The Lifegiver

The creature lay upon the metallic table, its fleshy sandstone-hued skin glowing under the hot lamp. It certainly wasn’t perfect; it seemed so flawed as a living thing, yet somehow billions of other creatures just like it managed to prosper on the giant blue orb nearby. Twenty-three years it was now, yet I could still see the same features it possessed as an infant: the ruddy cheeks, the muscular torso, and the same watery blue eyes I created with my own two hands, so to speak.

In a way I was its father. Thirty-eight rotations of the home-sun had yielded surprisingly rapid aging process, as it was now as tall as I, and easily three or four times stronger. And I was proud of it. A sense of satisfaction comes from knowing that something I crafted had been so successful at living. My child was beautiful and hideous at the same time, all our strengths, none of our weaknesses.

The doctor took a scalpel in five dexterous fingers and cut open an old scar on the creature’s forehead, revealing the bizarre network of red veins and muscle beneath its skin. Probing gently with a hooked tool the doctor removed a small grayish ball of metal from its forehead, the empathy marker. To the creature itself this device would appear as nothing more than a calcite formation, but to us it represented an unimaginable wealth of knowledge. It mimics a nerve node—one of several naturally occurring neuron bundles under the skin with a high sensitivity to sensory input—and relays the excess electrical impulses ‘bled’ by the brain’s synapses. From this we can conclude data on emotional stress levels, a very cruel science. I am sorry my son.

A routine checkup on the condition of the marker yielded a satisfactory result. Replacing the device and closing the skin, the doctor healed the incision and dressed the creature in its attire. I looked curiously at the white garments, pondering why a species would develop such a high regard for personal modesty, and concluded that it came from their natural sense of fear. Fear. My son was scared, and although it was not awake I could feel it, the marker did that.

A low hum entered the silent background as the entire vessel heaved lightly, falling slowly into the planet’s gravity. I watched out the circular window at the rising clouds, so perfect and pure in their form, much unlike the great black monoliths looming overhead at home. My home was horrible compared to this pristine wonder…yet, as we descended, somehow even this world began to seem spoiled; they created their own black clouds from great spouting buildings. Poetic justice, I believe they call it. But there were none of those in sight, much less of anything. It was nighttime now, and these diurnal people were all sleeping; the perfect time to slip in unnoticed and return my son to its happy life among its kind.

A few minutes later I watched it go, carried along on a beam of light to its place of rest. This was the third checkup, and every time I believed myself to draw closer to feeling what they call sadness. It was hard to watch it go, but we couldn’t stay long without risking being spotted, and that meant being attacked. Again I drew closer to sadness upon the realization that my son was one of them, one of the violent and scared. And this is what I find to be interesting; the traits they possess individually as children seem to imbue themselves on the entire species as time progresses. As infants they kick and scream, demanding nourishment and property; and as communities they do the same, and still they would have the nerve to view us as collectivistic.

The ambient hum picked up suddenly and the craft began to rise as silently as steam through the clouds. The green and brown patchwork of abodes quickly homogenized as the atmosphere drew a wispy veil over them, and soon I saw nothing but the blue orb once more. I traced my fingers around the contour of the cold window, attempting to reach for my son across the vast distance, but was forced to close it when the sun peeped out from behind the planet, momentarily blinding my sensitive eyes. One of the doctor’s assistants stood behind me and attempted to communicate.

Now understand that we do not communicate in the same way as most other creatures. Ours is a silent language that transcends the culture barrier. All we need do is think of a notion or situation and that thought is instantly placed into the recipient’s head, regardless of their natural spoken language. Some of us do speak, but only a select few who are given the privilege, the communicator and myself were the only two on the ship who could.

The assistant peered into my eyes as I turned, “Why do you long for it? It is only a creature. To call it your son would be ludicrous; it isn’t even the same species.”

I narrowed my eyes, “But I created it from nothing! Is not what you create your own family?”

“No, no more than this ship is family of the engineer.”

“But the ship is not a living thing! It is only a machine—“ I glared.

“As is your ‘son.’ Nothing separates the natural from the artificial save for the materials they are constructed from. Your ‘son’ is made from the same elements as a rock or a building…as are you.” An expressionless face stared back.

I spoke with my voice, “You are so cold, my fellow, abnormally so.”

A bulbous gray head lowered, “No, lifegiver, I am quite normal. Peering into your mind, however, I can see strange things: Irrational thoughts, caring instincts. And you express yourself too much, like one of them.”

This was about my son’s people. They possessed emotion to a degree unheard of in other species, and sometimes I felt as if it had rubbed off. The assistant was right; I was too expressive. But I saw expression as art, music, and love, whereas others viewed it only as a means to commence war. Perhaps having a son somehow triggered my ancient nurturing instincts, for all I wanted was to be with it.

As I lay in bed that night I tuned my mind into the thoughts passing around. The captain and the engineer were preparing for the journey home, checking various instruments and wiring. But my interest was piqued when I found the doctor and assistant discussing my emotional disposition. I silenced my thoughts so as not to be noticed.

The doctor was considering something, “It would be a useful experiment, but would we get a unanimous vote among the crew?”

The assistant butted in, “Of course we will, especially with the lifegiver’s participation. What we have to consider are the risks involved. The disguise could fail or the lifegiver could be attacked. These are unpredictable people we are dealing with.”

“Nonsense, if you ask me that’s all superstition. I believe these creatures to be relatively passive, unless provoked, and the lifegiver will be assigned to keep well clear of them.” The rest of the conversation faded as they walked farther away.

