i
THE PLEISTOCENE REDEMPTION
by Dan Gallagher
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to
actual persons, events or entities is purely coincidental. All
rights reserved. This book may neither be modified nor excerpted
for any purpose, except academic fair use, without the prior
written permission of the publisher. For information or
permissions, please contact:
GA, Limited
e-mail
Info@GA-LTD.US
Readers
should insist upon the 3rd (2011) edition of The Pleistocene Redemption.
Publisher’s
Cataloging-in-Publication
Gallagher, Dan, 1959-
The Pleistocene
Redemption / Dan Gallagher. – 3rd revised, electronic
edition
p. cm.
Preassigned LCCN:
98-93588
ISBN: 0-9666929-2-6
Cover
design executed by Chuck Hathaway, Mendocino Graphics.
Inside
Art by David Narvaez, Williamsburg, VA.
Smilodon
skull by Gene King, by permission of the Virginia Living Museum,
Newport News, VA.
The Pleistocene Redemption,
cover, and art are Ó
2001 through 2011 by GA, Limited.
Note from
the Author
Dear Readers,
Thank you for
considering The
Pleistocene Redemption. This edition is the same story as
the previous, but has been improved in pace, point of view, and
clarity. The front matter reveals that this novel is a
provocative spiritual and scientific thriller that can enliven
any book discussion group.
Please kindly mention it to friends & acquaintances.
Please note that
tone-setter quotes introduce each chapter. These are to
challenge readers, in context of the chapter, and not to commend
every source. The
first and third are from scriptures or locutions associated with
major religious traditions. Some of these are non-canonical, and
a few are, in part, spurious.
Divine inspiration has been found even in adulterated
texts, though none is spurious beyond the cultural embellishment
that may characterize its source. Arrogantly or deceivingly
answering these two is the second quote. But the third, being
last, may be a final call. My question to readers is: How long can humankind
persist in such arrogant answers to the whispers and calls of
God?
Please also note
the following important descriptive and age-appropriateness
information: This
tale, firmly grounded in real science and actual prophecy, has
no evolutionism or creationism themes, nor does it feature any
dinosaurs. It is an allegory best read on two levels. It is an
adventure for the entertainment of demanding readers. On a
subtler level, it is a spiritual thriller to intrigue thoughtful
readers. The Pleistocene
Redemption is only appropriate for adult and teenage
readers who are mature enough to accept a challenge to grapple
with the serious issues of life – its creation and meaning.
--DG
Invitation: If high adventure
and thought-provoking mysteries of the prehistoric,
archaeological and spiritual kind intrigue you, please enjoy
this novel and recommend it to your acquaintances.
Acknowledgments: The author is
indebted to scientists, theologians and others who contributed
to this project through their writings or personal assistance.
The following is a list of those who provided assistance
through conversation or correspondence.
John J.
Collins, Ph.D., for assistance with biblical questions.
Margery C.
Coombs, Ph.D., for help with Ancylotherium.
Eugene
Gafney, Ph.D., for help with the Meiolania.
Nick
Graham, Ph.D., for fascinating discussions on theoretical
meteorology.
Jerry L.
Hall, Ph.D., for crucial guidance on genetics: the possible and the
impossible.
John M.
Harris, Ph.D., for excellent advice on Pleistocene fauna.
William W.
Hauswirth, Ph.D., for enlightening help on genetics.
Larry G.
Marshall, Ph.D., for valuable advice on Pleistocene fauna.
Paul S.
Martin, Ph.D., for help with geology and fauna.
Greg
McDonald, Ph.D., for extensive help with fauna.
Jim I.
Meade, Ph.D., for intriguing examples of soft tissue preserved
for millennia.
Geoffrey
Pope, Ph.D., for help with our ancestor-races, the Neanderthal
and Cro-Magnon.
Merritt
Ruhlen, Ph.D., for linguistics facts and provision of a Nostratic Dictionary.
Ed
Stackler, for crucial editorial assistance.
Tom
Torgersen, Ph.D., for extremely useful help with geological
issues.
