SFFH: Article
It was the unusual spherical shape of the meteor that first brought
it to the attention of Near Earth Objects Monitoring Satellite
Number Four. NEOMS #4 belonged to a low budget class of micro-satellites
developed and launched by NASA back in 2013 to catalogue and classify
all asteroids crossing Earth’s orbit after a large asteroid erased
from existence a good portion of the city of Beaumont, Texas and
about half of its residents back in late 2011.
The sole purpose of a NEOMS satellite was simple: spot potential
asteroid threats to the planet and plot out initial trajectory.
If necessary, a NEOMS satellite would then send out a warning
alarm to ground-based monitoring stations of incoming, large space
rocks capable of destroying cities or civilization as a whole.
It was up to the International Asteroid Defense Organization [IADO]
to then determine which method to use to destroy the incoming
menace from outer space.
The asteroid observation satellites also had a secondary mission
of cataloguing all orbiting space junk that presented potential
navigation hazards to the aging International Space Station and
various manned ships leaving and returning back to Earth orbit.
At roughly seven meters in width the spherical meteor was far
too small to pose any danger to anyone on Earth. Yet its unique
shape caused NEOMS #4’s monitoring program to tag it as a dead
satellite falling back to Earth–space junk with lethal potential.
The sensors on asteroid monitoring satellite studied the meteor
and in minutes had projected its eventual course.
The meteor would lazily drift into an orbit that would ultimately
carry it to a fiery demise in Earth’s upper atmosphere somewhere
over the fair blue skies of Pomona, California. With no apparent
threat offered by the spherical meteor, the satellite dutifully
assigned the meteor’s orbital path a number and stored the data
away in its database and went back to charting and monitoring
asteroids crossing Earth’s orbit.
In the meantime, the unusual spherical meteor continued in its
downward orbital spiral to Pomona’s lush green orchard valleys.
* * *
As NEOMS #4 correctly calculated, the frictional stress of its
fiery entry into Earth’s atmosphere tore apart the spherical meteorite
somewhere over the blues skies of Pomona’s orchard valleys.
If the asteroid watching satellite had positioned it’s telescopic
cameras back at Earth towards that particular region of pale blue
sky, it would have noticed something like a maple seed emerging
from the disintegrating meteoritic shell.
Only this maple-like seed was about thirty times larger than the
average winged maple seed. Any human observer on the ground, who
had witnessed the emergence of the giant maple-like seed from
the crumbling meteorite, would have sworn that the seed flexed
its translucent green wings as it tacked across the vibrant breezes.
The seed wanted to land in the most nutrient rich soil it could
sense from the air, and it instinctively knew how to shape and
flex its billowing wings to reach its desired destination.
It would be ready to germinate and grow once its shell touched
the rich moist earth it was seeking.
* * *
Craig Dickerson first noticed the unusually large, green translucent
tree growing in the middle of his orchard when he was out making
his usual early morning check of the orange trees.
Craig brought his aging Ford 150 truck to a stop when the tree
came into his line of sight. He got out of the truck cab and starred
in utter disbelief at the singular leafy green crown that easily
overshadowed all his orange trees.
The orchard had been in his family for slightly more than one
hundred and thirty-seven years. He was the ninth generation in
a long line of orange growers that dated back to when his Great-Great-Great
Grandfather Rudolph Dickerson immigrated from the Austro-Hungarian
Empire to the Pomona Valley Region back in 1881 and planted the
first trees in what eventually became the Dickson Family Farm
Orchard.
Craig had been barely five years old when he begun learning the
fine art of cultivating and maintaining a citrus orchard from
his grandfather and father. The forty-seven year old citrus grower
knew the exact date and time every tree had been first planted,
and when his memory failed, he could reference generations of
written records. Yet he didn’t need to rummage through his photographic
memory or paperwork to know that that weird, green translucent
tree just simply didn’t belong in his orchard.
Just like an ugly lawn weed, it had just sprouted up overnight,
right dab, smack in the exact middle of his pristine orange grove.
After wasting another few moments in dumbstruck bewilderment,
Craig got back into his truck and eased it on the dirt road towards
the botanical eyesore.
“Probably some area college punks playing a prank with some kind
of inflatable enviro-art they created to bring attention to some
pet environmental cause of theirs,” he mumbled to himself as the
truck drew closer to the huge tree.
Only as he drew neared, he couldn’t figure out how some politico
enviro-artists would have been able to bring in, virtually unnoticed,
so large of an inflatable tree. If his initial visual estimations
of the ugly green tree were right, it was at least 425 feet tall,
with a crown width that would easily spread across two football
field lengths. It was about as tall and wide as any Redwood tree
he’d seen before.
