CHAPTER 4
FISH AND FACTS
THE
NEXT MORNING DAWNED bright and sunny. Blane peered out his
bedroom window at the thermometer hanging on a birch tree. It read
seventy degrees on the nose. The trees, grass and the dark green moss
and lichen on the rocks seemed to sing with their own level of consciousness.
It will be an unusual and fruitful day, he thought. A feeling
of excitement hung heavy in the air.
He dressed to the sound of Bob rattling pots and pans. As he entered
the kitchen, the coffee pot’s perking set the beat and tempo
for the day.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Bob chirped good-naturedly.
“What a day! This is the kind of day — you know, right after
a warm spring storm — that makes fish go crazy,” Blane commented.
“Yeah, all that fresh water running into the backs of the creeks.
It’s just like waving a steak under the fishes’ noses.”
They had a filling breakfast of hot cakes and country sausage. They
stacked the dishes, gathered their gear and started down the path
to the boat dock.
“Oh, yeah. I almost forgot,” Blane said. “We really
should go back in the bush and see if we can find where the big wind
put the boats down. But we can do that later. We don’t want
to miss out on the early-morning fishing.”
When they reached the dock, they arranged their gear in the boat.
Blane sat at the tiller, with Bob in the front of the boat, as usual.
Blane turned in his chair and looked at Bob. “What’s your
pleasure?”
“I think we should go directly to the back of Jackfish Bay,
where the creek runs in. It’s only a twenty minute run, and
if that doesn’t work out, we can move across to the small-mouth
bass bank.”
“Good plan! The smallies should be deep into pre-spawn by now.”
Blane cranked up the thirty-five horsepower Merc, and they cruised
down the lake. The surface was calm, reflecting the passing islands
like a mirror.
Presently, they reached Jackfish Bay. Two small islands guarded its
entrance, and the bay extended, ever narrowing, to end in a winding
creek a half-mile away. It was prime Northern Pike water this time
of the year. They had motored no more than halfway to the creek’s
entrance when they started to see swirls in the water.
“They’re here!” Bob said, pointing to the water.
Blane cut the engine and put down the electric trolling motor for
silent running. “Let’s start here and slowly work our
way back to the creek,” he whispered.
Bob gave him the okay sign, then tied on a Zerra Spook top-water lure.
Blane tied on his trusty, six-inch Rebel lure.
Swish—Bob made a smooth, forty-yard cast to the edge
of the cattail-filled bank. The splash of the lure spooked a red-winged
blackbird perched on a cattail, and two large swirls to the right
and left of the lure’s landing place announced the presence
of two monster pike. Bob started the retrieval of the Zerra Spook
in a wigwag fashion, known as walking the dog. The lure had moved
no more than ten feet when BINGO! The water exploded.
“He missed!” Bob said excitedly.
“Keep it coming, keep it coming,” Blane said in a low
and cautious voice.
BANG! Another horrendous explosion, and Bob set the hook.
“Got ’im,” he said.
The fight was on. The fish was tenacious, as well as ferocious. After
a good fight, Bob got the fish to the boat and Blane swooped the landing
net under her heavy body and laid her in the bottom of the boat.
Bob carefully removed the hooks from the fish’s jaw, then hoisted
it with his fish scale. “Twenty-two eleven…almost twenty-three
pounds,” he said with a smile.
“Good job!”
And that was the way it was to be, for, as they worked their way back
into the creek and out again, it was Katy-bar-the-door. Over the next
two hours, they pitted their skills and tested their lines against
these freshwater sharks. It was not a pretty sight, but, God knew,
someone had to do it.
In the end, they had boated sixty-three pike. The majority were over
twelve pounds, and seventeen went over the twenty-pound range. The
largest fish Blane managed to get into the boat was thirty-one pounds,
two ounces.
“Did you bring some of that leftover fish from last night?”
Blane asked.
“Salted and in the bag.”
They pulled to the shady side of the cove and up against the cattails.
Bob pitched Blane the baggy of fish and popped open a couple of cans
of Mountain Dew. Then he said, “I know we were going to talk
about how the molecule came to the Earth, but I would like to get
something out of the way first—something I was thinking about
just before I went to sleep last night.”
“Let ‘er rip,” Blane said, munching on a cold fish
filet.
“You know when I said that the molecule only cared about our
well-being as long as we were useful in reproducing and spreading
the DNA molecule, and that it kills the old?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, I didn’t mean to say that the molecule withdraws
its instinctual and automatic responses in the old of our society.