Thanks are
also due to several NASA engineers for help with environmental
and aeronautical issues. Many scholars’ works were of
great help: Francesco
Cavalli-Sforza, Ph.D., L. Luca Cavalli-Sforza, Ph.D., Dougal
Dixon, Stephen Jay Gould, Ph.D., Svante Pääbo, Ph.D.,
Steven Pinker, Ph.D.; R. J. G. Savage, Ph.D., Rev. Donald
Senior, CP, and Robert Tjian, Ph.D.. The International Society of Cryptozoology,
Tucson, AZ, was a great resource. Appreciation must also be
expressed to these natural history museums: The American Museum in New
York, The Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., and The
Natural History Museum of L.A. County.
Dedication: To all who yearn to
experience what or who was out there – and remains within.
Prologue
Ancient Whispers:
In the beginning, the
Creator longed for the joy of creation. He meditated, and then
came Rayi, matter, and Prana, life. These two, thought
he, will produce beings
for me. – Prashna
Upanishad, First Question
Arrogant Answers:
… to prepare for
greater enterprises... to make use of the pretext of religion,
[Ferdinand] adopted the piously cruel policy of driving the
Moors from his kingdom and despoiling them; herein his conduct
could not have been more admirable or extraordinary. –
Machiavelli, The Prince
One Final Call: They
plotted and God plotted. God is the supreme Plotter. – Qu’ran 3:54
Mankind
struggled for millennia to survive in his world and to
understand it. He battled and hunted fantastic animals, even
his cousin-races. He sought insight into the meaning and
purpose of life, suffering, and death through superstition,
religion and investigation. Have individuals or humanity as a
whole advanced in this quest for true improvement? Do we view
our progress, our science, as evidence that only we control
our destiny?
Some say
that there is a voice that calls our names before birth and as
we mature, and pines to call us home at our deaths. Is this an
archaic superstition, destructive of individual freedoms? Some
assert that we have only a limited number of chances in which
to turn our – and others’ – lives enough to merit reward.
Others believe that they have plenty of time before they will
have to deal with the serious issues of life and death.
Pontius Pilate, a man denigrated by history but well respected
by his peers, asked the haunting question: “What is truth?” The
query survives him.
New
questions are presented by scientific discoveries: Are socially erosive
behaviors based in genetics and, hence, neither moral nor
immoral? Were the Hebrews
a people chosen by God or did they simply misinterpret natural
phenomena? How should we interpret what we learn from science?
Whence
come our insights: Jesus?
Mary? Buddha? Crystals? Ourselves via rational thought?
Who can
discern meaning from the coincidences, personality changes and
dreams that develop so subtly in the passing years of our
lives?
Kevin Gamaliel Harrigan, driven by
struggles and longings deep within, pursued these and other
questions of life. He sought the truth – or perhaps it sought
him – about the human animal, destiny, and himself. A
brilliant man, fit and resolute, he was well equipped to
capture the answers. He was, he felt, a true leader and a man
of superior vision. Many had good reason to accompany him on
his journey. Manfred Freund shared many of Harrigan’s qualities and
curiosity, for Freund also sought insight. In a quest spanning
twenty years, the two men ultimately did find the subtle
answers.
Who could
possibly have foreseen that such work would lead to the most
ominous implications ever to confront humanity?
Chapter One
The
disciples said to Jesus, “Tell us, how will our end come?” Jesus
said, “Have you found the beginning, then, that you are looking
for the end? You see, the end will be where the beginning is.
Blessed is the one who stands at the beginning: that one will know the
end and will not taste death.” – Thomas
18
If you
consider God the master of your fate, then read no further. – D.
Humphrey, Final Exit
You fool!
This very night your life is demanded of you. – Luke 12.20
Medical
Clinic, Al-Rajda Zoological Research Preserve, Iraq
0742 hours,
May 16, 2029
The nightmare persisted, even as
Harrigan vaguely sensed the hospital bed. Images pursued him,
groping at his fleeing conscience like a crowd of accusing
zombies. He dozed, slipping back into their grasp. Now he was
running northward through hazy woods, breathless but moving
faster than most humans could run, in the bear-like mechanical
suit. His view was obscured by the suit’s wire mesh portal.
Gunfire, roars, and screams rang like a tolling bell from the
west.