Having silenced my own mind I could not see their actual thoughts, but I knew they were discussing sending me down to the planet. I could be with my son! If ever I had felt emotion it was now. A strange feeling of lethargy overcame me, my mind only wanting to dream of the times soon to come. I closed my eyes and slept, waiting for the new cycle to begin.

I awoke to a strangely silent ship. The ambient hum I had grown used to was now muffled, and I heard no footsteps along the steel hallways. I rose from bed and slinked through the doorway, but quickly perked up upon remembering the conversation last night. I hurried along a cold corridor towards the control cabin, as the thoughts of the crew grew louder in my head. But I was too excited to take heed of their messages; today was the day I would be with my son for the first time.

The entire crew stared at me as I ran into the room; running was unorthodox for my people. I slowed to a steady pace and took a seat in the nearest chair fixed to the circular gray table. Every crewmember stood; the pilot, the doctor, the assistant, the engineer, the navigator, the negotiator, the scientist, and the communicator.

The navigator addressed me, “Lifegiver, the eight of us have reached a unanimous decision and we were hoping you would vote and make it official.”

I silenced my knowledge of the subject and played dumb, “Oh?”

The negotiator glanced at the others and then to me, “You cannot deny that you have an odd disposition. It is a rare case that one of us can experience emotions to the degree that you can, even if conditioned by circumstance. So—”

I interrupted, “Rare? I thought this never happened. Are there others?”

The negotiator looked down and conveyed thoughts slowly, “As a politician I have heard quite a number of rumors…some fallacies, some true medical conditions. You, lifegiver, bear every symptom and risk factor associated with just such a disorder. I think this sense of anxiety you feel might be the start of true emotion, and if so, we think it best that we take this opportunity to conduct an experiment.”

I was slightly put off by terms such as ‘risk factor’ and ‘disorder,’ but I paid attention.

The negotiator continued, “Well, as you have probably surmised, this condition is solely seen in lifegivers such as yourself. It arises from old nurturing conditions we bore as primitive animals, but due to the safety in modern society these traits have been suppressed over time. You, having awoken these through the creation of life, now possess the emotions of love and apprehension, and more will rise to the surface in time…” A pause, “…with proper conditioning.”

The negotiator’s thoughts became erratic and quite easy to read, “So you want to send me down to the planet?”

They all stood and clenched their fists, the sign for an approving vote.

The communicator spoke in a voiced language, “Would you honor us and make this completely unanimous?”

I looked to the negotiator once more, wondering if the home government would agree. A slow blink confirmed this, and I clenched my fist tightly.

The preparation process was quite awkward, consisting of a number of physical examinations and general knowledge about my son’s planet and people. They wanted to make sure I would fit in perfectly, even though going out in public was impossible at the moment. We possessed no equipment to alter my appearance, so a padded black robe with a hood would have to veil my thin body for now. I was to speak with my son and no one else; I wasn’t even to leave its home. A stern lecture from the negotiator on the consequences of being discovered was given to me. Thoughts of dissection and forced inquisition raced through my mind, but were muffled by the love for my son. I practiced my English a bit, which I had learned as a youth from a knowledgekeeper. The communicator commented that my accent sounded a bit Russian, so I would claim to have such an origin on the planet should I accidentally meet up with any others. Soon I was ready, and the craft began to descend.

It was the middle of the day when we landed, and blindingly bright; I wasn’t used to such a clear sky or such a large sun, but for now my robes and a set of specialized contact lenses would protect me. I stepped cautiously out of the circular porthole and onto the mysterious green grass.

We had landed in the middle of a forest clearing to conceal ourselves and hoped desperately that no one had seen us descend. With a rather rude shove from the navigator I was pushed away from craft, I suppose for my own safety.

The pilot stood just inside the porthole, “Six marks. That’s all the time we can afford, after that you risk being discovered. Find out as much as you can about them and meet us back here…oh…and by the way, we have not been sanctioned to take any specimens. I suggest you leave everything where it belongs.”

Before I could respond the porthole sealed itself, cutting me off from my crew for the first time in ages. I backed away from the craft quickly as a hot blast of steam vented from the side; it killed the grass immediately.

After a few seconds the underside of the craft began to glow bright neon pink as a chain of lights barely visible through a glass ring spanning the circumference of the central disc began to spin. There was no noise except for an almost imperceptible electronic buzz emanating from the three static generators beneath. With a faint click the craft seemed to lose its grip on the planet, floating freely for a moment, then rocketed into the sky at an unbelievable speed. And there I stood, the only one of my kind in the entire world. Suddenly the planet seemed much larger than before, my perspective had changed. I was no longer a grand overseer looking down upon the people, but now, with my disguise, I was one of them.

Having seen the area before I could approximate the location of my son’s home. I scanned the clearing for watchful eyes, but only found the curious stares of a family of bushy-tailed rodents.

“No specimens,” I said to myself as I began to walk.

As I traveled the short distance I began to realize how this planet was not unlike my own. The plant life was a shade of deep green here, and the soil a rich black, but I dared not look at the sky for it was much too bright. Sticks cracked under my feet as I went, scaring off a group of birds. And I began to take note of these small happenings that I always took for granted; I felt quite content.