The dirt road that bisected the orchard was the only means in
travel in and out. It was wide enough to accommodate his truck
and seasonal harvest vehicles–nothing more. Craig figured that
an 18-wheeler with an oversized trailer would have been needed
to haul the un-inflated tree in. Another 18-wheeler would have
also been needed to bring in the generators and fans needed inflate
it. Yet the only tire tread impressions preserved on the road’s
top sandy layer were those made of his truck from previous days.
He brought his truck to a stop within the outermost limits of
the shadow big green tree’s crown on the ground and got out of
the cab to get a closer look at it. Being a light sleeper, he
still had no clue as to how the pranksters accomplished getting
the tree in unobserved and inflated, but if they had caused any
damaged to the orchard, he was damn sure the President Paul Samuels
of Pomona University would be getting a call from his lawyer with
a detailed billed for damages to the orchard and revenues lost
as a direct result of this latest masterpiece of enviro-art.
“Why couldn’t they stick to creating crop circles,” Craig angrily
said as he walked between the orange trees. He cursed as he saw
some of his orange trees had been displaced by this stunt. They
were lying on their sides, their roots bare of all the soil that
once provided them with nourishment.
Even with the good weather the valley was now enjoying for this
particular time of the growing season, extended periods of shade
could dramatically impact the quality and quantity of oranges
the surviving trees produced. Fortunately only about an hour had
passed since sunrise. The bitch would be in figuring out how to
deflate this monstrosity without causing any further damage to
the remaining upright fruit bearing trees–his family’s lifeblood
for generations past and for those Dickersons still yet to come.
His opinion as to the true nature of the weed that had sprouted
up among his trees changed as he approached it and touched its
warm green translucent surface. The bark, which resembled and
felt like smooth skin of a peach, pulsated with life. He could
feel and see greenish-gold sap pulsating throughout every fibrous
vein of the plant. It was as if he was taking someone’s pulse.
Craig stepped back, feeling extreme fear and confusion mixed in
equal measures.
Whatever the tree was, it was definitely not the work of student
artists wanting to punk out a farmer. If it was truly a piece
of inflatable enviro-art, he should have at seen or at least heard
the generators sputtering as the fans they powered spewed the
air necessary to keep it aloft. Birdsong fluttering on the wind
and his own intense breathing were the only noises he heard.
The sheer size and volume of the tree overwhelmed him. He felt
like a puny ant beside it. The trunk spanned about four arm lengths
wide. He took a couple of steps back way from the green translucency
of the tree. The heel of his right boot struck something that
made a hollow “clunk” sound.
Craig looked down to discover that he had backed into a large
blue oval looking squash. He looked around and noticed several
more of the big blue squash scattered around the base of the tree.
If it had not been for the odd light blue color of the external
shell, he would have sworn that he had bumped into a particularly
large spaghetti squash.
A bit of green vine was still attached to the top of the squash.
With great caution, and keeping one eye peeled on the tree, Craig
picked up the blue squash. The absence of any real weight pressing
down on his hands surprised him.
Cradling the squash against his body with his left arm, he reached
around to the side of his belt where he kept a versatool stored
away in a black leather case and got it out. He pried the knife
attachment out of its slot and punctured the blue shell of the
squash with it.
Again Craig was surprised by what he encountered. The versatool’s
blade encountered with no real resistance as he cut around the
blue shell. The blade had no tell tale signs of moisture on it
when he pulled it out. He carefully wiped the blade on his pant’s
leg, closed it the blade back up and returned the versatool to
the case riding on his belt.
Snapping the blue squash apart proved to be simple. Its seedless,
fleshly interior was blueberry toned and gave off a fragrance
much akin to freshly spun cotton candy at a carnival.
Craig took a tentative bite and his taste buds were immediately
treated to the light wispy taste of sweet warm blueberry flavored
cotton candy. That hesitant first taste was quickly followed with
more ribald bites. In less than a minute, and with no real thought
given as to the safety of the nature of the act he was engaged
in, he had consumed the entire blue squash including its shell.
“Well, that was an incredibly stupid thing to do,” he said as
he tossed the remaining green vine down on the ground. “Eating
something without first finding out if it was safe to eat.”