It appeared suddenly in a clearing to
his left – one of the gargantuan Megalania lizards, its four-foot head jerking skyward
to gulp a flailing soldier. Onward Harrigan ran, watching
Freund pull slightly ahead in his own robotic suit. Something
rustled branches in front of them. A screeching streak of
grey, yellow, and red feathers launched from a thicket at
Harrigan and Freund. As the Phorusrhacus’s
three-foot beak and therapod talons opened, six gray tigers –
marsupial Thylacoleos
– fell from the trees onto the terror-bird. They ripped it
with huge buck-teeth and recurved thumb claws.
“Left,” Harrigan screamed. “Keep
running!” The pair dodged the vicious melee, swerving north
again as the gun battle sounds grew louder. “There!” he shouted.
“Our ride outta here.”
Freund yelled back, “Look, they’ve got
a missile! They’re gonna blow it up!”
In an instant, Harrigan found himself
miles to the south, standing naked on one of the vehicle
escalators atop the inclined caverns that led from the plateau
down to the research complex. A dark mist surrounded him and he
could not calm his pounding heart. The eerie sound of infants
weeping reverberated softly up through the shaft. Harrigan took
shallow, halting breaths. He sensed that the horrors awaiting
below would be more fearsome than those on the plateau above.
Out of the mist, a glistening woman in
a white gown and blue shawl appeared standing amid roses. As an
American living too long abroad, the red, white, and blue colors
touched Harrigan’s heart. Behind the woman, against a
pitch-black sky, ashes and dividing bubbles or cells appeared
led by her toward a distant white horse and radiant rider with a
red sash. A dozen
stars appeared around her head, only to burst into countless
suns, filling the firmament with light.
“Much is at stake, son of Ephraim,” she
whispered in a comforting yet challenging voice, “for you
eternally; for all humanity. It is you who must choose between your judgment, your will… and the
source of redemption. Choose in humility.”
She left him as the starry sky faded
into ominously barren darkness, and he began to recognize the
woman from icons that had graced his youth. Harrigan felt near
panic. What have I done
to so many, to Tykvah, to our son… to all humankind? Which
way? I want to make it right. The nightmare released him,
fading like a dying echo.
Harrigan’s eyes stopped darting beneath
their lids and he began to stir. He awoke to
now-familiar dull pain and cold. It felt as if every muscle in
what was left of his wrinkled and decrepit body were decaying.
His left arm throbbed from the I.V. that dripped serum – the
serum upon which he and Freund
depended to survive the rapid-aging effects of a pathogenic
agent – into his frequently collapsing veins. He fumbled with
the bed control button to raise his body a few inches above the
horizontal.
Harrigan’s hazel eyes,
now sunken in his thick-browed skull, could barely open. He
mustered just enough strength and coordination to wipe them free
of crust. Once well-groomed auburn hair now lay disheveled,
graying and thinning on his scalp. Harrigan turned his head
toward the window and Freund’s
bed. He glimpsed a blood-encrusted Megalania carcass, its
shark-like jaw slicing a wide rut as two Iraqi troop carriers
dragged it away. He sighed ruefully. The glare and irritation of
morning sunlight through the milky haze of his eyes forced them
closed. The room reeked of isopropyl alcohol, concrete dust and
body odor – even though a single, aromatic rose bloomed
vibrantly in a plastic tumbler near the sink. Despite the rose
some unknown visitor had left, it seemed to Harrigan that they
had just stuck him here to die. He mustered his command voice
and tried to enunciate as well as he could.
“System: Page orderly.” Harrigan’s intonation wavered
despite the effort.
The reply
took a few seconds – he supposed the computer was having trouble
recognizing his deteriorating voice. The slightly metallic and
distinctly non-gendered human mimic responded, “Assistance
priority requires selection from the following choices: Say ‘one’ if your
request is for supplies. Say ‘two’ if you need assistance
visiting the lavatory. Say ‘three’ if –”
“System interrupt,” he
said. “Override. Page orderly.”
Harrigan suppressed
another cough. He was disoriented and becoming almost as
forgetful as Freund had
become. Harrigan had had enough of this the last three days,
feeling doubly irritated that the clinic staff had ignored his
request for a hand-held buzzer to the orderly station.
