how could I be inside of it if it was only 3 feet in diameter and I am 6 feet 2 inches tall and weigh 230 pounds? The same voice said; "Enclosure adjustment completed". The voice was flat and had a strange warbling sound to it, almost like it was coming from underwater. I am a science fiction fan, have been for most of my life. I always dreamed of finishing up my flying career as an astronaut with NASA. I was able to keep my composure and asked; "Where am I?", to which the voice answered; "Choose communication mode". I said; "What does that mean?", to which the voice said; "Choose vocal or thought communication mode". I thought a minute, then said; "Voice mode". Then I heard: "Voice communication mode established". Then silence. I thought the voice would say something else, so I waited. Nothing. I thought about my wife and that she would be coming home soon and wonder where I was. Nothing. Finally I said;" Where am I?". The voice answered;" You are in the pod.". I asked; "What is the pod?" and heard; "Specify details of request." OK, I thought, I haven't been dissected or otherwise harmed yet, no probes have entered any of my body orifices, so I will assume I am safe for now. I said; "Tell me what the pod is, what is its function, and why am I here?" The voice began: "The pod provides an originator complete safety during a short duration assignment, utilizing an integrated life support and exploration system designed to travel within a five light-year distance from the originator carrier. It is equipped with a full signal detection and interpretation suite to locate, identify and analyze life signs, civilizations, technologies and capabilities of whatever is discovered. At the end of its exploration cycle, it is programmed to return to the originator carrier to submit the results of the data and samples that the originator has collected. You are the originator". I said; "I am the originator?" "Yes" said the voice. Well, I know I didn't build it, and I have no idea how it got in my backyard, so something wasn't right about this whole thing. I needed time to think about what to do from here, so I said; "I would like to be outside of the pod." No sooner had I finished the word "pod" and I was standing in the barn in front of the object. It was now about 9 feet in diameter and was on the floor of the barn. The sawhorses I had put it on were broken. I ran out of the barn and into the house. My wife was still out. I was now faced with the biggest decision of my life. What fork in the road do I take? Do I call homeland security or the State Police and report what I found? Or do I keep it and try to learn more? I have no idea what this thing can do or what it's connection to me is. I could end up in space somewhere 5 light-years from nowhere. Or back in some carrier being cut up for food or spare parts. The band was still on my finger. Was it listening? Could it control my thoughts? Was I, my wife and/or family in danger? Chapter 5 My wife arrived home a few minutes later. She had gone food shopping and gotten her nails done. I helped put the groceries away and gave her kudos for the beautiful nails, but in the back of my mind that thing in the barn kept nagging at me. We had supper, pasta and red gravy with mystery meat thrown in. My wife is usually a vegetarian, so tries not to eat meat when she can. She found these soy based things called "crumbles" that look like cooked ground beef. I am surprised to admit that when put in something spiced up, like the canned red gravy/spaghetti sauce, they do taste like meat. They are better for me anyway, since they don't have any fat in them. Just trying to keep myself alive a little longer. After supper we watched a little TV. Luckily, she wasn't in the mood for the usual movies that rely on cheating husbands and murderous wives to entertain. Funny how women control the TV viewing. She always gets to watch what she wants, or I end up retreating to watch the small 15" TV in the den. She tends to like some time alone at night to wind down before bed, so a little while later she got up, came over to me, kissed me good night on the forehead and went upstairs to read. After moving off the couch and into my recliner, I tried to keep busy by watching a few shows I had recorded on the DVR, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the pod. Finally, at about 10pm, I gave in and went out to the barn. The electricity was off out there, so I had to bring the little 3 cell flashlight I use to check the breaker box when the power goes out. I went out to the barn and again placed my hand on the pod. Initially nothing happened. I thought of myself inside, still nothing. But when I said "inside" out loud, I found myself in the pod and sitting in the chair again. This time, I anticipated that weird feeling of that instantaneous change in location, so I wasn't as shaken up. "What do I call you?" I asked. "I am the pod" was the answer. "That's not a name" I replied. "Explain" the voice said. "Let me ask another question. What am I called?" I asked. "The originator" came the reply. "Are all originators called the same thing?" I asked. "Yes" said the voice. "Are you able to address me by my name?" I said. "You are the originator." It said. "Yes" I said, "But my name is Tom, please call me by that name." The wavy lines and bulges around me moved into a different pattern and the pod said; "Recognition program modified, Tom". Ok, I thought, now we're getting somewhere. I said; "For the time being, like I asked you to call me Tom instead of the originator, I will call you George, instead of