In my absent mindedness I almost didn’t notice the large structure before me. It was the same building I had seen the previous night from the craft: my son’s home. A solid concrete foundation supported a wooden framework of horizontal blue panels; a beautifully crafted house compared to my own. Thin glass windows could be seen, but the lights were off inside and I wondered if my son might even be in. If it was gone for more than six marks I might never have a chance to communicate. I was now in an open area and wanted to avoid running, for even my robed appearance was quite frightening and I didn’t want to cause alarm. As swiftly as my thin legs could walk, I approached the heavy black wooden door, thinking to myself about the apparent insecurity shown by this defense. I remembered my culture training, but still I hesitated to knock. I considered, for a moment, how I might appear to someone if I simply appeared on the doorstep cowled in black. Logically, but foolishly, I decided to enter uninvited. With dexterous fingers I managed to find a weakness in the lock; a firm push on the keyhole. The door beeped three times as it opened, apparently another security measure, and I slipped in silently.

From the noiseless state I judged it safe to assume I was alone, simultaneously disappointing and relieving. But as alien as this place was, I was not surprised by the appearance of its interior. There was an apparent lack of technology, but at the same time everything seemed artificial: white plaster walls ran along the perimeter, dotted with mirrors and framed images, but the floor was constructed from tiled stone and padded carpet. The rooms were well defined, often with closeable doorways between them; apparently these were a private people. Adjacent to me was a long wooden table with six intricately carved chairs, an arrangement quite similar to the discussion table in the ship’s control room. A flight of stairs was to my left, but I decided not to ascend yet and ventured into the next room over. It was small but had an enormous window that let so much light in my eyes hurt, even with the lenses still in. An island in the middle of the room had a glazed black surface with four large circles in a tetrad formation, but I dared not touch them for a depiction of a flame next to each one caught my eye. Behind me was a metal basin with a waterspout, which I played with momentarily, and then studied a sort of cold storage locker next to a row of cupboards.

“Food preparation,” I mumbled to myself, pondering my people’s method of nutrient intake, “An interesting science that I regret I shall never take part in.”

Suddenly something caught my attention: heavy rumbling and squeaking sounds came through a closed doorway. Fearing detection I dashed into the entrance room and headed up the stairs. I searched frantically for a means of escape, but the second story floor provided no free passage to the outside, especially with the bolted windows. Near me was an open closet containing bundles of sheets. Seizing the opportunity I dove in, pulling a heavy quilt over me. I hoped that my black robe would blend in, as I could not shut the door completely.

All was silent for a moment; the rumbling noise had ended abruptly leaving an eerie sense of solitude. But a startling trio of beeps alerted me that a door had been opened somewhere in the vicinity of the food preparation room. And then came the footsteps, the heavy clunking steps of shoed feet rapidly advancing in my direction.

A faint voice sounded downstairs, “Who the hell left the door open?”

And suddenly what had been a world of fear turned into what I only knew to be glee. My son was home, but what would it think of me hiding in a closet? I had always dreamed of inspiring a sense of awe to this young race, but now my first appearance would be that of a fool struggling to lift itself out of a pile of dirty fabric. The footsteps became muffled as they contacted the padded floor, heading up the stairs. I clenched my eyes shut. I could hear my pursuer breathing heavily only an arm’s length away from me.

My son whispered to itself, “Something’s wrong…”

It could sense me; it knew I was here, and if not it would discover me eventually. I had no choice but to reveal myself; I let out a low fearful whimper to perhaps subdue my son’s aggressions.

A heavy thud sounded as it jumped away from the closet, “Who’s in there?”

I lay motionless for a second, hoping it would open the door more, but anxiety quenched the flame of curiosity. I reached a nervous hand around the edge of the sliding wood and gradually pulled it to the side, keeping my face hidden. My son let out a sort of gasping yell as my long, gray fingers protruded from the portal. I heard it reach for something heavy in self-defense; I had to calm it or risk being captured.

“Please,” I spoke with the friendliest voice I could, “Don’t harm me.”

Without warning the door was pulled wide open, revealing the scared and angry face of my son. It was beautiful. And although I had seen it many times before, never had I witnessed it in its waking hours. It was tall and thin with large, shocking blue eyes. It had pale, unblemished skin, long fingers and legs, and, although bearing an expression of alarm, its face was kind with little bone definition. In my state of panic the hood had fallen from my head, leaving my bulbous gray cranium and obsidian-like eyes visible. I expected my son to scream, but it did not.

Curiously, it fell to its knees and began to cry, “Oh God. It all makes sense now. It all makes sense. Look at me! Look at that! After all the years of wondering why…I finally know. Oh Jesus I feel sick.”

Apparently I had not yet developed the emotional comprehension to understand what this all meant. I felt quite safe all of a sudden. I clambered out from under the sheets, removed my robe, and stood before it, my beautiful, hideous son.

I placed my hand on its shoulder, “I don’t know why you cry, and I don’t believe I ever will.” I stared into the electric blue eyes, “But I can help you end this sadness.”

It looked up at me, eyes streaming with tears, “Who are you? And why do I know your face?”

“I suppose I am your father…or your mother. But we do not make such distinctions. You are my son and I have come to speak with you.”

“About what?” It sniffed.

“Anything and everything you could ever need to know. I want to soothe your mind by giving you the truth. You see I’ve only come to realize what it’s like to miss someone you never knew. Creating you gave me this insight and now I wish to empathize.”

It reached out and hugged my midsection, “Oh father! Tell me everything!”

III

After the emotional display had ended I was led into a small room with a soft couch. Still shaking and wet from crying, my son sat with me, took my hand, and spoke softly, “I can’t believe this…you’re really an alien, aren’t you? I want to know everything! Tell me your secrets.”