Yet, he was not experiencing any physical symptoms that indicated
he had inadvertently poisoned himself. His stomach wasn’t cramping
up. He wasn’t vomiting blood. His vision wasn’t blurred. In fact,
he felt pretty good and slightly buzzed from the sweet tasting
fruit flesh he had consumed wish such unruly abandon.
He was still like a child stumbling around in the dark when it
came to figuring out what the tree was and how it came to be in
his orchard, laden with tasty blue fruit. He took out his cell
phone and took a few photos of the tree with its fruit bearing
branches. He also took a few establishing shots of the green tree
and it’s relationship to the other trees in his orchard.
It was time to bring this puzzle to the attention of Niel Lupoff,
the senior agricultural agent assigned to the Pomona Valley region,
and see what light he could shed on this mystery.
Craig gathered up a few more of the blue squash that had fallen
on the ground–just to give Niel some physical evidence of what
had sprouted up in the family orchard. He was sure there’d be
no harm in eating another one or two of them on the way to the
agricultural agent’s office.
* * *
“Sticking a strange piece of fruit in your mouth wasn’t exactly
the smartest thing you’ve ever done, Craig,” said Niel Lupoff
as he examined the strange blue squash on his desk with great
intensity. “Hell, you could have poisoned yourself. It’s no small
wonder that you ain’t dead in the field right now.”
Craig just shrugged. “Feel fine. Ate five of them in all. Just
feeling a little buzzed from all that sugar in them. Otherwise,
I’m still as right fit as I was earlier this morning.”
Apart from being buzzed from the high sugar content, Craig obviously
wasn’t suffering from any negative side effects from wolfing down
five manna fruits.
But there was something different about the orchard farmer’s physical
appearance that Niel just quiet couldn’t put his finger on.
“Go ahead and take a bite out of it. Tastes just like freshly
spun blueberry flavored cotton candy. I’m thinking of marketing
this blue fruit under the brand name of ‘manna’ since it tastes
so heavenly” Craig said. “Provided of course that the results
from your lab give it a clean bill of health for human consumption.
Gotta make up for the revenue that tree cost me when it uprooted
a bunch of my orange trees. ”
The stout agricultural agent pursed his lips in a frown and shook
his head at the fruity enigma Craig had placed on his desk as
short while ago. Aside from its vague resemble to spaghetti squash,
it certainly didn’t resemble any type of regular or exotic type
of vegetable or fruit he’d come across in nearly twenty years
on the job. He had sent the companion blue squash that Craig had
brought with him to the lab for a complete spectrum of tests including
those that measured toxicity.
“Let’s first try to figure out where it came from before you go
selling it at the farmer’s market,” Niel cautioned as he again
studied the images of the tree Craig had captured on his cell
phone. “For all we know this could be the result of some Frankensteinistic-gene
splicing experiment that ran amok and somehow escaped from a bio-tech
lab somewhere.”
Niel was completely flummoxed by the digital images of the tree
the orchard farmer had brought to him. The tree belonged to no
taxonomy that he knew of and he was completely clueless as to
where it belonged in the phylogeny of plants. He was forced to
admit to himself that he needed to bring in a big gun in the form
an agricultural botanist from Pomona University. He began thumbing
through the well-worn cards of the Rolodex on his desk.
“What I’d like to do Craig, is to call Professor James Chouinard
and get his opinion as to what we’re dealing with here,” Niel
said.
“I’m out of my depth here as to what has sprouted up in your orchard,”
he candidly admitted. “What I’d like to do, Craig, is give Professor
James Chouinard at Pomona University a call and get his opinion
as to what we’re dealing with here. He’s the world’s leading authority
on agricultural plants. If anyone can clear up the mystery as
to what type of fruit bearing plant we’re dealing with here, it
would be him.
“You won’t mind Professor Chouinard taking an up close and personal
look at this giant tree of yours, would you? He’ll probably also
want to take a few samples of the fruit and plant tissue back
to his lab for further study.”
“Hell, yes, I do mind!” Craig objected. “I don’t want some university
egghead getting tissue samples of my manna tree, so that he a
profit selling cloned manna trees to one of those big corporate
agricultural conglomerates. I only brought the manna fruit to
you for analysis because it had no seeds in it.
“I’ve already lost a good portion of my orchard from this tree
sprouting up like it did. I can’t afford to loose anything more
to it. That manna tree might be the only thing that keeps my family’s
orchard afloat, and I aim to have all the exclusive rights to
it!”
A bit taken back by Craig’s passionate outburst, Niel held up
his hands in an attempt to calm the orchard farmer down a bit.
