Chromosome Quest Read online

  After a ridiculous amount of time, the doors opened, and I staggered out, suppressing a tinge of motion sickness, into a vast room filled with what appeared to be high-tech medical equipment. Several other candidates were present, each accompanied by a nurse, and being subjected to testing at a test workstation. I was curious to note an absence of any privacy or modesty screens around the various stations.

  I assumed this factor too must be a part of the test, judging our ability to remain self-confident in the open and vulnerable environment.

  Another nurse was waiting for me, at least I think she was a different one. I was beginning to suspect the wild elevator ride had been a simple disorientation tactic and had gone nowhere. She guided me to the first of many tests. She stood me against what appeared to be an X-Ray machine. A doctor, I supposed, cloaked and hooded behind a control panel spoke softly, had me turn at various angles. At first, the voice was very soft, barely a whisper and gender uncertain. Then after a moment, and a few more words that slowly became more distinct, I realized the speaker was female, her voice a rich, sensual contralto with a very slight, indeterminate accent. Most definitely female. Beneath the hood a wisp of crimson was visible. I thought of the statuesque, well-muscled form I had followed earlier in the day. Could be, I supposed, but by no means definite.

  After the 'X-Ray machine' other tests followed, one after another in rapid succession. Some I was familiar with, some not so much. I thought I was very familiar with modern technology, including medical machines, but as testing progressed I began to realize many of the devices I saw were incomprehensible to me. The few nameplates I saw on equipment were unfamiliar. I was confused, disjointed. Nauseated by the decidedly odd elevator ride without a breather, new conundrums and puzzles confounding me faster than I could absorb. Blood drawn, pulse, blood pressure, and other parameters measured, samples taken. The testing was as rapid as it was thorough.

  With each battery of tests, we moved deeper into the complex. Although it defied reason, the facility seemed much larger on the inside than the outside, much too large to have been in the dilapidated city storefront. We progressed through endless hallways, from room to room. The facility seemed entirely windowless. Were we underground? Entirely possible, I supposed.

  After a time I found myself in a small room facing a wall mounted display. Evidently, it was a touch-screen, as no mouse or keyboard was in evidence. The nurse had me stand in front of the screen, and she said, “Follow instructions on the screen. This will take just a few minutes.” Hopefully, it wouldn't be too long as there was no chair, stool or any other provision for sitting or relaxing. She left, and a few seconds later the screen came to life. The instructions were simple; it seemed to be a sort of intelligence test. Questions would be displayed, and I was supposed to select the best answer. Sometimes it might look like complete nonsense, but in any case, no matter how silly, I was to choose the response that seemed most appropriate, to me. If I failed to answer a question, a lack of an answer is treated as my answer, and the next question presented.

  The instructions ended and at the bottom, a button said: “Touch here to begin.” I touched, and we were off to the races, an apt metaphor given the pace of the test. There were a lot of questions. I soon realized I had to respond quickly. Very quickly. Each one was displayed only a couple of seconds. I soon realized it must be watching my eye movements to determine when I had finished reading and I then had about one second to select an answer before it moved on to the next. There were a lot of questions in a very brief time.

  Some questions were outright silly. “What color is the number five” (Red, I decided), some more difficult as in “Multiply 128 times 16” and some complete nonsense. After a few moments, I began to get the hang of it and adapt to the pace. As I grew more adept, it began displaying two questions, apparently unrelated, side by side, almost as if I was to select one with each hand. I started doing so, and the pace accelerated. As I mastered the two-question side-by-side format, suddenly there were three, each one only giving me a very short moment to answer once I had read it. I experimented by intentionally ignoring one of the three, and not looking at it. It stayed longer before disappearing to be replaced by another.

  After a while I began to get the hang of the three-by format, the format shifted again, and there were now four questions on the screen at any given moment, and the pace accelerated again. I felt as if I were picking responses wildly, at random, unable to process the data, fiercely determined to choose an answer, any answer, lest the machine decide for me. The pace accelerated again.