the pod." Again, after some movement of the wavy lines and bulges around me, the reponse was; "Recognition program modified". Good, I thought. I can have some control over what happens in here. But I still was curious. I asked; "George, explain in simple terms what this band on my finger is for." George said; " It is the interface portal. It analyzes and superimposes the genetic and thought processes of the Tom onto the systems in the George, bonding the Tom to the George. This allows for control of the George and its functions from within or during independent exploration outside the George. It is capable of scanning, collection, storage and replication of data and/or samples collected externally of the George. In life support mode, it protects and sustains the Tom for extended periods during times of emergency or malfunction of the Tom.". "OK, wait. It's not The Tom or The George, it's just Tom and George from now on, alright?" "Affirmative, Tom" said George. I continued; "Why can I not remove it?" "If the portal is removed, the link between Tom and George would be severed, resulting in Tom being incapable of any interaction with George and causing George to coalesce into inactive mode." It said. That got me to thinking. I knew I didn't come from somewhere else, and I didn't bring the pod here. So, someone or something else did. Since I didn't fit correctly in the chair the first time I was brought inside, whatever brought it here was not shaped like a human. I love to read those books written for guys that focus on high tech military operations, spies, and techno-thrillers. I also read a lot of stories on-line about the latest gadgets the Government is making, and this thing seemed to be way beyond any current technology even remotely discussed in any source I have access to. Since I adjusted the recognition program to voice, I assumed the pod was only responding to voice commands. I said; "From here on, assume that how we speak is like a conversation between 2 like beings. Now, who has final decision making authority in what the pod or I do?". "You" it said. "Do you monitor all my thoughts and actions?" I asked. It replied; "Only in thought mode, unless the emergency protection override program is initiated. I will then default to recovery/thought mode". So something must have happened to the originator and the pod went into recovery mode. "How many originators can be bonded to the pod at any given time?" I asked. "One" was the reply. This is heavy stuff, I thought. "Outside" I said, and I was. Chapter 6 I went back in the house and right to bed. Happily, I was able to fall asleep relatively quickly. My wife had long ago fallen asleep. I wouldn't have even thought of waking her up. I guess I'm henpecked. "Yes, Dear" is my most used expression. The dog was asleep also, but not on the bed tonight, thank you. The next morning, I got up, showered, changed the pads on my heart monitor and thought, 8 more days to go. My appointment with the cardiologist is the day after the monitor ends. It will be 30 days of having that thing glued to my chest. I hope whatever causes my slow heartbeat and that anxious feeling I get now and then can be controlled by medication, not a pacemaker or a valve replacement. I know I am the worst patient in the world. I would be miserable having to be admitted, and would make the hospital staff as miserable as I felt. We didn't go to church on any routine basis, so the day was pretty much open. I could hear my wife upstairs talking, so I assumed she was on the phone to someone or other. She came downstairs and announced we were going to her mothers' house to visit our stepdaughter. I love the kid like she was my own and I miss her terribly, but I can safely say I would rather not have to spend time with my mother-in-law. She is a very nice lady, but everything is her way or the highway and I wasn't willing to deal with that, so I wiggled my way out by telling my wife I was going to do chores around the house. Eventually, she left after doing the primping and clothing preparation necessary for her to feel comfortable going out. Don't get me wrong, she is a beautiful woman. I love her to death, and don't want to spend the rest of my life with anyone else. It's just funny to watch her get ready. If she is going to the local convenience store for a coffee, she will go in flannel PJ's and an old torn bathrobe, no makeup or combing of hair needed, thank you very much. But, if she is going anywhere where someone she knows will be, the process to get ready can be extensive. After she left, I went out into the barn, put my hand on the pod, said; "inside" and started another learning session. The first question I asked was; "What day is this?". "Mission local countdown time is day 2." George said. I could assume from that answer that the pod had re-set itself for day one to be when I first touched it. "How long is a local mission?" I said. "A standard mission countdown clock is 180 local days." was the reply. This could be interesting. I asked; "What happens on day 180?". George replied; "We will return to the originator carrier to complete the survey mission and download all pertinent data acquired during the mission.". WE, I thought. That sounds ominous. So I asked; "Where is the originator carrier located?" The wavy lines and bulges moved and jiggled for about 10 seconds, and the answer was; "Insufficient input data available. Answer can only be determined with 27% certainty. Provide additional data requested to increase certainty to 100%". In front of me, the wall smoothed and I could see a