He silently cursed himself a fool for not remembering that Craig
felt on his shoulders the full weight of the previous eight successful
generations of Dickerson orchard farmers. It was only natural
that Craig didn’t want to be known in the valley as the Dickerson
who lost the family farm.
“Let’s compromise then,” Niel suggested in a quiet voice. “I’m
sure I can convince Professor Chouinard to just look at the manna
tree. You can tell a lot about a plant just from looking at it.
“The results from the toxicity tests on the fruit should also
provide him with some clues as to what we’re dealing with. Agreed?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Craig agreed, with eyes a bit downcast. He
felt foolish about being so possessive about what he had dubbed
the manna tree. He had, after all, gone to the agricultural agent
for help.
“Good, then I’ll just give Chouinard a ring here and see if he’s
available to run out to your orchard,” Niel said. “I’ll just tell
him that we got a really peculiar plant that we can’t identify.”
He reached for the phone after finding the Rolodex card that listed
all of the phone numbers where Professor Chouinard might be reached.
Since it was still about two hours before noon, Neil keyed in
the numbers on the phone’s dial pad to the professor’s laboratory.
He knew from previous experience in calling upon the botanist’s
experience and knowledge that the old professor liked to stay
in his lab unless he had a class to teach or a student to counsel.
Niel had just keyed in the last number when he noticed that everything
on his desk was vibrating and falling off the edge.
“Earthquake,” he yelled to Craig as the office lights flicked.
The two men quickly sought refuge in the doorframe of Niel’s office.
Niel had expected that it would be a tight squeeze since both
of them had almost identical ample spare tires that took up a
lot of interpersonal space.
Craig, he noticed as the rumbling subsided, didn’t take up as
much space as he did. Then the realization of what was different
about the orchard farmer struck him. Craig looked like he had
lost about twenty pounds since the last time he saw him a month
ago. His clothes were extremely loose on his body. Niel also noticed
that Craig’s belt had a couple new holes hastily drilled into
it so that the buckle could hold up his pants.
Another realization struck Niel as he and Craig moved out of the
doorframe once the vibrations from the minute long earthquake
had subsided. Due to its somewhat distant location from the San
Andreas Fault line, Pomona suffered minor earthquakes about once
a year. Those minor quakes rarely rated a two on the Richter scale.
A major rumble like the one they just experienced like the one
that they shouldn’t have occurred in the valley.
“What’s the matter?” Craig asked as he watched all the blood drained
out of the agricultural agent’s face.
“We need to get out to your orchard right now,” Niel said. He
quickly ran over to where the Rolodex had fallen on his office
floor and salvaged the entry containing Professor Chouinard’s
contact numbers.
“You told me that tree just sprouted up overnight smack dab in
your orchard fully grown, right?”
“That’s what I said,” Craig replied. “Why?”
“What if you’re wrong about that tree being fully grown? What
if that tree is still growing and that earthquake we just had
was a result of its roots digging into deeper ground?”
Now it was Craig’s turn to feel the blood rush from his face.
In grim, panicked silence, both men rushed out of the office and
made their way to the nearest mode of transportation that would
take them back to the Dickerson Family Orchard where the manna
tree was waiting and very likely growing upward and outward.
* * *
The supple translucent green trunk and blue fruit speckled leafy
crown of Manna jutted out of what could only be now the ruined
remains of Craig’s orange orchard. Niel estimated that they were
still about four miles on the road out from the orchard’s entrance,
but Manna could be clearly seen.
The surreal tree resembled a skyscraper jutting out against a
city skyline. It had grown to a seeming, almost absurdly impossible
height and girth in just the few hours since Craig had first discovered
it. No living thing since the dinosaurs should have been that
massively huge and lived. Yet there was absolutely no denying
the odd reality that their eyes were witnessing.
Manna was real. Manna lived. Manna may indeed be in a category
belonging to weeds as Craig had first described it to him, but
just like any weed Niel doubted that they had experienced the
last growth spurt from it.
From his vantage point as a passenger, Niel studied the frantic
activity behind barricades blocking incoming traffic on the road
leading to the Dickerson Family Orchard as Craig brought his truck
to a slow halt in front of them.
The barricades were manned both by civilian police and military
personnel who were scurrying back and forth in response to several
officers barking a multitude of commands.
Professor Chouinard still remained unreachable, so Niel just folded
up his cell phone and replaced it in its belt holder as he and
Craig ambled up to the barricades. Niel cast a worried glance
at the orchard farmer who needed to punch another hole in his
belt to keep his pants up. His shirt billowed wildly in the late
morning breeze due from the lack of substantial body mass to fill
it.
