Lullaby of the Quantum Kind

“Wake up. You must wake up!”

There was no response. What was I supposed to do? Leaving them all in limbo like this was not an option. I had to release them from their cryosleep. The process was easy. It should have worked. It had always worked before. My record of retrieval was unmatched.

Nine bodies. Nine citizens of the planet Gliese 221 d in the constellation of Orion who would be able to restore the tachyon particles and align them with our own quantum reality. Our scientists, so intent on sticking to conventional physics, could not do this. It was essential I receive the knowledge contained in the brains of the nine!

“There is only one thought you need let enter your mind,” Specialist Haras had ordered. “Finish the job. At any cost. Do you understand, Harakeen?”

Of course I did. I am no novice in this work. Besides, it was never wise to say no. Anyway, my training took a full seven years. Each atom of my being understood the critical nature of the project.

By rights, it should have succeeded. What kept the Orion citizens in suspended animation was validated by their frozen dreams. When I scanned their brain functions, the images were as active as ever. Emotions crossed the synaptic intersections with immense rapidity. Had I not detected this, it would have been evidence they had failed to survive. I was pleased this had not happened. All systems were functioning synchronously as they slept.

“Look around you.” The words and voice of Specialist Haras were always echoing in my thoughts. He was relentless. But he was always right. I understood that.

“Check every detail, however infinitesimal, at least once every rotation,” he would remind me. “We’ve cracked the Faster-Than-Light ceiling. All barriers came down. And you know as well as I do, the Einstein-Rosen bridge enhances the choices of where to travel beyond time while staying in place. Unless a detail is overlooked. Even one mistake unravels everything.”

I didn’t make mistakes. I was too aware for that. I also spent time—enough time—in the Faster-Than-Light program. It held no secrets from me.

Until I saw the container on the far right, Number One, was empty.

I had interviewed the Gliese 221-d, Ambassador Davoc, multiple times. Any variance in her answers would have signaled uncertainty. She showed none. But I suddenly recalled the answer Davoc gave at our last meeting when I asked why these nine in particular held the special knowledge we needed.

“You ask the impossible.” When she said nothing more, I repeated the question.

“Have you never wondered how it is we managed to bring cryosleep into the extraordinary success it has had?” She leaned back and gave a flicker of a smile and then sat up with a serious expression on her face. “Or why we sent the nine?”

“You sent them at the request of Specialist Haras. And my job is to wake them up, since we need the tachyon alignment they can share. That’s the whole point. You agreed to help us!”

Davoc gave a short laugh. “We agreed five thousand years ago. When we saw this crisis emerging in your time.”

“You couldn’t have. The E-R bridge was unknown until recently.”

“To you. But right now, you are standing in the same place as my, ah, ancestors did, the instant before they left to set up a new life in the Orion array. Surely you know time is immaterial, the supreme diversion.”

She leaned closer. “You watched them all be placed in the containers. Don’t you remember?”

“All of them?”

Sudden images streamed unbidden past my eyes, as if triggered by her words—rivers of them, encompassing an epoch of events. One of them broke away from the stream and hovered before me. Yes. I saw it happening. I saw the nine prepared for cryosleep, all the while hearing a child’s lullaby, its intention to soothe their transition.

Then I felt the bridge collapse and the images dissolved and I was in the room with the ambassador and I couldn’t deny what she said, but I wanted to. I would have to ask Haras the meaning of this. Specialist Haras. Number One was empty.

Davoc got up to leave. As she stepped away, she paused on the threshold. “Remember the lullaby and all will be well. Fail to remember it, they die. You die.”

With her words, I understood the anomaly that was keeping the nine from waking up. It was me.

The lullaby had been an ancient song. Beyond my memory. Before my time. But if I didn’t somehow remember it, the nine would stay in permanent limbo. What about the empty container?

“Haras,” I called out, doing the unthinkable and entering his sanctum unbidden, forgetting to use his title.

He was over near the windows, playing softly on a harp. It had four strings, no more. An ancient instrument. The sound was soothing.

He looked up, his eyes as black as night. “It’s all right,” he said. “Rest now. All is well.”

“What are you talking about? Nothing is well. I have to admit it. One of the nine is missing. I haven’t found a way to—” A feeling raced through me then, utter fear possessing me, and I reached out my hands in panic and in that moment felt the solid enclosure above me, inches above me.

Through the clear casing I watched Specialist Haras approach, and once again heard the faint sound of the harp and the lullaby, and it was then I felt the fear vanish and a peace enter me, a peace so complete I was instantly suspended in the grace of it. The river of memory came to me a second time.

“Isn’t this better? You left your shell too soon, that’s all. It won’t be a long wait,” he said softly. “Five thousand years, at most. Davoc is mistaken, for no one dies. Not ever. It’s just not time yet for you to awaken. Not yet. But it will be. I promise you this.”

I closed my eyes and let the sound of his playing lull me into sleep.

One day I would wake up and tell this story. Again.

End