____________
Down the
hall, the soldier acting as orderly was still sleeping in his
chair. Growth of his whisker stubble was prying dried gravy, a
remnant of midnight snacking, off his chin. A video screen
before him on the left showed Harrigan and Freund in their room
and emitted a beep which broke the guard’s slumber. He opened
his eyes, cocked his head, and read the pair’s medical status
from a computer monitor to the right of the video screen. It
displayed results from the Magnetic Resonance Monitors built
into Harrigan and Freund’s beds. He could not access data from
one section of the read-out, a ‘window’ labeled RESTRICTED DATA
– AUTHENTICATION REQUIRED. The readings he could see measured
several signs of aging, from inhibited cellular regeneration to
chromosomal frays and anemia.
Don’t
understand. Still deteriorating. If whatever is doing this
kills them, it would be justice for what these two have thrust
upon us. He wondered further about their
serum and medical status, grimaced and stood to attend to Harrigan’s call.
____________
Persistent
cloudy patches in his vision irritated Harrigan – he could scarcely
make out the door just off the lower left corner of his too-cold
bed. He could see the faint reflection of the green and red
lights of his status panel at the foot of the bed. The light
shone dimly off the white wall directly across the sparse,
twelve-by-twelve room. He realized now that the clinic rooms
should have been designed so that a patient could read his own
vital signs. Not being able to see the read-outs made him more
apprehensive.
He expected
the orderly, Ron from Pittsburgh, whom he knew to be quite
considerate, to respond. Instead he heard hard boot steps
approaching in the hall. The door jutted open and smacked
against the rubber stop on the wall. He could just make out the
man’s features: he
was one of those drab green-clad, stern-faced Iraqi guards. It began to
come back to Harrigan
now: what had put
him and Freund in this
clinic. He hoped the soldier’s English
was better than the Arabic that Harrigan had picked up over the
years. It was, but barely so.
“What can I
do for you, Doctor Harrigan?”
Harrigan did begin
to recall. He mocked the guard’s pronunciation as feelings of
suspicion and animosity mounted.
“I nid my eyes cleaned
out. I nid a blanket.
I nid to see some
lab results on Doctor Freund
and myself. I nid the
hand-buzzer I was promised would be installed. I nid the outside
communication lines to operate. I nid something for this
damn cough – h -hf, I nid
some acetaminophen-III. I nid
fresh water and a little respect for the sick around here!”
The guard’s
face tightened, then relaxed, smiling. “You Americans and Europeans do
deserve little respect. Rest assure that you and Doctor Freund are highest priority. I
will see what to do.”
He left and
returned almost immediately with a squeeze bottle in his left
hand and a red pill in his right. He shoved the items into Harrigan’s corresponding
hands. Harrigan glared at
the soldier, waiting for him to answer for the absence of the
cough suppressant, buzzer, blanket, and drinking water.
“I am not
authorized to administer eyewash nor provide narcotics for the
coughing. You still have water there on the table.”
“What about
the outside lines and the bu-hu-zer?” Harrigan’s cough took him
again. “And Minister Mon will learn of this treatment of the
Project Director. I want to talk to Mon now. And what’s your
name?”
The guard
smiled. “Premier Colonel
Mon is aware of your situation and he regrets the
incon-ven-ien-ces. My name
is printed on my uniform.”
“You know I
can’t make it out, you poor excuse for a sol–”
The door
closed on their confrontation. Harrigan
had insufficient strength to engage the soldier through it. He
fumed but yielded to the irritating film in his eyes and general
ache of his joints, swallowing the pain pill with a sip of stale
water. Next, he tried to
clear his vision without poking the squeeze bottle into his
eyes. He fumbled it and stuck them both. After pained squirting,
wiping and rubbing, he could see clearly for a while. Though
renowned for its fast relief, the pill failed him. Yet it was
the aching in his mind, the torment in dreams and full
consciousness, that hurt most.
He turned
again toward the window side of the room. Had he noticed the
giant burn-scarred gouge in the grass, Harrigan would have
recalled its significance. As hazy thoughts continued to trouble
him, he glanced over at Freund.
“Mannie. Mannie, are you awake over
there?”