Even though the old are not too adept at the reproducing part, they
can still be very useful to the molecule when it comes to the spreading
part. Older people have made many of the great discoveries, which,
over the years, have led to the dissemination of the DNA molecule
through modern travel modes. The potential of the space program as
a disseminating method is one example. And this doesn’t even
touch on the older folk who have made medical advances that help keep
the molecule’s host healthy and thus more productive.”
Bob munched idly on the cold fish and took a sip of the Mountain Dew,
then turned to face Blane squarely. “A good example of the older
folk’s ability to use the defensive and protective traits endowed
by the molecule was what we did when our lives were threatened by
the tornado. I never thought much about where would be a safe place
to hide from a tornado before it struck. But, as soon as I recognized
that I was likely to die in the next few seconds, my survival instincts
kicked in, and, in a flash, I knew the only safe place was underground,
and the only underground place on the island was the grease pit. You
responded to the same instinct and knew instantly that the bottom
of the lake was the place to be. So, old farts like us still can be
useful to the molecule, even though the old libido is flagging a bit.”
“I see your point.”
Bob placed a cushion on the edge of the gunnel, stretched his body
across the seat and crossed his arms behind his head. He looked thoughtfully
into the sky. “There are few options as to how we came by the
DNA molecule, and, in fact, there are only three possibilities that
are generally discussed. Let’s take them one by one.”
He raised his head and took a swig of his Mountain Dew. “First,
let’s look at the account in Genesis, in the Bible. It basically
says that God somehow—and by what means, we don’t know—created
the heavens and the Earth and all it contains in six days, some eight
to twelve thousand years ago, depending on who you speak to. This
implies that the DNA molecule was instantaneously brought into existence
in its present form by means of a miracle. I don’t know about
you, but for me, that flies in the face of God-given reason and falls
into the realm of primitive superstition.”
“So, eliminate possibility number one,” Blane said, shifting
to a more comfortable position and putting his feet up on the side
of the boat.
“Let’s move on to the more feasible but somewhat troubling
postulates of Number Two. The theory of evolution considers, and has
shown it is highly likely, that early one-celled animals—if
a thin-walled cell with basically nothing in it and possibly made
of fat globules can be called an animal—were capable of passing
the basic amino acids and other proteins, plus fragments of the RNA
molecule, through their cell walls. Remember, this was shown to be
possible by the Loma Linda studies. Now, at this point, we have a
primitive microbe that can synthesize its own food by breaking down
certain proteins and amino acids into sugars. It has a center or nucleus
that contains strands of the RNA molecule. This very basic organism
had limited ability to asexually duplicate itself and to pass on rudimentary
genetic information to the duplicated cell. Remember, this entire
model is highly speculative. In other words, we don’t know for
sure that all this occurred in this way.
“Now, here comes the rub. In order to have a fully functional
organism, capable of sexual reproduction and of passing on to its
progeny a complete array of genetic behavioral and physical information,
we need the sophistication of the DNA molecule.
“The DNA molecule is an extremely complicated molecule, consisting
of a double helix. Strands of this DNA material make up the forty-eight
chromosomes in humans and placed on the spiraling molecule are multitudes
of genes. Each gene, or genes in combination with other genes, determines
the form and traits of the organism. It has the most complicated and
baffling arrangement of components of any substance known to man,
living or dead. Multiple computers work in tandem, night and day,
to decode some of its simpler genetic configurations. It’s responsible
for each and every function, trait, or tendency in all life. It even
has the hairs on your head counted and in what pattern you will lose
those hairs. If you could take away all that it controls in the human
body, there wouldn’t be a greasy spot left. Comprendo?”
“Si,” Blane said, pretending to be meek and submissive.
“So, the evolutionary model postulates that the early microbes
and, more likely, the first multi-celled organisms of the RNA world,
‘somehow’ were able to collect within the cell wall all
the proteins, amino acids, essential chemicals and certain trace elements,
in just the correct balance and ph, to assemble the first strands
of the precursor DNA molecule. Remember, all this must be accomplished
in just the right light, temperature and atmospheric pressure. It
must then have a source of electrical current, purportedly supplied
by lightning strikes, in just the correct amperage and frequency,
or else utilize atmospheric static electricity, and these conditions
must be constant for long periods of time. Some estimates for the
amount of time required are from a hundred thousand to three hundred
thousand years. All this is to be accomplished by trial and error
and some good old-fashioned luck.