Craig was wasting away right before his eyes, and Niel suspected
that it was due to the manna fruit that the orchard farmer had
consumed prior to visiting his office.
Army soldiers greeted their advance to the barricades with M40A2
106mm Recoilless assault rifles pointed directly at them.
“Sirs, turn around, get back into your vehicle and head back into
town,” ordered a young Corporal.
“Like hell I will!” Craig shouted back. “Clear those helicopters
off of my land! Those pilots might crash into Manna. You’ll upset
my wife and kids with this entire hullabaloo!”
Niel placed a hand on the farmer’s shoulder in an attempt to get
him to quiet down, but Craig shrugged it off. The protruding bones
against skin his light touch had felt greatly disturbed the agricultural
agent and heightened his concern over Craig’s ongoing physical
deterioration.
“Sir, are you Craig Dickerson, owner of what was the Dickerson
Family Orchard?” the young Corporal asked. The black ink stenciled
letters on his camouflaged uniform shirt identified him as Garcia.
“Damn straight I am punk! What do you mean ‘was’ the orchard?”
Craig’s forward leaning stance suggested that he was ready to
rush the barricades to get back to his orchard and Manna “Let
me through now!”
Niel felt a chill at the soldier’s words as he came to the dawning
realization that they were under the reach of Manna’s long shadow.
For Manna’s shadow to reach this far from the orchard, it would
have reached a height of at least two thousand feet - far taller
then the Freedom Tower in New York City. The base of the tree
alone must have grown to at least a half of mile in width to support
the truck and crown. If so, that could only mean that it would
that it would have uprooted everything in its path as it expanded
outward–including the house where Craig called home with his wife
Nancy, and their children, Roger, Sam, and Betsy.
“Can’t do that sir. I have orders to restrain you at this barricade
if you showed up. And I’m going to do so, peacefully with your
cooperation, or forcibly without it. The choice, Mr. Dickerson,
is yours to make,” Garcia said.
Niel decided to try to salvage the rapidly deteriorating situation
as best he could. He held his hands up and out to show submission
to the young soldier’s authority.
“Corporal Garcia, may I show you my identification?”
The solider grunted his assent, and Niel with slow deliberation
reached into his pants pocket and brought out his wallet containing
his official California Agricultural Agent badge on the inside
flap. He seriously doubted his badge would grant him any real
authority to countermand the soldier’s orders on detaining Craig.
His goal in showing his badge was to establish himself as a state
agent. Perhaps the official silver state badge would be enough
to get him and Craig out to the orchard under armed escort. For
Craig’s sake, they had to learn if the farmer’s wife and children
survived and escaped from the path of the tree trunk’s rapid outward
growth spurt.
Corporal Garcia critically eyeballed the badge. “No disrespect
intended sir, but this is a military operation, not a state fair.
You have no authority here.
“My orders are to retain Craig Dickerson for questioning in regards
to that gigantic tree that sprouted up in his orchard. I also
have the authority to retain anyone who is accompanying Mr. Dickerson.
I see no reason as why I can’t do that.”
“Fine,” Niel said. “Just take us to the orchard right now so the
we can check on Craig’s wife and kids.”
Corporal Garcia’s eyes turned away from them inadvertently revealing
the fate of Craig’s family.
“Naaaannncyyyy…” Craig screamed as he raced forward a few steps,
only to collapse face down on the road with a hard thud. His back
arched upwards as he drew one final breath.
Garcia and Niel rushed over and turned the now skeletal farmer
on his back. The frozen hollowness of Craig’s still open green
eyes and parted lips told them that the farmer would not require
any medical attention.
Niel looked back towards Manna with sickening certainty that the
humongous translucent green tree had claimed another victim. He
silently spoke a prayer for Craig, Nancy, and the children, hoping
that they were together in the next life.
As Manna’s shadow expanded further out under the bright sunlight,
he shuddered to speculate on how many helpless victims the gigantic
tree would ultimately claim.
* * *
Manna was growing again.
It was the only logical conclusion Niel could reach as violent
earthquake tremors knocked him down to the cold linoleum tile
of the classroom he had had been sequestered him in for the last
three hours of the early afternoon.
Corporal Garcia had placed him in protective custody as Army corpsmen
had ushered away Craig Dickerson’s scant bodily remains in a covered
stretcher to a field hospital for an autopsy to determine how
the orchard farmer died.
