Prophets for the End of Time

Copyright © 1998
ISBN: 0671-57775-1
Publication November 1998

by Marcos Donnelly

FOUR:
Still 1976, But Back to
Someplace Entirely Different

Henri Elobert had only thirteen years of age—many, many years fewer than the others—but he felt confidence when he announced toward the end of dinner that there were certainly more than six people on the face of the Earth.

Henri began to categorize their responses.

Dr. Rousas dropped his demitasse. Very sloppy for a mathematician, Henri thought, but then Dr. Rousas’ mathematics had taken a turn toward the sloppy recently. The other doctors responded in ways more appropriate to their specialties: Dr. LeFavre, the astrophysicist and cosmologist, stared toward the ceiling as if toward his stars, pretending to ponder some distant abstraction; Dr. Bernardin, microbiologist and biochemist, examined the tips of his fingers, absorbed by some minute detail; and Dr. Elobert—the kind old doctor whose second name was the same as Henri’s—smiled wide.

Henri was intrigued; every response was predictable, but every response was also grander, larger, more exaggerated than Henri had expected. Of course, the hypothesis he had just proposed was itself quite grand—more than six people on the Earth. Their reactions indicated one of two things: either most of the doctors had been working on a similar hypothesis and were upset that Henri had beaten them to the discovery; or all of them knew already the More-Than-Six hypothesis, and Henri was not supposed to have found out.

Yes, the second one, that was it. It made more sense. In the past he had caught the doctors withholding scientific information for the sake of seeing if Henri would discover the information on his own.

At that moment Roland waddled in from the back kitchen, apparently attracted by the sound of Dr. Rousas’ shattered demitasse. He began mopping up the espresso spill. Roland was the only one (except for Henri, of course) who was not called "Doctor." Roland had never had a specialty, and his mind was too slow to grasp even the beginning concepts of science and learning.

"Roland," Henri said, because he wanted the final reaction to complete his data, "there are more than six people on the face of the Earth."

Roland looked surprised—well, as surprised as his dull-green eyes had ever been able to make him look. There was a brief flash of understanding, and then emptiness again. Roland nodded. "Shall I make more dinner, then?"

"No thank you, Roland, I do not believe they will stop by this evening," Henri said.

"Then I shall bring the dinner cheeses." Roland waddled back to the kitchen.

"Explain the basis of your theory," Dr. Elobert said gently. Henri saw the glances the others gave Dr. Elobert. LeFavre and Bernardin were angry, as if they wanted the whole discussion dropped. Rousas looked panicked.

"As yet it is only a hypothesis," Henri said. "The only evidence I have is circumstantial. Questions, really. Where do those foods come from that are not native to the island? How was this compound built when none of us seems adept at complex mechanical construction?" He watched them carefully for the next question. "Where do the doctors go when they disappear at irregular intervals, six or seven days away every three months?"

Roland brought the dinner cheeses. Dr. Rousas took several more slices than was his custom. LeFavre and Bernardin both waved the plate away when Roland offered it—more behavioral changes.

"Go on," Dr. Elobert said to Henri.

"I move my thoughts from the macro level to the micro level at this point, and employ the genetic training Dr. Bernardin has provided me." Bernardin shook his head when Henri said that. "The continuation of a species depends on the transmission of genetic information in some manner. A number of microorganisms perform this feat by doubling their genes and splitting. Vegetation often does it by receiving haploid input from a member of its own species and distributing seeds. I believe these two acts hold the key."

"Genetic information," Rousas said through a mouthful of cheese.

"Indeed," said Henri. "As far as I can determine, those life forms perform according to a natural law with which we ourselves should also be expected to comply. Would you agree?"

No one at the table looked willing to agree. Henri sat silently for a moment, trying to determine when the best time would be to show them the preliminary sketches. Soon, but not just yet.

"I have done some initial studies in karyotyping each of our genetic structures. I admit I was confused at the beginning because I only used hair follicles from myself and compared them with those of Dr. Elobert. There were numerous similarities, and I attributed any differences to natural mutation. But then I took hair follicles from you, Dr. Rousas"—Rousas placed a flat palm over the bald spot in the middle of his head—"as well as from the other doctors. I followed Roland around on his cleaning duties one morning and retrieved the hairs from your pillows and brushes."