“After this daunting task has been accomplished, the new prototype
molecule must add on to itself intelligently by reacting to outside
forces exerted on the organism, by trial and error, natural selection
and opportunistic mutation.
“Now, if this sounds problematic, consider that it’s clear
that natural forces have sterilized the Earth at least seven times
in her first 3.8 billion years of existence. This means the process
I described as being necessary to synthesize DNA must repeat its roulette
game of synthesis exactly and independently seven times!”
“Wow, I thought it was more straightforward than that. I thought
science— ”
Bob interrupted. “Yes, what you read in the paper and popular
science magazines seems much more concrete. It sounds like a proven
fact. It’s only when you’re working in the field of genetics
and evolutionary science that you are privy to the doubts, fears and
weakness of the theory.”
“Does that mean that option Number Two is out?” Blane
stammered.
“Not completely. It’s not totally out of the realm of
possibility. The way we study the process is young and primitive.
New information is coming in almost daily, and with newer and more
complete pieces of the puzzle falling into place, more feasible answers
may be forthcoming.”
“Does that bring us to the third option?”
“Exactamundo—cosmic transplantation!” he replied,
light filling his eyes. “The public knows little about this
theory, but for the past ten years, secret work has been feverishly
going on in this field. Briefly, the premise goes like this. The universe
is thousands of billions of years older than the Earth, and it contains
untold trillions of planets with a wide range of planetary conditions
and planetary atmospheric conditions—planetary conditions that
have evolved from primitive states to mature states. This increases
the odds that the DNA molecule was synthesized in multiple places
in the universe, apart from the Earth, by billions to one. It is also
likely that civilizations that are billions of years older than the
human race and who possess near god-like powers and intelligence,
compared to humans, have been able to take their own DNA material,
engineer it, package it in spore form and disperse it by means of
meteorites or other special vehicles. This is a simplistic explanation.”
“How did it get injected or implanted into the life forms on
Earth?” Blane asked.
“Good question,” Bob responded. “Over billions of
years, hundreds of thousands of meteorites have struck the Earth or
have broken up in our atmosphere, spreading their contents over hundreds
of square miles. Many of them hit the Earth before she was hospitable
to life, so the spores in those attempts were lost. But more were
to come, in what’s referred to as the ‘shotgun approach.’
Some of the meteorites containing spores arrived at an optimal time.
They landed in the warm shallow seas containing early RNA organisms,
broke open and deposited the DNA-containing spores into the sea. The
RNA organisms ingested the spores, or free-floating DNA molecules,
by osmosis, or they phagacitized them—that is, engulfed them
by surrounding them with their bodies. The DNA molecule organized
a place for itself in the nucleus of the cell, and the rest is history.
“It’s a well-known fact that spores can live for thousands
of years, enduring intense heat and surviving without water. Bacteria
and seeds have been reconstituted today that were entombed, in spore
form, in Egypt, at the time of the Pharaohs.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Blane whispered.
“Not so fast,” said Bob. “What I’m going to
tell you next will make all that I have just said unnecessary.”
They had drifted out from the edge of the cattails, so Blane turned
on the trolling motor and headed across the bay towards the bass bank,
about three hundred yards away. They didn’t speak as they glided
across the calm water, but Blane’s mind was in overdrive, trying
to encompass all Bob had said.
As they approached the bass waters, Blane reached for his ultra-light
spinning rod. It had a small white beetle spin on it, so he cast next
to a log that slanted into the water. His retrieve was super-slow,
bumping the lure along the bottom. He felt the telltale tick of a
fish and set the hook.
Nothing fights like a small-mouth bass on light tackle. She went this
way; she went that way; then a nosedive into the depths, all the while
pulling off drag. Finally, he worked her to the boat and lipped her
with his thumb and forefinger. He put her to the scale for a reality
check.
“Three pounds, six ounces,” he announced, as he looked
over his shoulder at Bob.
Bob didn’t answer. He was grasping the handle of his rod with
both hands. The rod was arced in a tight question mark. After some
difficulty and some spectacular jumps, he netted the bass. She was
huge.
“Over five, I would say,” Blane offered.
Bob hoisted her on the scale. “Five pounds…” A hesitation
as he bounced the fish scale up and down. “…and five ounces.”
“I’d venture to say that’s your biggest smallie.”
“Yep,” Bob replied as he slipped her back in the water.
They caught eight or nine more fish, then motored around the point
to Watson’s Falls. The white water of the falls cascaded over
the black rocks for about forty feet, until it crashed into a foaming
pool at the foot of the falls. The water was as black as the little
lake above that had contained it moments before.