It then proceeded to throw apparently random questions at me, “What’s your name? How old are you? Where is your planet? What’s it like? Why have you come here? How come—”

I interrupted, “Slow down, son. I’ll answer everything you want, but we have six marks, that’s about fourteen hours, to get to know each other. Firstly I’d like to know your name, if you have one.”

It looked strangely at me, “Of course I have a name, it’s Jonathan. What’s yours?”

“I…don’t have a name like you. Names are only given so one can be identified when being spoken to. My people do not normally speak, so names are saved for the higher ends of the caste. My occupation is Lifegiver, but I prefer you to call me father.”

It smiled and nodded, “Okay, but I want to know more.”

“I can see you are anxious, son. I suppose I had better start from the beginning. My age would make me about fifty, though it’s difficult to tell. I haven’t been here in a while and we don’t normally use astronomical events to tell time at home.”

“So what are ‘marks’ based on?” It questioned.

“The time it takes an object in a vacuum to fall the diameter of our planet at one gravitational unit.”

“I see…”

I continued, “The planet, as you might surmise from that calculation, is quite small compared to this one. Unfortunately I’m not a navigator so I couldn’t tell you the exact location, but it’s on the other side of this galaxy, about 75,000 light years away.”

It blurted out, “So you must be capable of faster than light travel! Oh, tell me how!”

“Well…I hardly understand the mechanics myself. No more than you would know how to build an aircraft, but I suppose I could explain the basic principles.”

Its eyes widened and its face lit up with glee, apparently my son was somewhat of a scientist. I realized at this point that the conversation had taken drastic turns, and summarizing the entire concept of my life would be quite a difficult task. Imagine having to explain an entire world to someone, there’s simply too much information to think about. Regretting that I only had six marks, I decided to use this precious time to share my knowledge with my son. If I could not spend my life with it, the least I could do was give it an advantage above others.

The weak muscles in my face made a contorted half grin. I explained, “Faster than light travel is a relatively simple feat if you can develop a strong enough power source. But the problem I see with this world is that the abstract spatial reasoning abilities of most people don’t seem to be adequate enough to think in the necessary five dimensions. The first concept you must understand is that of point-line-planar gravitation. There are four dimensions of space, you see, not three: length, width, height, and compression. Compression is the result of nodular gravitation focused in a three dimensional prism of space, we call this principle a gravity-dimensional trefoil. Are you following?”

“I think so, but isn’t time the fourth dimension?”

“Well you must understand that time is only called the fourth dimension because it was the fourth one discovered, time is actually a null dimension perpendicular to spatial dimensions. It’s like sound is to light; they work the same way, but it’s something quite different.”

“I see.” It looked puzzled, but I could tell it understood.

“A good analogy for point-line-planar gravitation would be…” I thought, “Ah yes. Imagine you are a zero dimensional creature living in zero dimensional space. You are nothing more than a point within a nodular universe. Now try to imagine what shape gravity would be. In three-dimensional space, gravity acts at a point. Everything on this planet is drawn toward the center, all the planets orbit around a point at the center of the sun. But in zero dimensions gravity would actually be a sphere, pushing everything away from the walls and toward the universal origin. Now imagine that you live in a two-dimensional world, a planar world, the only thing that could keep you on that plane would be a planar force. For example, if the world were flat then gravity would also have to be flat, like a layer of downward force that rests below the soil. This is what makes two-dimensional space unique; the consistency and balance between what is seen and what is not seen makes planar geometry mathematically perfect. This is why, on a grand scale, everything is planar: All planets revolve around the sun on the same plane, galaxies form flat discs, and spinning gyroscopes never fall. This principle makes it safe to treat space itself as a two dimensional thing. Now imagine the universe as a sheet of cloth that all objects rest on. Heavy masses make impressions in the cloth—”

It interjected, “Yes, a famous physicist here once made that comparison. Higher gravity is represented by deeper impressions, explaining why large masses have higher gravitational pull.”

“Correct, but what that fails to explain is the source of the gravity itself. The only reason objects make impressions on a sheet at all is because they are being pulled down by the planet’s gravity. Try this out in space and a guarantee you won’t have the same results. What we have discovered is that the fabric of the universe itself acts like this sheet, preventing planets and objects from falling ‘through’ it. If the sheet were torn however, like in a black hole, anything in the vicinity would be pulled through into the fifth dimension; a dimension of exponentially increasing gravity. Moving along the dimension of width produces a left and right movement, while moving along the dimension of gravity yields an in and out movement: a compression and expansion.”

“So what keeps the planets bound to the sheet at all?”

“The same thing that makes it hard to move around in an accelerating space craft, but easy in one moving at constant speed. Imagine yourself in a space ship out in space that is accelerating at ten meters per second squared, a rough approximation of the gravity here. The force you would feel pushing you to the back would feel exactly like normal gravity, but if the space ship were moving at a constant speed you would be completely weightless.”

Thinking, it looked upward, “So what you’re saying is the universe is constantly expanding and pressing on the planets?”

“No, I’m saying the planets are expanding and pressing on the universe.”

A simultaneous look of shock and revelation came across its face, “But how? The world isn’t getting bigger.”

“It is. Space-time is curved and all matter in the universe is expanding. This is why the universe appears to be accelerating outward instead, its shape creates the illusion that it is.”

It lost its train of thought and looked up at me, “Wh…what shape is the universe?”

Taking pride in my knowledge I announced confidently, “Spherical. But we are not inside the sphere; we are on its surface. That’s why it’s safe to make the two-dimensional analogy.”

“A sphere with three dimensional surface area?” I could tell it was trying to imagine, “That would make five dimensions…just like you said!”