"Cunning," said Dr. Bernardin, and Henri could tell he was not pleased.

"I performed another round of karyotype comparisons. The diversity was . . . intriguing. There seems no way that all of us could have developed from the same genetic source."

Dr. Elobert set his hand on Henri’s shoulder. Henri felt warm. Dr. Elobert was the only one who ever touched him. "Then from what genetic source do we originate, Henri?"

"For God’s sake, Elobert," Dr. Rousas said. He stood from the table and thrust his serviette onto his plate. "Give it a rest, no?"

"No," Dr. Elobert said. "Henri?"

Henri felt a prickling at the base of his neck. They were upset. Not Dr. Elobert, who seemed pleased, and not Roland, who was quintessentially oblivious. But the three others. Angry for some reason. All his life he had wondered how they could become so easily upset and unbalanced.

"I do not know," Henri said. "It may all be very silly. I have pursued wild tangents before."

"Indeed," said Dr. Bernardin.

"But I do have preliminary sketches."

"Indeed," Bernardin said again, a little softer, leaning back in his chair.

Henri pulled the three folded sheets from his trouser pocket. "Hypothesis One," he said while unfolding the first sheet. The paper showed a sketch of Dr. Rousas splitting into two sections. A thin mucous membrane connected the left half of Rousas to the right half across a split that originated at his bald skull and continued to his midtorso. "According to my first hypothesis, the genetic material in all of our cells reduplicates itself and causes us to split apart and form two new organisms." He passed the paper around the table. Dr. Elobert chuckled and passed it on. Dr. Rousas held the sketch a bit longer than the others. He pursed his lips as he stared at it.

No, Henri thought. Not that one, then.

"Second hypothesis. External insemination." This sketch showed Doctors LeFavre and Bernardin, both naked, both apparently urinating on one another’s genitals.

"Disgusting," said LeFavre, but he was smiling, softening to Henri’s speculations. "However, it is an amazing likeness to Dr. Bernardin."

"That one is based on my discovery that our testes contain haploid cells which can be emitted either involuntarily or at will."

Dr. Rousas leaned forward. "How in the world did you determine—" He sat back and crossed his arms. "Never mind," he said. "I’d prefer not to know."

Dr. LeFavre lit a cigarette. "Tell me, Dr. Elobert. How far will you let this go? He is obviously grasping blindly. I see no scientific method to his extrapolations. His study was independent and we have seen no notes on it."

Of course there was a process behind Henri’s conclusions. Henri could have produced it. He could have gone through painstaking explanations of his isolation of chromosomal pairs and his past year of failed attempts at rearranging them. And his success last week. All of it. But they already knew. They all knew things they were not telling him. All his life, he had been willing to show them anything they had not yet known. They had always been very enthusiastic about his discoveries, things like the asymmetry of subatomic particles, the stellar evolution theories, even as far back as his fiber optics analysis seven years ago. They had been quite pleased with those studies. But what did they share with Henri anymore?

This hypothesis was different. They knew the answer and were not telling him.

So the informal presentation he now gave had nothing to do with an evaluation of his scientific process for testing the More-Than-Six people hypothesis. It was an evaluation of them, the doctors themselves. He was not presenting an experiment this evening, he was conducting one.

They had finished passing around his first two sketches, and by now even Bernardin and Rousas were chuckling. Relief. A spirit of levity. A feeling that Henri was quaint in his attempts. A superiority that smiles downward, patronizing.

Henri showed the final sketch. Total silence at the table, and even Dr. Elobert lost his smile.

Henri knew, then, that this was the one.

"Note that in my third picture I hypothesize the existence of an alternate configuration of the body. I’ve emphasized the mammary glands that are vestigial in our bodies, assuming that offspring are fed directly from that source. I’ve removed the standard penis and replaced it with a simple opening for insemination. I’ve widened the hips for easier passage of offspring from an internal environment to the external world. I’ve removed all nonessential bodily hair based on assumptions of the hormones produced within this particular genetic extrapolation."