It was peaceful here, as well as beautiful, and Blane hoped it would
be here that Bob would enlighten him as to what it was that made his
lengthy explanation of the three options unnecessary.
Bob perched himself comfortably on the bow of the boat. “Pop
the lid on a couple of those Beck’s beers in the cooler,”
he said.
Blane obliged and handed him one.
Bob looked at him and cocked his head to one side, as if he were considering
something. Then, after pondering for some time, he said, “Blane,
my old friend, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’m
sure it’s okay by now. Everyone thinks I’ve been retired
these past four years, and essentially, I have been. But I have been
working as a consultant on a highly secret project for the Tand Corporation,
a biotechnology and genome research laboratory. Do you have any stock
in that company?”
“Yes, in fact, I do. A substantial amount.”
“Oh, my Lord! The Federal Trade Commission is going to be asking
us a few questions when we get home!”
“Insider trading?”
“Yep.” He shuddered.
“I’ve owned that stock since 1982.”
“Good. Then there should be no question. Sometime this week,
while we were here, you became even more of a millionaire than you
already are,” Bob said with a wink. “Now, where was I?
Oh, yes. I started this research project in 1988, and Tand bought
the rights to it in 1992 and has retained me as a consultant since
that time. It’s been shrouded in secrecy, because of its potential
social and religious impact worldwide. The U.S. government knows about
the project’s progress only at the highest level. The project
is known as G.A.M., or Genetic Ancestral Memory.”
“Now, you’re starting to scare me.”
Bob ignored his comment and continued. “In 1988, I noted a small
round spot on the tips of three of the forty-eight chromosomes we
humans possess. Later, I was able to find identical round objects
on the tips of the corresponding genes for those three chromosomes.
I named these spots ‘cenads,’ but I didn’t publish
and kept the findings undercover. At first, we didn’t know the
significance of these spots. We began to tease out their meaning and
function through various experiments. We knew that we could affect
certain behavioral and memory responses in volunteer subjects, mostly
prisoners, by injecting an extract from the subject’s general
genetic material into his bloodstream, but the responses were random
and varied. Conversely, when we injected one subject with the genetic
extract of another subject, there was no cerebral stimulation. So,
it was auto-responsive in nature. That is, it only worked when we
injected the subject with his own genetic extract.
“After many experiments, we teamed up with the neurobiologists
at Tand and, of course, had to let Tand in on our little secret. That’s
when things really started to heat up and, in time, we were able to
extract enough pure extract from these little spots on the genes,
the cenads, to elicit a response.
“We were totally unprepared for the response achieved. The first
subject was fitted with electrodes and C.B.S., or continual brain
scan. He was injected with a minute, calibrated amount of the extract
from his own cenads. We were shocked to have him respond by having
total recall of his father’s life, exactly as his father had
lived it!
“In the next session, we injected this same subject with a microscopically
larger dosage, and he responded with total recall of his grandfather’s
life!
“On and on, it went, each injection and increase in dose carrying
the subject one more generation further back in time. This alpha subject
we regressed back ten generations. By our calculations of the average
life span, that took it back to somewhere in the mid-1500s. We used
the formula that the first ten regressions should equal about five
hundred years, and after that, each ten regressions should equal about
three hundred years, taking into consideration that the average life
span gets shorter and shorter as we regress back from generation to
generation. The alpha subject confirmed our calculations by stating,
in his tenth generational regression, that his ancestor was Ian Thomson,
born in Monymusk, Scotland, in the year 1522.
“So, the function of the cenad is to carry within it, from generation
to generation, a complete history of an individual’s genealogical
ancestral past.”
“How many generations can you trace back?” Blane asked.
“Now that is the question, is it not?” Bob said, grinning
like the Cheshire Cat and rubbing his hands together. “I might
add that the recall sequence in any given subject is auto-selective
and dualistic in nature. To put it in plain language, this means that
the subject—by his own volition, or at our urging—can
either look at the whole life of an ancestor and review it as a general
overview, from birth to death, or he can select any point in the life
and relive it moment by moment in real time, or he can choose segments,
or chunks of the life—say, for instance, two weeks, six months
or a year—and see it as an overview. This is what makes it what
we call auto-selective. Follow me?”
“Yes, I follow,” said Blane.