  I had no time to keep track of the time or the number of questions, but I might guess I answered upwards of one-thousand in something like fifteen minutes. I would not be surprised if the average were well under one second per question. I am sure I got most of them wrong; Assuming there is a wrong answer. Or a right answer. Most of the problems seemed disconnected from the possible solutions. I suspected the test was one of psychology as much as intelligence or learning. Clearly, it was testing reading and comprehension, decision-making and more. Knowledge, not so much, as very few of the questions seemed designed to gauge the facts at one's command. The ability to assess a problem and decide on a response, right or wrong less important than making a decision. At least that seemed to be what was at play.

  After the last question, the screen began to display a series of graphics in rapid succession. The images started simple, then became more and more complicated, and came faster and faster. They were accompanied by a cacophony of sounds as if each picture carried a sound-track associated with it, but because they came so rapidly, the soundtracks were jumbled together. Faster and faster the images flickered past, more and more discordant the sounds, until ultimately the screen dissolved into a hypnotic Mandelbrot type of display, almost as if a screen-saver had kicked in. For a moment I thought the machine had crashed, then I realized the pattern seemed purposeful as if intended to elicit some specific reaction. With a start, I realized it was lulling me into a strange trance-like state. I fought back, closing my eyes, blinking and shaking my head, intentionally turning away. After a moment, the display broke and displayed what appeared to be a numeric score: 42, it said.

  Curious, I thought. What's the significance of the number? Is it a percentage. Is it my score on the test. Did I get a failing grade?

  After a moment or two the screen went dark, and seconds later the door opened, and the nurse returned.

  She showed me to another room. The singular fixture of the room was a low couch, covered with paper dispensed from a roll at one end, similar to a typical medical exam table, except lower and more comfortable. I was told to lie down, and the doctor would be with me soon.

  I stretched out on the couch, paper crinkling against my skin, and waited. The room was warm, very unlike the typical medical office. My head was still reeling from the hypnotic display, and I was slightly nauseous, both from the wild elevator ride and the nauseatingly hypnotic Mandelbrot. I closed my eyes to rest them for a moment.

  I presently became aware the room had darkened, and I was in total blackness. I felt my awareness fading, almost as though drugged. I fought for consciousness but could not seem to climb over the threshold of awareness. The room swirled, and oblivion descended with a thud.

  I am unsure how long I was out.

  Bump

  After a time, I became aware of bird sounds. And heat. Oppressive heat, but with a gentle breeze, nothing like being in a small closed room; I was out of doors. Not quite ready to open my eyes just yet, I lay and listened, concentrating on my senses, describing my environment in my mind. I could hear the faint rush of water in the distance. I smelled the perfume of flowers, the earthy smell of soil, the pungent scent of grass.

  With a start, I realized I was no longer lying on the medical couch. I was lying on soft grass, in an open clearing. Still naked. No matter, I had accepted the premise of perpetual nudity and as warm as it felt here, clothing seemed undesirable. Every square inch o
f my skin was soaked with sweat as my body struggled to regulate its core temperature in the scorching heat. Like Death Valley in summer. Only hotter! And much more humid.

  I realized I was hungry. How long had it been since I had eaten, I wondered. Will they feed me soon?

  For a few moments, I lay quietly, listening, sniffing the air. Not willing to admit I was awake just yet, I wanted to determine as much as I could about my surroundings without moving. No sounds betrayed the presence of anyone else. Finally, I opened my eyes to see the sky and tropical-appearing trees. I spotted decidedly odd-looking Palm trees and a flower that seemed to be a Bird of Paradise, but different.

  Slowly I raised up and looked around. On one side there was a row of exotic trees that appeared to mark the edge of a forested area. The trees blocked the broiling sun, so I was lying in the shade. A good thing, I recognized, else I risked severe sunburn.

  On the other side, a man sat on a rock, head down, unmoving, arms folded as if deep in thought, or even asleep. He was as naked as I. As my eyes focused more clearly, I realized he was the same chubby old guy who had set up the table in front of the store-front and handed out cards to the prospective candidates invited back tomorrow. The old guy who had unaccountably known my name.