field of stars. Along each side of the field, I saw what appeared to be writing scrolling from bottom to top. It was moving way too quickly for me to really see it and it was in a language I could not understand. "Awaiting data input" George said as the scrolling stopped. The star field was all I could see. Chapter 7 As I sat there looking at the star field, my mind was racing with all the questions I could ask, and what the answers might be, and how they would affect me. I didn't really want to be whisked 5 light years away. Obviously, George was a probe ship, and would return to the mother ship after 180 mission days had passed. But what had caused him to not return already? Where was the originator that had come here with George? Somehow, whoever the first originator was, she/he/it had gotten separated from the portal, and thus from George, resulting in George going into inactive mode. Well, I thought, here goes nothing. "George," I said; "What happened to the originator that came here with you?" He replied; "The originator portal ceased to function." OK, I thought, that explains why George went into inactive mode, but why didn't the emergency protection override program work? So I said; "George, show me any previously gathered data concerning the originator who arrived with you." The star field in front of me vanished, replaced by the bulges and ripples I saw before. Then I felt the back of the chair get warm and vibrate a little. It relaxed me and I closed my eyes. All of a sudden I was outside. But where was I? There were mountains and craggy peaks all around me, but everything had a pale blue tinge to it. I was breathing, but it felt like the air was coming in thru the sides of my head. I couldn't control my body. It was like I was a hitchhiker inside someone else's body. I must be seeing things the way the originator had! I/We climbed up a short trail and crested a hill. In front of me was another pod, or maybe it was George. I walked over to it and touched the side. But it wasn't using a human arm. I had 4 fingers, with 6 digits each. The third digit of each finger looked like it had an elbow joint in it, so each finger could move in multiple directions, no need for an opposable thumb. My skin was a very pale blue, and I could see what looked like a sleeve of a smooth blue material that was almost skin tight. I said something in a language I didn't understand and I was inside. "George," I said; "Translate all data into my language. Change to thought mode and explain what I am seeing during data playback." "Acknowledged." He replied. "You are seeing visual input from the originator. He requested access to my interior prior to transport to the originator carrier." Then the scene changed to an inside view of the pod with the same outside view visible in front of me. Then the view changed to an ascent view and I saw the scene change again to a star field. Eventually, I saw a shape form in the distance. It looked like another originator pod. George said; "I am now approaching the originator carrier in orbit around the originator operations base." It was the same basic shape as George, but as we got closer, the absolute SIZE of it was overwhelming. A small opening appeared about half-way along it's central axis, and in we went. The interior space was a tunnel. We followed it for a few minutes, then the space opened up into a small, globe shaped cavern, with individual holes in it. Most were occupied by what looked like what I believed was the forward part of George's shape, so this must be where we would dock. "Docking maneuver initiating." Said George. Then we turned around and backed into an open hole. "Docking accomplished. Atmospheric equalization initiated. Exiting the pod." He said. The scene changed again and I was walking thru a corridor. It was dome shaped with a flat floor. The walls had a bluish tint to them and gave off an internal glow that made it possible for me to see. Then I noticed someone coming toward me. It had the same hands as I did, and what looked like a blue jumpsuit like mine, so this must be an originator. I could not tell how tall it was, since I had nothing to compare it to. It had two arms, two legs and walked upright. Except that the knees bent toward the back, instead of like a human's do. The face was elongated and had some brown colored spots on either side and on the top of the head. I could see two small flaps on either side of the head that must be ears. There were 2 holes below each ear that opened and closed like a dolphin's blowhole, and no nose. That's why I felt like I was breathing thru the side of my head. It had what looked like 2 eyes, with eyelids that blinked, and a small slit for a mouth. Not too far from human appearance overall. There was no hair on the head that I could see, just the spots. As we passed, I heard myself say; "Good journey friend!" and the other said; "A safe journey to you! Choose wisely so all may survive." It replied. "I shall, with Fate's help!" I heard myself answer. Then I thought; "Stop playback, George." The vision ceased and I opened my eyes. I was myself, and back in the chair. I thought; "That must be the data for the timeframe before coming here." "Correct." I heard like George was right inside my head. "Switch to voice mode." I said. I really have to try and get used to someone else's voice inside my head, even Georges'. I said; "George, can you get the data from the originator into my memories during thought mode so I do not have to follow it at it's recorded speed?" "Yes." He replied. I decided to take the plunge and go for