“Now, dualistic in nature means that the subject is bipolar
in consciousness during the session. That gives him the ability to
experience the current situation in a particular life, in the first
person, while simultaneously describing to us, in the second person,
the details of what the first person is experiencing. The second person
acts as an observer and reporter. His consciousness is split into
the then and the now, but functions in unison. Think what this means
in terms of clearing up the details of history.”
“I think it means that all the history books will have to be
rewritten,” Blane blurted out.
“Correctamundo.” Bob peered at Blane with his chin down
and his eyes just under his brow. “Consider this. What if a
living person claims to be a descendant of Thomas Jefferson or we
can show him to be so by DNA testing? Then we regress him back through
the generations to Thomas himself. Theoretically, the subject should
be able to give us a detailed account of Thomas’s life, or any
portion of his life, moment by moment from birth to death.”
“Scandalous,” Blane hissed.
“The prisoners in this study—and some were hardened, habitual
criminals —without exception experienced profound personal and
social change. We saw them rehabilitate themselves in front of our
eyes. Think what this can mean for the criminal rehabilitation program
and society as a whole!”
“There seems to be no limit as to its effect,” Blane commented.
“It will touch every thread in the fabric of our lives and societies.
Some of its effects will be very, very good, and some will be devastating.
“The line back in time, at least for the present, seems to be
male-ophellic. In other words, it follows the generations back along
the male line. We are working to perfect a method to trace back along
the female line. But for now, just as male baldness is passed on though
the female line, genetic memory is passed through the male line. Physical
traits are distillates from all ancestors from both parental sides,
consisting of trillions of individuals. However, the ancestral information
contained in a cenad is more limited and is specific to a particular
individual’s own line of male ancestors. Women have genetic
memory, but it, too, follows the line of her male ancestors.”
“This is fascinating, almost like science fiction!” Blane
said.
Bob nodded. “So, to continue. You see, the cenad is like a book
that contains the complete history of the molecule on Earth or before
it came to Earth. Its first chapters were written long before there
was any intelligence to open the book’s cover. Can you see any
other implications of this new discovery?”
“Um, gosh, I guess so. I’m in such shock I can’t
think,” Blane stammered.
“Exactly,” said Bob. “Once this discovery is fully
comprehended by the general public, there will be a stunned reverberation
of rolling thunder felt around the world. We have tried to anticipate
the worldwide effects in various areas. In fact, a secret emergency
conference convened in Darvos, Switzerland, six months ago, consisting
of the vice president, the head of the CIA, an emissary from the Pope,
the Dalai Lama, Billy Graham, Reverend Falwell, Alan Greenspan, social
psychologists and sociologists, neurologists, economists, geneticists,
the CEO of Tand Corporation and myself, in addition to other trusted
world leaders and support members. At that meeting, a heated debate
ensued, with factions from the U.S. government, economists and the
conservative Christians, represented by Reverend Falwell, voting to
withhold this information from the general public and to classify
it as top-secret. In the end, this faction lost out to the majority.
“The official press release and press conference were held at
just about the time I caught that six-pound bass, a few minutes ago.”
“Bullshit! That bass was only five pounds, five ounces!”
“Ha, yes, my little chick-a-dee, it taws, it taws,” he
said, doing his best W.C. Fields impression.
“You are human, after all,” Blane quipped. “What
are some of the other implications?”
“They are wide and varied and, to be honest, we don’t
know all the consequences. That’s what makes it so dangerous.
We have taken steps to let controlled amounts of the information out,
little by little, so society can adjust slowly. Behaviorists and psychologists
have calculated the rate of disclosure, but still, there are unknown
risks.”
A large muskie’s long black shadow passed under the boat and
into the deep pool beneath the falls. Fishing was the furthest thing
from Blane’s mind, so he made no mention of it.
“But to answer your question,” Bob continued. “Let’s
take the implications by category. Let’s start with religion.
It will strike home to the vast majority of the religious population
of the Earth. The Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Shintoists,
etcetera, all have their stories of creation, and if this new information
is accepted as fact by a fraction of those multitudes, it could suddenly
jerk the rug out from under them. Their safety net will be gone. Some
will think that, if they can’t believe in this very basic part
of their religion, there must be other lies waiting to be uncovered.
This could bring about social and moral chaos. We expect a large number
of suicides in this population, particularly in the Bible-belt regions
in the southern United States. Most of this population is fundamentalist.
They believe literally in the Bible, word for word, and when the validity
of the story in Genesis is gone, some will be spiritually
bankrupt. Some of these people will be unable to concede that God
chose evolution as a tool to create the universe. Reverend Falwell
assures us that a large proportion of this population will stick with
their old beliefs, at all costs, and will enter a state of denial,
viewing the scientists as atheists and in league with the Devil or
the Antichrist himself, as predicted in the Bible.