  Seeing him unclothed caused me to revise my original assessment somewhat. While compared to me he was still slightly short and chubby; he was, I realized, astoundingly well muscled, not unlike my white rabbit. Naked, he appeared far more fit and capable than my initial assessment. I immediately resolved not to get into any fights with him. I wondered if he had taken up body-building too.

  When I moved to rise, he roused and opened his eyes. “Well, Well, Well, the sleeper awakes. Welcome to the enchanted land of Oz my boy. Cinch up your nut-sack, suck in your gut and get ready for the ride of your life. It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been chosen, you win the Booby-prize!”

  At this, I sat up and stared at him quizzically as I fought to regain my equilibrium. I felt foggy, adrift, as if I had just awakened from a very deep sleep. Mustering my tremendous intellectual acumen, I prepared a stream of invective designed to blister paint at 20 yards! Raging, scorching profanity welled up as I demanded to know where I was, how dare they drug me? This was gonna cost someone, I vowed.

  Then out loud I said, "Huh?"

  “Your enthusiasm overwhelms. Just wait until you comprehend the magnitude of your good fortune this day. Just wait. Why SHE chose you, I'll never understand, but SHE picked you out of a field of thousands. She promised you travel. Already a taste of that, I guess, though you hardly realize it yet. Much more to come. You'll see!”

  “What was that you said about Oz. The fictional Oz? Did you stuff me on a jet and we're in New Zealand?”

  At that, he erupted in laughter, giving me a moment to shake off the lethargy of my awakening, and as a result, when he sobered, I was more engaged.

  “No Jets. Not by a boat or train, either. Magic. Or may as well be.” His mirth subsided, and he became serious. He motioned me to join him on a rock adjacent to his, and then continued in a professorial tone, suddenly sounding precisely like a dour college professor lecturing to a class.

  “Almost exactly 500 years before you were born, the most advanced scientist of his day, a man named Leonardo da Vinci speculated about the possibility of flying machines. He imagined helicopters and aircraft with wings. Aeronautical engineers universally agree that aircraft built to his designs probably could have flown if he had a proper power source and materials with which to create the structures he imagined. Leonardo could not even dream about the possibilities of jet engines and regular passenger flights at supersonic speeds. Yet earthly aircraft operate on the same underlying physical principles as the fantastical flying machines he described. In just half-a-millennium, all his wildest dreams have not only come true but have been far, far surpassed.

  “Today Earth's most advanced physicists speculate about theoretical constructs such as the Einstein-Rosen bridge, and screenwriters create elaborate imaginary worlds incorporating a colloquialization they call 'Wormholes.' Now I pose to you the question, what might become of these physicists speculations, given another half-a-millennium or so?

  “As for where we are, no this is not Mr. Baum's mythical land, and it is not New Zealand either. Don't worry about where it is, for now. Worry about preparing for what is to come.”

  “I see,” I said as I absorbed his words. Mocking the verbal capital letters he had used, I responded, “SHE chose me, and magically transported me through a wormhole to a mystical, far away land where I am to train and prepare for a grand quest, a great adventure, a Hero's Journey!”

  “Hah! You got it!” he ejaculated, laughing heartily.

  “So what is this mystical quest? Rescuing a Princess in Distress? Steal an Egg from the Roc's nest? Slay Talos in Cydonia? Recover the necklace Brísingamen, or Odin's Draupnir? The promise included high pay as I recall, what is to be my payment? My weight in precious stones and gold? Eternal life? The pulchritudinous body of SHE who chose me?”

  “All that and more, my boy, all that and more. Whatever you can imagine, all that and more. If you survive, that is. As for her body, I can't promise you that, and you wouldn't want it anyway. She's rather old, you know, bit of an old hag, in my opinion. SHE would kill me if I told you her right age. If you want a bed-mate, or just a quick spot of friendly exercise let me know, I can fix you up with someone young and horny, much more fun than her wrinkled old carcass.