Dr. LeFavre crushed out his cigarette without taking his eyes off the sketch. The others sat motionless. Dr. Elobert—kind, old Dr. Elobert—let one corner of his mouth turn upward to a half-smile. Henri recognized that. It was an indication that Henri had made an accomplishment. It was pride.

"Of course," Henri said, "the length of the head hair is a bit of personal license. A light yellow color, hanging past the shoulders. A preference only."

Henri gathered the sketches and quickly excused himself to his sleeping chambers. He wished the doctors a good night.

G G G

Henri’s chamber, like the chambers of all the doctors and Roland, had no windows. In fact, the only windows in the entire compound were the two plate glasses in the compound’s foyer. Those faced south. Henri was allowed to go outside daily now, as long as he kept within one hundred meters of the compound. There were tall cliffs to the east and west of the compound. Henri had long ago tired of squinting to make out the vegetation at the top of the cliffs. Whenever he went outside he preferred to stare quietly over the endless water.

Endless? Henri wondered about that now, lying on his cot in the blackness of the room. Could there not be other islands on the planet? Dr. Bernardin’s specialty: cosmology. Earth had a 6,378.203 kilometer equatorial radius, a 6,356.7189 kilometer polar radius. That made it relatively spherical, nearly 317 million square kilometers of surface area, of which this island, which the doctors occasionally called Kerguélen, occupied less than 75. Another piece of evidence, perhaps? Why not simply call the island "Earth" if it were unique to the planet? There was plenty of surface area left to hold other islands. So question number one: Were there other islands on Earth? And question number two: Was there life on other islands?

They knew. Not Roland, but the others. They knew. That was as big a mystery as any of the others. Why would they not tell him? And if they withheld that information, what else had he not been told? Really, really, it came down to whether or not he could believe anything they said.

But he could believe Dr. Elobert. He cared for Dr. Elobert. And they were genetically closer to one another than to any of the others. Did genes form a bond like that? On the macro level? Did a euglena have instinctive attraction to its other half?

He fell asleep wondering these things. He awoke hours later, in the middle of the night, when he heard his name called from the darkness.

"Henri Elobert."

Henri sat up. He slid his hand against the cool concrete wall until he found the intercom button to Dr. Elobert’s chambers. He pushed the button and said, "Yes?"

A few moments passed, and he heard Dr. Elobert’s voice. "Yes?"

"Dr. Elobert?"

"Yes. Henri?"

"Yes." A pause. "Yes?"

"What?"

"Did you call?"

"No, Henri. You called. What is it?"

Henri had no idea what it was. Only Dr. Elobert had ever called him over the chamber intercom. "Nothing," Henri said. "I thought you had called me."

He heard Dr. Elobert’s sigh. "Good night, Henri."

Henri was asleep again in fifteen minutes.

"Henri Elobert."

The voice came from inside the room, not over the intercom. Henri sat up again and addressed the darkness. "Dr. LeFavre? Dr. Rousas? Who is it?"

"No, no, Henri. Incorrect format. By tradition, I call three times, and then you ask me who I am. First Samuel, chapter three."

Across his chamber in the northeast corner, Henri saw a shape that was just a bit blacker than the blackness of the unlit room. The voice was not Rousas’, nor LeFavre’s, nor anyone’s he had heard before.

More-Than-Six.

"Who are you?" Henri asked again.

"Stubborn," the voice answered. "It’s an admirable trait. I tell ya’, pal, you’ll be needing stubbornness for the rest of your life."

Henri said nothing, felt nothing, and thought nothing but "More-Than-Six."

The voice said, "I am your angel." Henri put his hand to his throat and swallowed once. The voice across the room began to laugh.

"Your education has only just started, pal."

By way of explanation:

The reason the dark shape laughed at this point was because Henri had put his hand to his throat. It was a play on words, actually. Since Henri only spoke French at this time in his life, the dark shape addressed Henri in that language. The dark shape did not literally say, "I am your angel." It said, "Je suis votre ange." It so happens that the French word for "angel" is surprisingly close to "angine," a French word that is sometimes used to mean "tonsillitis." When the dark shape announced it was Henri’s ange, Henri, never having heard the term before, immediately transferred the unfamiliar pattern to a familiar one, hearing instead the word angine. By instinct, Henri put his hand to his throat, and the dark shape found that amusing.