Niel had been evacuated under armed guard to the temporary field
base of operations that the Army had established at the International
Polytechnic High School, about some fifteen miles away where the
Dickerson Family Orchard once existed. Garcia had confiscated
his cell phone as he was shuffled into an armored humvee. The
soldier had done so under the pretense that the whole of Pomona
and surrounding communities were under a complete civilian communications
blackout. Several M40A2 106mm Recoilless assault rifles aimed
at his upper torso persuaded him to comply the soldier’s request.
Since calling back for help to his office was no longer an option,
Niel picked himself off the classroom floor and gingerly flexed
his body, making sure nothing was broken as he took stock of his
containment cell. A few ceiling tiles that had been shaken loose
by the two-minute quake caused by Manna’s latest growth spurt
had narrowly missed him. Student desks and chairs had been jiggled
around a bit, but otherwise, nothing else in the classroom was
damaged.
Somewhat reassured that he was only bruised, banged up, but not
broken, he made his way to the row of windows on the far side
of the classroom. Jumping out from the second story classroom
was not an option unless he wanted to risk ending up with a broken
leg or two. He doubted that there was anyplace he could reach
on foot that would provide safe haven from the ever upward and
outward expansion of the green translucent tree.
Manna’s ominous shadow was absent from the school grounds. Yet
Niel knew that it would only be a matter of time before the green
tree’s growth devastated the high school. Fortunately, all schools
in Pomona were officially closed for summer break, so families
would be evacuated together.
Neil heard the soldiers acknowledge someone approaching them and
the door to classroom was being opened. He turned to meet his
visitors and was greeted by the sight of the very person he had
been so desperately trying to contact when he was on the road
with Craig: Professor James Chouinard.
“Did you eat any of the fruit from that tree?” Professor Chouinard
harshly demanded. He reached the now somewhat befuddled agricultural
agent in four long strides.
“Absolutely not! I sent the manna fruit that Craig had brought
in to the state lab for testing,” Niel angrily responded. “You
know me better than that. I’m not some stupid kid who sticks some
tempting looking treat into his mouth.”
He immediately regretted those words the moment he heard them
leave his lips and cast his eyes downward in shame as the image
of Craig’s death came flooding back in his memory. He felt Professor
Chouinard’s hands rest firmly on his shoulders.
“Witnessing young Dickerson’s death must have been a horrible
shock to you,” said the agricultural botanist. “Forgive me for
being so abrupt. We just got the results back on the autopsies
done on Dickerson and the other poor souls that ate that blue
squash-like fruit.”
Niel swallowed hard at the news that Manna had claimed addition
victims beside Craig and his entire family. “How did the manna
fruit kill them?”
“Every vital vitamin and mineral necessary for the human body
to maintain life had been leeched out of Dickerson and all the
other victims who ate the fruit. Once that happens, every major
organ in the body fails and death is imminent.
“Did Dickerson tell you anything at all about that tree? Start
at the beginning and leave nothing out. Even what you think is
the most unimportant detail might give us a clue as to where this
tree came from and how it can be destroyed. As you witnessed by
the tremors moments ago, that thing is still growing unfettered.”
Niel quickly summarized how Craig had came into the agricultural
office brining with two of the blue fruits under his arm ranting
about a giant green tree that had sprouted up over night in now
destroyed orchard. “Craig said the fruit tasted like freshly spun
blueberry cotton candy. He called it manna from heaven. I thought
it was some biotech experiment that escaped from the lab and run
amok. When I felt the first tremors, I kind of put two and two
together and ended up under armed guard here because Corporal
Garcia thought I might actually know how that tree sprouted,”
he finished up.
Professor Chouinard sighed. “I wish Craig had discovered how that
tree sooner then he did. Manna, as you call it, is definitely
not a gene-engineered plant. Nothing like it has ever existed
on Earth before. It might have been easier to destroy when it
was a seedling. Now I’m not so sure we can do anything against
it and time is definitely running out for all of humanity and
the world.”
“What do you mean that time is running out for humanity and the
world?” Neil asked. He felt his entire body grown numb with cold
fear.
“Come with me and I’ll show you.”
Niel quickly matched the professor’s long stride as they departed
from his improvised cell. The two-armed soldiers who were standing
guard at the doorway fell in behind with them. Obviously they
knew ahead of time that Professor Chouinard would be debriefing
and springing him since they raised no objection to his leaving
confinement.
A temporary tactical command outpost had been established in the
school cafeteria at the opposite far end of stairwell.