“Other worldwide religious leaders have prepared statements
to soften the blow and are probably reading them on radio and television
at this very moment. In many of the world religions, this revelation
will come as no surprise.
“This release will prove that evolution is a theory no longer,
and this alone will crush many of the religious. Many of those who
believe in reincarnation and claim to have experienced past lives
will have to face the possibility that the experience they thought
they had was simply the genetic memory of one of their ancestor’s
lives. The potential for casualties in the religious community is
great.
“On the other hand, in Darvos, we had access to statistics and
surveys that showed that a surprisingly large number of people, particularly
in the U.S., have never given much thought to such things as religious
doctrine, evolution, or their genetic heritage, or life beyond this
planet. In one survey of people between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five,
eighteen percent had never heard of evolution. Of the rest, who had
heard of it, only twenty percent could give an intelligent description
of the theory. There were indications in those surveys that over fifty
percent of Americans were philosophical midgets and rarely, if ever,
thought of things beyond their immediate life situations. They are
consumed by their jobs, family and children, living from paycheck
to paycheck, eking out an existence, and have little time to ask the
deeper questions of life. They leave all that way-out stuff to the
scientists, dreamers and poets. These people will scarcely feel a
ripple from this astounding discovery.
“Let’s look at the general effect on society as a whole,
the good and the bad. It has been said that religion is the opium
of the masses, and if religion is crippled, it could trigger mass
civil disobedience and civil war, particularly in the Middle East,
where government and religion are basically one entity. On the other
hand, once the world population adapts and comprehends the complete
scope of what we know now and what we hope to know in the near future,
it may unify the planet in peace, since it will truly demonstrate
the common humanity of all men, as well as unifying us with our brothers
in the cosmos.
“After we finish the initial study and, hopefully, find our
common ancestor, we intend to regress each nationality and see if,
for instance, the Oriental and Aboriginal lines will converge on some
early hominid as an common ancestor some four million years ago.”
“What don’t we know now that we hope to know in the near
future?” Blane asked.
“We have a plan of intense regressions. We feel we can trace
and document the evolution of man in reverse, back to the original
one-celled common ancestor to all life on Earth. You see, paleontologists
have been engaged in the near-impossible task of linking together
the smattering of evidence garnered from the precious few hominid
species found thus far. We do this in an effort to find a direct line
back to the common ancestor. But it’s becoming evident that
the hominid family tree was more like a bush with hundreds of limbs.
In other words, alongside the one hominid species that would eventually
become man, nature, through evolution, was experimenting with hundreds
of other hominid species. They were competing with our successful
ancestor for food and space.
“Eventually, our hominid relative won and, in the end, became
what we are today—Homo sapiens. Through ancestral regressions,
we hope to find the golden thread that leads us back through the maze
of hominids that became extinct, to the common ancestor. Homo sapiens
are the sole survivors of all those experiments and, in a way, it
makes us an endangered species.”
“Wow!” was all Blane could manage to get out.
“That’s not all,” Bob went on. “We’re
confident that there’s more than a fifty-fifty chance that we
can trace the DNA molecule back to the stars, and the culture of its
origin, and possibly beyond that, to the culture that spawned the
culture that spawned ours. Then back and back and back to where or
to whom, we don’t know. We must follow the trail like any good
bloodhound, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely, we must,” Blane said reverently. “But
why did you decide to release this information at this time?”
“As you can imagine, with the number of people who were privy
to the project, we had some leaks. The news media was about to blow
the lid off things unless we brought them on the inside and gave them
pre-statements before we made our press release. We knew they weren’t
going to hold off, in either case. We had been unable to find a subject
who was emotionally stable enough, with the proper scientific background,
with occult experience, who was willing to risk life, limb and sanity
to attempt such a mission. You must remember that we would be asking
him or her, in the end, to risk their consciousness, and possibly
their soul, to aliens in a world billions of light years away—albeit,
the alien would be their long-lost cousin. We wanted to wait to break
the news of the study until after we had that person and were well
into the project, but the press forced our hand.
“This will be the ultimate 2001, A Space Odyssey, personified.
Whoever accepts this mission will have the chance to serve mankind
like no other person in the history of the world. I could talk on
for days about the pros and cons of going public with this thing.
In fact, we did just that in Switzerland and still never covered it
all.”