It wasn’t very funny, really. But the dark shape thought it was. Which should provide some insight into the way the dark shape’s mind worked.

"In the beginning," the dark shape said, "God created the Heavens and the Earth."

God. Rousas often said, "For God’s sake," "My God!" and "Good God!" The last was always frowned upon by the others as if it were vaguely taboo.

"What is your name, Doctor?" Henri asked the dark shape.

"The Earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss."

"Are you the seventh?" Henri asked. "How many others are there?"

"And the breath of God moved over the waters."

Henri squinted at the darkness. The shape was moving from the corner, coming closer to the cot. "Please," said Henri, "are there other islands on the Earth?"

The shape was beside him now. Henri’s hands were shaking. His face was warm and he could feel his forehead dampening.

"And God said—" the shape said "—‘Let there be light.’ "

Suddenly, there was light, brilliant whiteness, and Henri thrust his arm in front of his eyes. Shouting, whistling, an unsyncopated banging of flesh on flesh—a hundred people? A thousand?

"Tha-aaaa-at’s right!" yelled a voice even louder than the shouting, whistling, and banging. "It’s time for ‘Let There Be Light,’ the game show that offers you cash and prizes while shedding a little light on the meaning of your existence!"

Henri’s eyes adjusted to the brightness. There were hundreds of people, all seated close together on benches that rose higher from the floor as they receded from where Henri stood. Stood? He had been lying on his cot, so when had he stood up? The ceiling was 20 or 25 meters high, the walls five times that across from each other. In front of the hundreds of people was a large, raised platform.

This definitely was not, he decided, his chamber.

"And here’s the host of ‘Let There Be Light,’ that prince of cherubim, that hero of seraphim himself—the Archangel Michael!"

"Excuse me," the dark shape said to Henri. "That’s my cue."

The banging, shouting, and whistling increased. Even in the brightness, the dark shape was . . . well, dark. Henri watched the nearly-human shape run across the raised platform in front of the hundreds of people. The dark shape bobbed as it moved, a rip in the fabric of what should be seen. Henri shook.

Well, Henri would have none of that. "Fear in the face of the unknown leads to sloppy observation." Who had taught him that?

Dr. Elobert. Of course.

"Thank you, Bob, and good evening to all of you, ladies and gentlemen." The hundreds of people quieted down. The dark shape had moved across the platform to stand behind a desk. Not a desk really; a very narrow, very tall piece of furniture that approximated a desk. It was meant for one person standing. Nomenclature? Henri wondered. A speaker-desk.

Henri’s legs quivered. Observe, he ordered himself. The legs stilled.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a wonderful show for you. Our competitor comes to us all the way from the Kerguélen Archipelago, a chain of islands in the southern Indian Ocean about 2000 miles southeast of Madagascar. And here to give us a brief summary of Kerguélen is my lovely co-host, whom you all know and love . . . Mandi!"

Again noise from the hundreds, but this time the whistles predominated. Then Mandi the co-host walked out. Henri stared; wider hips, bloated mammary glands. Tangible evidence—there was an alternate configuration.

"Thank you, Mike," said Mandi. Her voice was higher than the dark shape’s, than any of the doctors’. Shorter vocal chords? "If you’ll turn your attention to the screen above, you’ll see aerial photographs of the Kerguélen Archipelago. Discovered in 1772 by the French navigator Yves Joseph de Kerguélen-Trémarec, the archipelago consists of three hundred small islands, two hundred and ninety-eight of which are completely negligible. None of the islands contains any indigenous fauna, although penguins and other sea birds frequently stop there for a visit."

Applause from the audience.

"Kerguélen was formally annexed in 1893 by the French government, the only ones who seemed to care it existed. Several permanent scientific research stations have been established on the largest of the islands, and scientific personnel constitute the only inhabitants of the archipelago. Except . . ."

On the screen above Mandi’s head, the picture swooped in toward one of the smaller islands. The hundreds of people all inhaled at the same moment and then made vowel sounds.