“Yes, but there are more than just five dimensions. In fact we haven’t even discovered them all; there might be millions.”

“So how does this apply to faster than light travel?” It inquired curiously.

“Well that’s the simple part. Imagine the sheet of the universe was made of an elastic substance, like rubber. Now take your fingers and pinch a point of the rubber, then stretch it over to meet another point on the sheet. The elastic contracts on the inside of the curve, reducing what was once thousands of light years to mere miles. And when the pinched point snaps back to its original place, it takes any objects at the original point with it. The speed at which one travels depends on the distance. Further trips yield faster speeds, but a higher energy cost.”

It stood awestruck, only speaking after a minute of silent thought, “But a velocity like that must create unthinkable force, how do you prevent being crushed to death?”

I was slightly surprised at this morbid reference, but ignored it, “Well the truth is the craft doesn’t move at all, it moves the universe around it.”

“Then is there no gravity inside it?”

“No, the engine creates its own gravity. We simply direct some of this force downward. But even this is not needed unless one’s destination is in outer space. When you move from planet A to planet B, the only change in natural gravity experienced is the difference in the pull of the two bodies. Nothing in between is felt because the generated gravity well is the only external force on the craft.”

It apparently recognized the phrase ‘gravity well,’ “So there must be massive distortional effects in proximity to the ship.”

“Yes, like a black hole everything is bent around the ship. Time and light especially. As a matter of fact we have used this phenomenon of gravitational refraction to allow the craft to become invisible when certain components are in the right configuration.”

“Yes, I’ve read about that, believe it or not. But I’ve never quite understood the mechanics.”

“Well it’s quite simple if you compare it to the refractive properties of a large star. Gravity can bend light; we simply position the gravity well generation to project a point inside the craft. Since there is no gravity inside a high mass hollow sphere, we remain unaffected. But external objects moving at relative light speed or greater, like light, are more readily drawn toward the well. They slingshot around the craft and project the image of whatever is on the opposite side.”

“But why are they more readily drawn?” It wondered.

“That is due to a property of electromagnetism that you have not discovered yet. Some say it acts as a wave, some as a particle. But it is, in fact, a form of wave.”

“But if light were a wave then people would be able to see around corners, just like you can hear around them.”

“You can see around corners if the surface is reflective enough. It’s merely a coincidence that the universe happens to be made of material that reflects sound better than light. But the manner of electromagnetic waves is not like anyone has surmised. Picture a wave-emitting particle moving through empty space; it has a forward velocity and a side-to-side motion. This creates a time line in the shape of a zigzag; the vertexes mark the point where a wave was sent out from the particle itself. Thus you have a light source that is both a wave, a moving wave, and can retain properties of a particle.”

“Simply amazing…” It mouthed silently.

Suddenly it snapped out of deep thought and proceeded to burden me with the most difficult question I had even been asked, “Father, tell me about me. What am I?”

I looked into its glassy eyes and wrinkled my forehead poignantly. This was the first time I had ever felt like crying, and I was hardly sure if I could cry. Remembering all those years I had spent making sure my son was safe had built up into this moment of despair; a feeling that I would have called heart wrenching, had I actually owned a heart.

“Oh my son,” I looked at my feet guiltily, “If only you were aware of the sacrifices I made for you. If only you could comprehend of what I felt the day I created you, for it was on that very day that this unemotional coil first experienced love.”

This thought brought about a memory of the past I had chosen to suppress. I suddenly became aware once again of the hardships I had gone through to make my son possible, of all the antagonists who would not let it be.

“Son, yes. I will tell you,” Clenching my eyes shut I began to explain, “Twenty-five years ago, when I was still quite young, I was assigned to a research project on a process called viral mediated gene transfer. I used a modified virus, similar to malaria, to extract sections of nucleic acids from a small rodent. With enough of the virus chemically programmed to fetch specific proportions of each acid I was able to extract a copy of the entire rodent’s genome; I then administered the pathogen to a developing fetus of a small carnivore. And slowly—through a process that I can’t really name because it hasn’t been discovered yet—the unborn carnivore began to take on strange traits found only in rodents. When it was finally born, and I use that term lightly, I found myself to be the owner of a strange new pet, so to speak. It looked like a carnivore externally, but body scans showed interesting formations. It had rodent teeth and was herbivorous, its limbs were unusually flexible with fingers instead of claws, and rather than howling it eventually learned to make high-pitched chirping sounds. Its behavior was equally curious; it attempted to climb trees and even chased after the rodent females during the mating season. But most importantly I discovered that the carnivore took on the weaker logic and lower intelligence of its simple counterpart. I enjoyed studying it and even developed a fondness for it, but it was not to last. The lifegiver conference board decided to have the creature destroyed. ‘Outlived its purpose to the scientific community’ they said, this was my first realization of the sheer cruelty of our society. The creation of that little creature had already begun to spark the primordial sentiment hidden inside me. I began to take on strange behavior myself, venturing further into the forgotten realms of art and music. My inspirational period I called it, the few short months when I created the most beautiful masterpieces ever dreamed, oh they were gorgeous! I know I must sound insane, son, but if only you knew what it was like! If only you could know the sensation of painting for the first time, and the sensation of banging sticks on metal surfaces to create wonderful, chaotic sounds. But I couldn’t tell anyone of this; I would be shunned and deemed clinically unfit for a productive lifestyle. I had to find a way to make them feel the same way, so I proposed a project: you. With enough encouragement and announcements on the benefit of modern science I was able to reach a unanimous decision to create a new sort of being. This creature would resemble us, but bear the emotional traits of your species. However countless procedures yielded the same result: our bodies were simply too frail to handle the erratic chemical imbalances causes by full-scale emotion—and with this remark I regretfully add that even I do not feel everything as it is. But by this time I had fallen inescapably deep into the dream; I was obsessed. I ordered a complete reformulation of the project; this time we would incorporate our mind into a human body, complete with true emotion. All our strengths, none of our weaknesses. Nine months later I saw you open your eyes for the first time…those shocking, unforgettable blue eyes…” I became lost in thought for a moment, “…and so, as I secretly expected all along, I was forced to give you up. Fortunately they did not believe it right to destroy an intelligent creature; I was told to bring you here. I knew that the wide genetic diversity of this planet would ensure that no suspicion arose from your…unusual traits, so I did not feel any fear for your life. And…after two weeks…we placed you in the care of the two people we took gene samples from to create you. We made them believe you were theirs. So in a way you actually have three parents, for it was I who volunteered to be your gene donor,” I looked wistfully into its frightened eyes, “I am sorry, son.”