Rows of lunchroom tables had been converted into computer desks
occupied with military personnel and civilians shouting out updated
information as if flashed on monitors and exchanging paperwork
at a frantic pace. Niel felt like he had stepped onto the floor
of the New York Stock Exchange during an early morning rush on
trading.
Professor Chouinard paused for a moment to search for the location
where his research assistant had set up a temporary base camp,
and when he found her, he motioned for Niel to follow him.
“Niel, this is Carrie Sullivan, one of the finest botany post-docs
ever to grace the halls of Pomona University,” he said. “Carrie
this is Niel Lupoff. He’s the senior agricultural agent stationed
in this region of Los Angeles County.”
Carrie gave him a tired smile. Within the confines of her oval
face framed by green eyes and auburn hair was an understated beauty
that was still resilient against the extreme mental and physical
strain everyone in the improvised command center was under. “I
wish we were meeting under different circumstances Agent Luppoff,”
she said.
He returned the smile she had given him. “So do I Dr. Sullivan.
Please call me Niel.”
“Carrie,” she corrected with a slight smile. She turned her attention
to back to Professor Chouinard. “I’ve updated the simulation with
the latest growth data on the tree. It’s not like any plant on
Earth. It should be releasing more oxygen but it’s not. But it’s
not good. We have even less time then we thought. Less then 68
hours remain before the catastrophic axial tilt of the Earth begins.”
“Manna destroys the world by causing it to tilt over on its axis?”
Niel asked.
“Manna?” Carrie gave him a puzzled look.
“It’s what Craig Dickerson called the tree and fruit he discovered
earlier this morning in his orchard,” Professor Chouinard explained.
“Appropriate. Since this crisis is of biblical proportions. Here
Niel, take a look how Manna will destroy the world if General
Appelt’s plan to cut it down to size fails.” With a few deft keystrokes,
Carrie brought up an animated QuickTime™ movie on her monitor.
Niel watched with nauseous fascination as the movie simulation
played out. Manna grew unabated, it’s base completely engulfing
the prosperous San Gabriel Valley region where Pomona resided
as it’s trunk and crown soar upward and outward casting it’s shadow
over the four surrounding counties of Los Angeles, Orange, Riverside,
and San Bernardino.
The view of the simulation quickly changed, showing a long distant
cutaway shot of the world the showed the outer and inner molten
cores. As Manna grew upward and outward, it’s roots tunneled deeper
and deeper underground towards the core. Finally Manna’s crown
brushed against the upper reaches of the atmosphere as its base
covered about ten percent of the world’s surface. Its roots were
close to breaching into the first layer of the outer core. Earth
began wobble from the sheer bulk of Manna’s weight. As the world
tilted southward, the weakened tectonic plates shattered causing
flooding, earthquakes, tsunamis, and other natural disasters.
It was obviously that no living being would survive, as Earth
broke apart and shattered into a trillion fold asteroid field.
The movie simulation ended with Manna endlessly tumbling in the
new asteroid field in the solar system that it created.
Niel felt all hope for even containing Manna within the confines
of Pomona abandon him. “Good Lord! How can we even hope to prevent
Manna from destroying the Earth?”
“All of our hopes for whacking Manna down to size are pinned on
General Applet’s somewhat audacious plan,” Carrie said. “He has
already ordered a squadron of 747-400 Airborne Laser Aircraft
into the sky. They should be approaching Manna any moment now.
Once they come within range of the tree, they’ll target the base
and selected points above it with the COIL lasers mounted on their
nose cones and fire.”
“Why are they attacking from the air? Why not position those lasers
on the ground around Manna’s base?”
“There wasn’t enough time to strip the units from the planes,”
Air Force Major General Gregory Appelt interjected. The hefty
middle aged general had made his way over to Professor Chouinard,
Carrie and Niel as the quick time movie showing the demise of
humanity and the planet under the sheer weight of Manna spooled
on Carrie’s computer monitor. It was obvious from his girth, that
the general was more of a desk jockey these days instead of a
hot shot pilot with closely cropped red hair. He had, though,
a quiet Midwestern drawl that exuded confidence in his pilots
and the team assembled around them.
“A single COIL laser unit spans the entire width of the plane.
The nose cone turret that contains the chemical oxygen and iodine
lasers of the system alone weighs 11,000 pounds. The turrets also
allow the planes to rotate the laser lens configuration a full
three-hundred and sixty degrees. So they can fly around in full
circles and still maintain the lasers on their designated target.