" . . . for this: Desolation Isle, the southernmost member of the archipelago, weighing in at a mere 72 square kilometers. This is the home of tonight’s competitor, Monsieur Henri Elobert. And what’s he doing there? He hasn’t the vaguest idea! But tonight he just might find out—on ‘Let There Be Light!’ Back to you, Mike."

More whistles. Mandi bent her waist and tilted in the direction of the hundreds. She skipped off the platform.

"Thank you, Mandi, for that show-halting but all-too-necessary information dump. And now, ladies and gentlemen, would you join me in a warm welcome for tonight’s guest: Monsieur Henri Elobert! Come on up front, Henri, and take a seat!"

Henri realized he was still dressed in his sleeping gown and wondered if that were appropriate attire for meeting the More-Than-Six. He walked toward a chair positioned at the right-hand side of the speaker-desk, but he kept his head turned toward the hundreds of people. They were banging their hands together and shouting for him now. Hundreds of them. Henri knocked his knees against the chair.

"Whoops! Careful there, pal!" Laughter from the hundreds of people. "There you are, take a seat. Now, Henri, we’ll start with the qualification round. We’ll be asking three simple questions about your life to see if you’ve got what it takes to go head-to-head against our two returning champions. You viewers at home will see the correct responses to our questions on your screen, and studio audience—please, no yelling out the answers."

The dark shape pulled three square cards from inside the speaker-desk.

"Question One: In the majority of cases in higher life forms, offspring are the genetic progeny of a male and female of the same species. Among humans these two are respectively called ‘the father’ and ‘the mother.’ Henri Elobert, for 250 points: Who is your father?"

Complete silence throughout the building. The hundreds leaned forward. Everyone stared at Henri, even the dark shape, although Henri could only surmise this by the way the darkness sort of tilted sideways in his direction.

"Dr. Javier Elobert," said Henri, and the hundreds slammed the flesh of their palms together.

"Correct!" the dark shape shouted, and there were several moments of jubilation. "Question Number Two:"—the hundreds again snapped into silence—"Fiber-optic communication, although still rare in actual use, represents an advancement that will be worth billions of francs to various industries during the coming decades. For 500 points, Henri, who was the first to demonstrate that an LED source would solve some of the attenuation problems inherent in fiber-optic communication—all at a meager six-and-two-thirds years of age?"

Vowel sounds from the hundreds.

"Me," said Henri.

More hand pounding.

"Indeed it was!" said the dark shape. "And a lot of folks have made a bundle off your idea without you knowing it, pal!"

Laughter.

"And now, Henri Elobert, your third and final qualifying question; the question that determines whether or not you get to take on our returning champions. For 1000 points, Henri Elobert: Why?"

They were all staring again.

Henri remembered the fiber-optic project. From the wording of the question, the LED source was obviously a big thing now. Or was becoming one. A big thing with whom? For all those others, out there, the ones the doctors never let him know existed. The doctors knew the idea was his. Dr. Elobert knew. His father? Then was there a mother, too? Henri hadn’t thought about fiber optics for years. What other ideas of his were they taking out to the More-Than-Six? The computed axial tomography technique? The superconductivity theories? Room-temperature fusion? So who would his mother be?

"Ten seconds, Monsieur Elobert."

Henri would be damned if he were going to do any more studies for LeFavre on the unified field theory.

"Five seconds."

The confusion and the fear all settled. Henri was angry. Very angry. Just like the doctors often got angry with each other, now he was angry at them. "They are all using me," he said.

"A winner!" the dark shape shouted over the noise of the hundreds. "Indeed, since the age of three, Henri, when you proved to be a prodigy, these scientists have been using you for the advancement of twentieth century science and its practical applications! But best of all—you’ve won the right to compete against our two returning champions! And what’s tonight’s grand prize, Mandi?"

"Mike, it’s an all-expense paid vacation for one to—anywhere in the world that isn’t Kerguélen!"

Henri stood from the chair and approached the speaker-desk. The excitement from the crowd was deafening. Henri tried to look the dark shape directly in the eyes, which he found was impossible and a bit disconcerting. "Who was my mother?"

"Take it easy, pal," the dark shape muttered. "You’re doing great so far."

Copyright © 1998 by Marcos Donnelly