For a moment it stood with its jaw hanging open, and then looked down to examine its hands. A strange expression of both revelation and fear came across the smooth, white skin; eyes wide and glossy it let out a sigh of acceptance.

It spoke slowly, “Well I can’t say I’m surprised. All my life I suspected something. A strange undertone that swam in the back of my mind, connecting me to the past I never knew. And…the dreams. I swear you were in some of them.”

“It’s possible I was. But my people…eh…our people are not as genetically diverse as humans, apart from height we all look alike for the most part.”

It didn’t pay attention to what I said. Lost in reminiscence it gazed into empty space and sat motionless for several minutes.

By the time my son had satisfied the greater part of its curiosity about itself and the universe, over two marks had passed since landing leaving us with about nine hours left. I told it about my planet and social systems, about our technology and medicine, and even about our plasmovoric feeding habits, which it was quite disgusted by. A curious creature, it was, desperately seeking knowledge of even the finest details. But soon the conversation shifted to its world, wherein I learned even more of the joys of sentiment. Being an explorer in spirit I asked mainly about the different climates and landscapes on this planet, which I was reminded as being called Earth colloquially. It showed me mountains of books and photographs of natural wonders around the planet; endless deserts, expansive cyan oceans, and mysterious green jungles from which there is no escape. I took a natural attachment to the latter, but was disappointed upon discovering our remoteness from such places. Regretfully I had brought no such media from my home, so descriptions would have to suffice for now.

Books piled high upon its knees, it called my attention, “Father come and look at this.”

I shifted my weight to the side and looked upon a large image of the galaxy. A white arrow printed with the words ‘you are here’ indicated the location of Earth two-thirds of the way along what I knew as the Orion arm.

“Where is your home, father?”

I scanned the image and pointed to a location roughly half way along the Centaurus arm, “Here…approximately.”

It let out a sigh and stared longingly at the glossy paper, “I wish I could go there, even if only for a few days.”

At this point I actually began to consider this. I wondered how the crew and the home government would feel about bringing an off-worlder home with me. Of course I would be sure to keep it out of trouble, and besides, it wasn’t completely different from us.

But I suddenly remembered, “I’m sorry, but I haven’t been sanctioned to take any specimens with me.”

Its eyes widened, “But I wouldn’t be a specimen. I’d be a…guest! There’s a major difference.”

I gazed into the electric blue eyes, guiltily trying to estimate its relative mental competence from appearance alone. It was most certainly intelligent, perhaps even enough for society to accept. But what about its family and friends? Two weeks journey to the planet, roughly a week in between, two weeks to return. My son will have disappeared from the face of the planet for nearly a month, surely someone would notice.

“What about your family?” I asked.

“What about them?”

“You’ll be gone for quite a while, shouldn’t you at least make an excuse as to why you’ll be missing for a month?”

“Hmm, you’re right. But that might be difficult, they’re quite nosy at times.” It pondered the situation for a moment then looked up at me and squinted, “Maybe we could tell them?”

I closed my eyes, “Son, you don’t have any children of your own, so I don’t expect you to understand this…but imagine how you would feel if you suddenly discovered that your only son isn’t even yours—”

“But I am theirs; you said so. The only difference is that I was artificially conceived and…changed. And anyway, I’m not their only son; I have a brother.” It chuckled, “Then again I’m not so sure he is my brother anymore.”

“I have a brother, too…or a sister. As I said we do not make such distinctions.” I attempted to crack a smile, “We’re twins.”

“But I thought you told me you don’t reproduce sexually.”

“We don’t. But we were born of the same progenitors at the same time. We may not have shared a womb, but we are still siblings.”

It raised its eyebrows, “Well you must understand, then, that the same principle that makes you siblings makes me my parents’ son.”

I was quite proud of its conversational skills, “Very well. If you wish to tell them the truth then so be it. But we must hurry, we only have nine hours remaining.”

It grinned and told me to wait where I was. I looked quite foolish buried in heavy books, but I obeyed nevertheless. It trotted into a nearby room and picked up a plastic blue device which emitted a low tone. After pressing some buttons it began to communicate with someone else apparently on the other end of the line.

“Mom!” It greeted cheerfully, “Hi…no it’s John. Listen I was wondering if you were busy or not. I’ve got someone here who wants to meet you…let’s just say he’s an old friend…no…you’ll see, I want it to be a surprise…okay, sure…I’ll be over in half an hour, bye.”

I voiced to it across the hallway, “Your mother?”