Manfred Freund looked as old and frail
as Harrigan. His hair was
not falling out but the blonde had turned a dull white. Slowly Freund awoke, blinked his
gray-blue eyes, and turned his head stiffly toward Harrigan. He started to
stretch his limbs but clutched the crook of his left arm as a
sharp pain from the I.V. bit into his bruised flesh.
“Aaah; OWW!”
Freund mustered his self
control and struggled to clear the confusion from his mind. He
glanced again toward Harrigan: “Did you ask me
some... Oh, uh, yes. Yes. Are you okay?” The rapidly aging
German’s accent was imperceptible in his weakened and quavering
voice.
Harrigan’s response
was almost a whisper. “That depends, as you so often told me, on
how one views life.”
“So,” Freund’s shaky voice lifted to
surprise, “you're getting philosophical in your ‘old age,’ eh, Kevin? That’s a good sign. We
haven’t much time left for this serum to work, have we?”
“I’ve been
thinking about the things we talked about. I could never have
said this to you before, Mannie.
But now I have t-h-hoo.”
Harrigan coughed
from deep in his chest and spit into an already-used tissue. His
tongue and throat felt almost too thick to function as he
abruptly changed his own subject to blurt out more disgust and
frustration. “Why can’t the orderly bring new tissues? No
view-phones working. No nurses. Gotta beg for a glass of water
around here.”
Harrigan tried again
to expunge the phlegm. It repeatedly seemed to leave some of
itself inside him, no matter how many tissues he filled. Only
the water gave temporary relief and the few mouthfuls left were
beginning to taste like swill.
After a
moment of silence Harrigan
began again in a subdued tone. “I’ve really screwed things up.
My life, I mean; yours and everybody else’s. I wish I’d never
let Mon convince me to come here. If only I had listened to Tykvah when I had the chance.
I always put myself and my work first. I’ve always been the
center of my world, even this world we created.” Harrigan’s feeble voice
became a gruff whisper: “Mannie, I’m responsible for...
so many deaths. If it weren’t for me you’d be back in Megiddo with your family. My
God, Mannie, I’m so
sorry. I just can’t purge myself of...” He trailed off, winded,
worried.
Freund sat up
awkwardly while Harrigan
ineffectively fought another cough. It took a minute or two for
Harrigan to regain his
tired and fearful voice. “An – And now it looks as if it may be
over for both of us. Mannie,
what if you were right after all about that anomaly in the girl?
It was no statistical fluke, was it? And what if you were right
all along about everything else? I keep having horrible
nightmares about what it could mean for the entire human race.”
Freund responded
in a quavering, though warm and comforting, tone. “As for the
anomaly, how can we presume to know? And as for the rest, well,
if I’m right, then there’s hope for us yet, isn’t there? You
must realize that by now. All we can do is wait. These events
have focused your thoughts, Kevin.
That’s good. Very good.”
Harrigan fell
silent, except for a few suppressed coughs. Then he turned his
head toward the ceiling so Freund
could not see him weep. But he knew Freund would see, and he knew
that Freund would try to challenge him with some pep talk.
“Stop
feeling sorry for yourself. If you think I blame you for this,
you’re wrong. We all acquiesced to Mon’s agenda and worked on
this. And I failed to defend the sanctity of human life myself.
You haven’t even considered the possibility that all these
things were meant to
be.”
Harrigan’s quivering
hands grasped the cup of water on his night table. He sipped for
a moment, wiped his eyes, and worked to draw in precious air
deeply. He marveled at Freund’s lack of animosity, at
the undeserved, kind consideration.
“You’re just
trying to make me feel better,” Harrigan told him. “And I
appreciate that. But what I’m trying to say... this is not
self-pity: All my
life I’ve needed to prove myself; feel superior. It became a
habit to always rank, ridicule and measu – hu -whu – measure
everyone.” He paused to wet his throat. “It was a security
blanket for me. To me, the maintenance guys, the guards, clerks,
housekeepers – they were all ignorant by choice, unwashed or
crude. In my mind, everyone’s lesser achievements magnified
mine.
“I was never
as good a friend to you as you – hm – have been to me. I’d
always felt that your priorities were a waste. Family and all
your philosophizing. But you chose the better priorities, Mannie, I know that now. Even
back in the Army. If I’d seen others as you did, I’d have
accomplished more – and for more honorable reasons. I’d have
been happy. I’d never have...”