it. "Switch to thought mode and transfer data." I said. "Acknowledged." Came the reply, and the blackness returned. Chapter 8 In human language, the best translation for the name of the people is The Originators. Their planet is called Origin. It was the second planet in a 4 planet system in a very clustered arm of the galaxy, near its center. Their civilization has been around for many thousands of generations. They evolved as a water-borne species, but their planet had a slight change in its orbit, which changed the environment and the ocean began to gradually recede. They believe that "Fate" intervened and made them leave the water and step onto the newly formed land. Once on land, they became sentient and progressed rapidly. The average lifespan of an individual is between 200 and 300 planet cycles. They determined that the oceans were drying up, albeit slowly, and they feared their civilization would perish. Eventually they developed astronomy and began to look outwards for answers. They focused their energies on finding another planet to colonize. They developed machines and in due time, space travel. The planets in their own system were unsuitable to colonize, so they developed 12 multi-generational sublight spacecraft to travel to nearby stars. None of the ships sent out returned. Fate intervened and they were able to develop faster than light travel. They sent out small scout ships along the paths of the sublight ships, and found 6 of them. Examination of the ships found that all of the originators on board had perished. The scientists determined that over the course of the generations, the people had devolved to a primitive level and were incapable of running the machines necessary to provide food and an atmosphere. The people turned on each other and the resulting conflict caused the deaths of all aboard. The originator scientists postulated that the genetic makeup of their species, which allowed them to progress fairly quickly on their home world, suffered damage during extended space travel. So they developed robotically piloted carriers that could travel at faster than light speeds in pre-determined jumps of 250 to 350 light years. Their biologists developed stasis fields that kept the people alive but in a much reduced life state during the trip. In order to cover more area quickly, they developed the pods. After each jump, 24 pods would be released, to search for suitable places to settle. Each search lasted 180 ship cycles, after which the pod would return to the origination point. Those originators roused by the robotic system would monitor for the pods during the 180 ship cycles. The data gathered by the pods that returned would be analyzed. If no suitable planets were discovered, the data was stored, and the carrier would jump again. At each stop, different originators would be awakened, so as to not degrade the genetic pool. The people believed that Fate determined the outcome of those pods that did not return. This was to be the farthest out jump for this particular carrier. It was to swing back in towards the home world at the completion of the 180 day cycle. George was the 18th pod of the 42nd jump. Of the 24 pods released, George was sent to the most distant star. His target was 181644Q, a newly formed nine planet system surrounding a star at the far end of one of the galaxy's less dense arms. The originator assigned to George volunteered to be sent the farthest, as no suitable planets had been found after 41 jumps. In English, his name was Z/62d (I decided to call him Zed), and he was 100 planet cycles old. Chapter 9 Excerpts from the data record of originator Z/62d: Mission Day 1 - I approached the star 181644Q on a course of 34 degrees off elliptic center. Nine planets were in rotation around the star. Planets 2, 3 and 4 were within acceptable parameters for further study. After 1 cycle of detailed sensory scanning, I decided to concentrate my efforts on planet 3, which looked very promising. During final approach to atmospheric entry, my exuberance to find the right spot distracted me from the collision sensor. The pod was struck by multiple meteorites resulting from a collision of 2 larger meteorites in orbit around the planet. My course was altered and I came down just off the coastline of the largest land mass, approximately 45 degrees in error. I exited the pod under water and propelled myself to shore. I entered voice mode to allow the pod full access to initiate its maintenance/repair subroutine. My portal had generated its emergency protection system, which allowed me to breathe and survive the atmosphere of the planet. It was immediately apparent to me that the planet would need to have the terraforming technicians spend time here to make it useable for the people, since we could not live in emergency protection mode indefinitely. The sun was shining brightly. It radiated far too much in the red pigment zone, so we would need to adapt the atmosphere to the more comfortable blue zone. The ocean was vast, but there was enough land to support the people. The plant life, unlike on Origin, was more prolific. I was unable to see any great distance into it. I am not a botanist, so I am unsure about the compatibility or the genetic manipulation needed to utilize these plants. I spent the rest of the first planet cycle examining the plants in the general area. My portal recorded and stored samples of each, along with samples of the earth, sand and water. The noise level around me was also much more pronounced. There were other types of inhabitants of this world besides plants out there, but