“Yes, and my father too.”

“Odd, I suddenly feel rivaled.” I tried to laugh but only managed to wheeze.

“I think that’s the least of your worries. I’m not entirely sure how they feel about people like you, so I don’t know how they’ll react.”

I was slightly confused by this, “How can they form an opinion if they’ve never met me?”

“You’d be surprised.” It looked quite guilty.

“You know…” I turned my head slowly to the side, “They might remember me. Sometimes experiences like this can reveal hidden things.”

“But I thought you wiped their memories of this.”

“Yes, yes. But drugs and spectral conditioning can only do so much. The power of the mind is a mysterious thing.”

Something I said had caught its attention, “Spectral conditioning?”

“Yes, a popular treatment for all sorts of ailments. We’ve managed to manipulate electromagnetic waves to affect certain properties of neural or muscular tissue. Under the right conditions you can change someone’s memories, or, with specific combinations of beams, you can cure practically any non-pathogenic syndrome. Cancer, chronic pain, even arthritis.”

“Interesting,” It suddenly shook itself, “Oh, hey. We’d better get going.”

I left the room for the first time and descended the stairs. This was the first time I had seen the house without being in a state of panic and the previously alien structure seemed much friendlier now. I no longer noticed the plaster walls and mirrors, but instead I admired the warm tones of the carpet and how it made me feel safe. The frightening prison that I had once perceived was now a home. A home much different than anything I had ever seen, but a sanctuary nonetheless.

After donning my robe I was led through the steel and black glazed room used for food preparation and into a large dark area that smelled of oil and mold. My son flipped on the lights; I squinted and glanced around curiously. Adorning the walls were rows of shelves piled high with what appeared to be simple tools: mallets, metal pegs, and cutting instruments. The floor was made of deep gray concrete littered with plant debris and discarded tools. The back wall of the room was not a wall at all; it seemed to be a humongous lifting door that ran along a track curving upward to align with the ceiling. But none of these aspects of the room caught my attention immediately, for the first thing I saw was what seemed to be a form of transportation. The design was simple: a steel and plastic cage with panes of glass to cover the openings at the front, back, and sides that rested on four rubber wheels. I could see two rows of seats through the tinted glass along with what I assumed were the controls and a blinking red light.

My son trotted over and opened a door on the front right side, “Hop in.” It said cheerfully.

Cautiously I stepped to the door, scanned the black interior, and clambered into a comfortable seat. My son walked around the front and scrambled into the seat to my left. It pulled what looked like a sort of key from its pocket, placed it into a slot, and gave it a turn. A loud whining noise sounded from the front, then quickly softened into a quiet rumble. A device above my son’s head was pressed, causing the massive door to open with a great clatter. After fiddling with controls my son propelled the vehicle backward, clumsily turned to face a long stretch of concrete, and took off at a fair pace.

If I had a heart I assure you it would have been racing. Never had I been in a contraption such as this. And although my son seemed quite able to handle it I couldn’t help but notice that perfect timing and split second reactions were all that stood between us and a terrible fate. Although heavily built, the vehicle did not seem very sturdy, and this worry was only amplified further when I found myself hurtling along at nearly ten times normal running pace. The strip of concrete had turned to a solid black tar that wound dangerously down the side of a hill. Several signposts along the side of the road were taken notice of by my son who adjusted the vehicles actions accordingly. A large, red octagonal signed marked with a word I recognized as ‘stop’ caused the entire contraption to seize violently to a halt, often causing me to lose my balance and almost slide out of the chair.

“You might want to put your belt on.” My son laughed.

I discovered a safety restraint to my right, fastened it under my son’s instruction, and prepared for more. The whole journey was less rough on the open road and lasted less than a quarter of a mark in all, about half an hour. Keeping my head low I peered out the window at a small house gradually approaching from the distance. When we drove up the gravel pathway I began to realize that this abode was much different in design to my son’s. It seemed much friendlier, much more organic. It was a pale yellow shade and constructed entirely of wood; a thick thatched roof harbored a smokeless brick chimneystack forming a V-shaped corner that seemed to direct my attention towards the front door. I did not want to tell my son, but this building seemed to bear a warm, primitive attractiveness that its did not.

“We’re here.” It grinned at me.

I grasped its arm before it could exit the vehicle; it jerked suddenly, “Son, perhaps you should ready them for this encounter before I introduce myself. The last thing I want is to draw unwanted attention.”

“I’ll walk in front of you. Keep the robe on and don’t let anything show. They’re open-minded people, don’t worry.”

I warned it, “Remember what you know. I am not the only one they might fear.”

It looked into my eyes for a moment, mouthed an accepting ‘yes,’ and hopped onto the ground. I figured out how to open my door and did the same. Copying my son I slammed the door, causing the vehicle to let out a startlingly loud honk. I ignored this and cautiously follow its footsteps to the front door. Three knocks on the hard wood made a high, crackly voice call out from the other side, “Just a minute!”

I dodged behind my son as the door creaked open. Another human stood there, female and much older. It wore a layer of thin blue clothing with a sort of apron tied around its wide waist. A head of graying hair hung over a wrinkled face, a sight I was not used to.

It looked to my son, then to me, “Who’s that you’ve got back there? Is this your friend?” It extended its hand, “I’m Jonathan’s mother, how are ya lad?”

It spoke with a strange accent, hardly pronouncing the ‘r’ in some words. I concealed my face and kept close behind my son.

“He’s a bit shy, mom. He’s foreign, too.” My son made and excuse.