Harrigan’s voice
trailed to a low-pitched, terrorized quaver. “… killed so very,
very many... and...” He fought without success another eruption
from his lungs and drank the last of the water as if it could
cleanse him. “Now I’ve placed us both, perhaps the entire human
genome, in grave danger, too.” Tears pooled in his dark,
wrinkled eye sockets.
“How can I hold these
things against you? You gave me the means to support my family
when I hadn’t even a euro or a dollar to my name. You allowed me
to see the very seeds of life.
“Kevin, you can help us both,”
he said, attempting an upbeat tone. “I know my mind has been
deteriorating. Help me exercise it. Help me remember something
stimulating. Anything.”
“More than
that. How ’bout, uh...”
Harrigan’s
fits of coughing took him again. He motioned for Freund to wait
as he staggered into the lavatory.
As the door shut, Manfred Freund tried to
recall Tykvah’s face. He
tried to remember this evil behavior Harrigan had just accused
himself of, but recovered only dim and perforated memories from
the past twenty years. Freund
could not visualize many details of the past. Still, though, Freund remembered as if it
happened yesterday what Harrigan
had done for him and his family after the army or a research
hospital – he could not recall which – had interrupted his
career. His thoughts returned to the present and his growing
suspicion of the Iraqis.
He needed Gertrude. He knew his memory
was going, but his recollections of her were vivid. He thought
about when they had argued over his coming here and having to be
away so much; how she wanted him to retire early. The trips back
were always like honeymoons. And there were weeks at a time when
he could stay in Megiddo
and telecommute to Al-Rajda using his computer. He smiled,
almost blushing, engrossed in these memories with now-rare
clarity.
Now, Freund thought, there might be no more
Sunday rides along the mountain roads – here or at Megiddo. There might be no
more visits with the kids. Will I ever hold her…
Freund stopped
himself. Why are all the
communication lines out still failing? The serum has to show some
effectiveness soon! Harrigan
and I might not even live a few days more and…
Freund fought his
mental fog. He needed to know exactly what was making the two of
them look as if they were ninety years old. He needed to gain
clear insight on where Ron and everyone else had gone. He felt
certain that both he and Harrigan
were only in their early forties. Searching his memory for the
chain of events that outlined his life, Freund found that his
concentration only succeeded in conjuring unrelated memories out
of order. He had gotten several important events congealed
correctly in time, only to sense the sequences fall apart like
ancient, crumbling flesh.
What, Freund puzzled, had made me think of old
and crumbling flesh? Eerie, profoundly unsettling
thoughts flooded his consciousness. There’s something – I can
feel it – some important event looming, beyond even this
recent catastrophe, that my life and Harrigan’s life have been
building toward. Or have we been tools in some mysterious
destiny?
He watched
Harrigan emerge from the lavatory and hobble back into bed.
“Kevin,” Freund said in an insistent
tone, “let’s talk about something besides this hell-hole. When I
try to think about how the heck we got here and even farther
back – everything’s becoming confused. I know I should remember
more details of what you’re so agonized about, but it’s not
falling into place. Are we prisoners of war? No, wait: We’ve never been in a
war! But, I feel like... did all this start with the Army
Medical Corps, somehow? No. No. Can’t have. And what about these
species preserve projects? That’s where we are, but...”
What
am I doing? Harrigan’s no better
off, mentally or physically, than I am.
____________
End Chapter One
Click here to skim accolades for The Pleistocene Redemption.
The Pleistocene Redemption, Dan Gallagher. An author can't review his own work! So, please read the comments of others by pressing the hypertext below. By way of description, it is an allegory, spanning twenty years of future scientific and spiritual discovery. Geneticist Kevin G. Harrigan learns more about human nature and destiny than he wanted! He redeems fossil genetic material to regenerate fantastic animals, including human sub-species, which became extinct over the last several hundred thousand years. "At the dawn of humanity, a whisper was heard amidst the din of fantastic beasts. Soon, the voice and the beasts will be heard again. But will this herald a new dawn ... or the sunset of humankind?" As science fiction, this work follows in the footsteps of Jurassic Park but is no rehash of it at all! As spiritual thriller, it is a sharp and controversial retort to The Celestine Prophecy.
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