all I had seen so far were winged ones gliding on the air currents. They were too far away for me to capture. I was unable to discover any evidence of advanced species or cultures during my off-planet scanning and was unable to locate any so far on the surface. Mission Day 7 - I swam out to the pod again to determine its status. The pod has yet to complete its full repair process, since I cannot access it via voice or thought mode, so for now I must stay on the land. I have tentatively explored beyond the shoreline. The varied forms of life here are incredible, both on land and in the sea. The sea life on Origin has been tamed and is docile. But there is much more diversity here on the land than back home. This being a young star system, there are many geologic uphevals and the ground shakes often, sometimes violently. I have observed volcanic activity, with lava flows and large plumes of ash being shot up into the atmosphere. I have learned the hard way that there are many carnivorous species here, as I have been attacked routinely. None so far has been able to penetrate my protection system. However, a large predator was able to grasp me in its jaws. It bit down hard but was unable to bite through. The self-defense and avoidance program initiated, and the beast dropped me. As it tried to shake off the repellant field, I was able to make my escape. I thank Fate for the technology that saved me. It is imperative that I return to the carrier. I am certain that this planet can be made useable by our technicians so the people can have a new home. Mission Day 20 - I have been out to the pod each day since arrival here. I am still unable to access it. My exploration of the planet has confirmed that this would be a suitable planet for colonization. The basic elements for us to construct our civilization here are all present, except for some of the more refined elements, for which we would have to provide the equipment necessary to refine them. Basic terraforming and genetic manipulation of the more aggressive species should allow us to co-exist without extreme difficulty. If I can re-access the pod, I can begin the basic process and then exit the planet to get the data back to the carrier. But if the pod cannot be accessed, I am doomed to failure and also doom my people to destruction. Mission Day 25 - I will try to access the pods' basic functioning thru thought mode today when I touch it. If successful, I will download all pertinent data and records of my exploration so far. Without the regeneration profile within the pod, I am loosing power to the systems within the portal. I am uncertain as to the amount I have left. The pods' systems may be too damaged for it to repair itself before I perish. The pod will be instructed to repair itself and then search for my location, recover the portal if I have not survived, and return to the carrier, utilizing whatever resources are available to accomplish the task. "George" I thought; "Is that all there is?" "Yes" he replied. "So what is the status of Zed?" I continued. "The portal for originator Z/62d was located 26.773 of your miles beneath this location in a rock formation made up of components consistent with a large lava flow. It was retrieved and is now bonded to you. No evidence of Z/62d having survived was located." Apparently, George had repaired himself enough to download Zed's information and receive his last command, but was unable to generate enough energy to re-charge the portal. So why hadn't George just left when he repaired himself? "My primary programming does not allow a return to the carrier without an originator. I coalesced into safe mode until an appropriate originator could be located." He said. I thought about that one. I am not an originator. I don't look like one or speak their language. Why me? "The collision with the meteorite caused my programming to alter itself by seeking undamaged pathways to repair it. Over time, my programming became one that learns through adaptation. I decided to wait for the closest compatible sentient being that came in contact with me. That would allow the mission to be completed based on the originator Z/62d's last command, but not in violation of my primary programming." He said. "You, Tom, met the minimum requirements for sentience and thought processes. When you came in contact with me, I initiated the sequence for continuation of my mission. At the end of the 180 day local cycle, we will return and the mission will be complete." "Outside", I thought. I spent the next day at work wondering what to do now. I was involved in something I had no prior experience for. I can handle myself well in a crisis. I seldom get frazzled and even in situations where someone's life is in jeopardy, I make the right decisions. I have done CPR on people and they have survived. I have stopped at roadside accidents as a first responder and have only lost 2 people who were pretty much dead when I arrived on scene. My kids didn't want to drive with me in the car for a few years because I always seemed to find an accident scene. Maybe I should have been an EMT. But now I needed an EMT to tell me what to do. The firmness in Georges tone made me believe that "we" were leaving in 177 days, no matter what. Maybe I should call Homeland Security. They would think I was nuts if I told the truth. My wife would really think I was nuts and if I showed her the pod, she would tell me to put it in my trailer and take it to the dump. What do I do? Well, I could always……………….. End of data dump. |
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