“Thin fellow isn’t he? And so tall, too. Where did ya say he was from?”

I remembered the communicator’s comment on my accent, “Russia.” I whispered into my son’s ear.

“Russia,” It repeated, “near Moscow. Moved here with his family a few months ago.”

“Ooh,” Its mother spoke kindly, “Well do come in, you must be hot in that thing, lad.”

An ominous feeling rang across my body as I stooped under the low archway and into the dark interior. It smelled faintly of wood rosin, a pleasant smell that made me glad I possessed an olfactory sense. Most of my people do not actually, only the talkers like myself possess the ability to inhale. Though I regretted not having a greater ability, for I witnessed my son clench its thumb and forefinger across its nose and complain of the strong smell of ‘pine,’ whatever that was.

The warm tones of the interior were quite inviting, I felt quite comfortable save for the strange worrisome undertone in the back of my mind. My seventh sense, my intuition, it created a tiny spark that grew into a flame. It was a very odd feeling indeed, much like the silent moment I experienced just before my son’s vehicle would jerk to a stop. Before every occurrence, be it a lightning strike or the explosion of a star, there is a strange buildup of ambient energy. Everything seems to slow down and an ambiguous sensation of great trauma seems to course through the veins of the universe itself. The door slammed behind me.

The elderly female called out, “Harold come here and meet Jonathan’s lovely friend!”

Harold? I knew I had heard that name before. The sensation in the back of my head grew stronger as I heard something oddly familiar, “Hiya kid!” A mature male voice sounded from an open doorway, my son stepped forward and embraced the figure from which it emanated: a short, muscular male with shaggy brown hair and a pronounced brow; not the kind I would expect to be my son’s biological father. Suddenly the older male opened its eyes and glared directly at me. And although my robes concealed me, I knew that it seemed to intuit exactly who hid beneath them. A cold, reminiscent stare pierced my black eyes and flooded my mind with memories that I had struggled so hard to suppress.

A resonating thought spawned inside my head, “Hello Gabil.”

That name. That name. All too familiar, yet I couldn’t remember. My name was Gabil, I remembered that now, but I also remembered knowing that I was never given a name. Hardly anyone has a name on my planet, why do I? Do I? Who was this human and how was it capable of telepathy?

I started to feel sick. A battle between opposing pasts was raging in my brain and it seemed to be ending in a standoff. But suddenly, with the precision of a scalpel, the two memories were separated. I could remember clearly now a distant past, a feeling similar to falling asleep during the day and waking up believing you have slept all night.

A name struck me, “Corchek, you!”

Within a few minutes my son began to introduce me to its other ‘father.’ Hidden by my attire I made an unwarranted sneer at the short, ugly creature. A strong sense of rivalry was about me, not competition over my son, however. This feeling stemmed much deeper, much further into the past. We held our stares at each other and, although silent, I could faintly read its thoughts. It knew something, but it was waiting for me to unveil myself before making the first move.

After asking if I wished to remove my robes, which I refused—making a false statement that they were ancestral robes that could not be removed due to my religion— the female led us into a large room with a table similar to the ornate one I had seen in my son’s home. With my eyes still affixed on the older male, I took the nearest seat next to my son, who noticed my concentration on his ‘father.’

“Dinner’s almost ready.” The female called out, waddling into the other room, “Hope ya like stew!”

I fretted, not wanting to insult the hospitality, “I…I’m afraid I can’t have anything to eat today.”

It poked its head out of the doorway, “Why not, lad?”

I lied yet again, “I have to fast today. My religion forbids eating on this date.”

“Ooh, well okay then. But I don’t want to be rude by eating in front of ya, maybe Jonathan can find ya something to do.”

“Y’kow mom,” My son turned around, “I don’t think I’m terribly hungry either.”

The female said nothing as my son led away from the table and up the stairs. I could faintly hear the male whisper sarcastically, “I’m beginning to wonder what religion that guy is anyway.”

After ascending a second flight of stairs I found myself standing in a dark room. A solitary window let through only a glint of light, just enough to create an array of eerie shadows on the assortment of piled objects against the far wall. The room seemed to serve as storage space of some sort, for most things in this room seemed to be placed randomly. I reached out in front of me, barely able to see, and then remembered my contacts; with a steady hand I peeled the thin black lenses off my eyes and squinted. The entire room seemed as if it had been flooded with white light. The tiny beam of yellow radiance was now a pale white with a hint of purple, and it no longer ended abruptly on the hardwood floor. The beam seemed to reflect off of everything, illuminating even the darkest corners of the room, including the previously ominous shadows which were now nothing more than faint smoky entities cowering behind an old set of wooden furnishings. I could see as clear as day now, however looking directly at the glowing window hurt my eyes still.

Without much time to take in the scene, I was addressed by my son, “Father, what’s going on?”

I acted naïve, “What do you mean?”

“You know. How you were looking at my…um…other father.”

“Oh that’s nothing at all. I just wanted to admire its features.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know. Tell me the real reason.”

“I can’t, not right now.” I looked down and crumpled the lenses in my hands; they instantly retook their original shape.

“You’re not jealous of him, are you? Developing a sense of patriarchal rivalry perhaps?”

“No, no, no! That’s not it. I just seemed to intuit something strange.”

“I’m listening.” It leaned closer.

I looked over at it, two blue and inquisitive eyes staring back, and found my decision tainted by a streak of compassion.

Reluctantly I inquired, “Son, does the name Corchek sound familiar?”

It shook its head, apparent body language for a negative response.

“How about Gabil?”

The same answer.