  “Much more terrific tail awaits your pleasure right here than you can imagine! You might find yourself wanting to sleep alone so you can get some rest. No, my boy, you will not lack for warmth in your bed.”

  “So who is this SHE you keep talking about? Sounds like someone you're a little afraid of. You talk like she's an ogre,” I asked.

  “A little?” he expostulated. “Mortal terror is more like it. Trust me you do not want to get on HER bad side. If you displease HER, she will kill you in an instant. And then likely I would be the one stuck with disposing of the body. Again!” He dropped his voice almost as if muttering to himself, “I sometimes wonder who will dispose of my corpse on the day she becomes displeased with me.”

  I thought he was joking, but from all I could tell, he seemed deadly serious. Shifting away from the implications of that, I changed tack. “So tell me about the mystical quest? And are we really on another planet?”

  He answered in a sing-song, “I don't want to spoil the surprise!” Then lowering his voice ominously, “You will find out quite soon enough.”

  He went on, “Before we begin, let's go eat; I'm starved. Haven't had a decent meal in days. It's quite a little walk to some friends home where they will feed us. We need to get somewhere safe before night falls, too. There are seriously dangerous nocturnal predators here.”

  With that, he stood, and with a scant wave for me to follow, he headed toward the woods, angled to the right following the tree-line perhaps 150 feet or so, until we came to a broad, clear path. He turned onto the trail and entered the woods, and I followed in bewilderment. I say bewilderment because these woods were unlike anything I had ever seen. They were clean, more exquisitely groomed than any state park I had ever seen, and though we were barefoot, the trail was soft, sandy and smooth to walk.

  We hiked through these woods without shoes, clothing or any other type of protection. Skin had by now ceased to be a novelty, and given the climate, it felt pleasant to have the air caress my entire body, but I worried about the possibility of snakes, wild pigs or other denizens of the woods, threats such as poison ivy, or other nasty hazards. It is not for nothing that we tend to equate nudity with vulnerability. I kept a sharp eye for possible dangers as I followed my companion.

  I began to pay attention to the trees and plant-life. They were unlike anything I had seen before. Not substantially different than any other forest, merely as if the trees were only an unfamiliar species. I noticed birds of exquisite colors and saw squirr
els in the trees. Most curiously, the squirrels appeared almost ordinary except for their bright, colorful tails. These squirrels seem to display them much as some birds display colorful plumage, I surmised. In the distance, I saw a peculiar, gigantic bird. For an instant, I thought I saw a pterodactyl! It was far away, however, and I decided I was mistaken, a trick of light and shadow.

  My companion evidently noticed my vigilance as he commented at one point, “Fitz my boy, you can relax, the woods are quite safe in the daytime. But never, ever under any circumstances let yourself get caught out here after sunset. Not even close to sunset. Always be in a secure shelter long before nightfall, as failure to do so is certain death. There are three kinds of serious predators, all quite vicious. Fortunately, they are all nocturnal. You do not want to face them, trust me.”

  As we walked, I considered a million questions, not so much reluctant to ask them, as struggling to decide what to ask first. Are we on another planet, as it appears? That seems evident. How did we get here? I know the answer to that one, I guess, Magic Wormholes! Well, one man's magic is another man's engineering, supernatural is a null word. Do we get back home the same way? Do we ever get back home, period? I settled on a more mundane question to begin. “You seem to know my name, but I don't know yours.”

  “Call me Petch.” Raising a quizzical eyebrow, I responded, “From Texas?” His turn to be quizzical. Then after a moment, realization dawned. “You mean from Nintendo. There's no one named Lonk, and I had the name long before anyone ever heard of Nintendo. It's really Petchy, a nickname granted by a friend long ago. I haven't used my birth name in ages. I am known all over the galaxy as Petchy, or simply Petch. I am to be your guide and trainer, and perhaps in a manner of speaking, your squire. If we live that long. Even the training is not without hazards.” Glancing at the sky, he added, “We may not survive this day if we don't pick up the pace.”