“Power for the lasers is generated aboard each jet from a syrupy
mixture of hydrogen, oxygen and salts that combine to make hydrogen
peroxide–which being about twenty times more viscous than water,”
General Appelt said. “That enables the COIL laser system to knock
out any incoming missile from the air. I have every confidence
that the COIL lasers will shred through the plant fibers of that
humongous tree and bring it tumbling down to the ground.”
“General Appelt, sir, the attack planes are on final approach.
T-minus twenty seconds before all COIL systems lock on target
and commence firing,” a computer tech announced to the general
and the rest of the crew assembled to deal with the Manna crisis.
“Hunker down everyone,” General Appelt advised. “That tree’s bound
to make one hell of a wallop when it strikes the ground once our
pilots up there take it down.”
“We can see what happens on the monitors,” Carrie said. She brought
up a real time image of Manna on her monitor. Niel joined her,
Professor Chouinard, and General Appelt as they focused their
attention on the base of the giant tree.
“T-minus five seconds, four, three, two, one…” the technician
announced. For a second, nothing seemed to happen, then Niel saw
seven yellow hued laser beams converge around the base of the
tree and several points scattered up its trunk, all the way to
the leafy crown. Then the unimaginable happened. White noise began
flooding the base camp, causing everyone to cover their ears as
they fell to their knees on the cold linoleum of the school cafeteria
floor. Another violent earthquake began as the tree responded
to the aerial attack it was under.
“Abort! All pilots abort!” yelled General Appelt. It felt to Niel
that his brain was on fire as he was blacking out. His last conscious
thought was on what was happening as the pilots began veering
away from their attack. Manna was screaming in rage.
* * *
An angel was calling Niel home from the darkness. He would have
been happier though if the angel also wasn’t slapping his face.
“Niel, please wakeup. We don’t have much time left,” the angel
was telling him. Now the angel was also shaking him out of the
comforting darkness into full wakeful awareness.
He reluctantly opened his eyes and blinked the angel into clarity
amidst the whirling noise of helicopters in the nearby distance.
A very worried Carrie was kneeling beside him on the cafeteria
floor where he had fallen after being driven into unconsciousness
by the high pitch wail of Manna’s rage. She gave him a relieved
smile as she began helping him to his feet.
“Not much time remains before Manna overruns our base camp here,”
she told him. “Most of General Applet’s staff recovered only moments
ago and began the emergency evacuation procedures. The General
has already helped Professor Chouinard aboard his helicopter.
I told them I’d bring you aboard once I revived you.”
Niel rubbed his temples in an attempt the ease the severe headache
he was experiencing.
“Manna was screaming. That’s the last thing I remember,” he worriedly
told her. “How long was everybody out for?”
“No, it only seemed like that tree was screaming,” Carrie told
she ushered him out of the cafeteria. “The vascular pressure in
its cellular walls is beyond imagining. It must be maintained
by some highly dense sap that is pumped throughout the tree. It’s
the only conceivable way that the plant fibers in it could maintain
their rigidity as the base and crown of the tree continues to
expand upward and outward.
“Manna’s screaming, as you called it, incapacitated everyone for
about three minutes. The COIL lasers had no effect on it at all,
except to accelerate its growth.
“What we heard as Manna’s screaming was really its internal fluids
being heated up to such a degree that they began evaporating,”
she said. “It was like the whistle you hear when steam escapes
from a tea kettle. The only difference is that this time there
is really one homogenous kettle on the stove.”
“I like two lumps of sugar with my tea please,” Niel joked with
a weak laugh as they ran along the ruined school corridor.
Before Carrie could reply, another violent earth tremor threw
her, Niel, and the remaining military staff on the floor. The
few reaming ceiling tiles were shaken loose and crashed down around
them. She cried out in pain as the tremor subsided. As the earthquake
subsided, Niel crawled over to her, as she was curled up in a
near fetal position, cradling her rapidly swelling ankle. “I think
I broke my ankle,” she said, blinking back tears.
Before she could utter a word of protest or some foolish heroic
nonsense about leaving her behind, he scooped her up in his arms
and began running towards the exit. Carrie felt like she belonged
in his arms. She was feather light compared to the lambs and calves
he was used to carrying during the animal health inspection rounds
that his job regularly demanded.
The doors leading out of the school had been shaken off their
hinges. He eased himself and Carrie around them and began running
towards the nearest helicopter. In the distance, thunder rumbled
in the clear blue sky.
“Hurry, Manna will be here at any moment,” screamed Professor
Chouinard from within the open door frame of the waiting CH-53A
Sea Stallion transport helicopter.
Niel ducked beneath the whirling helicopter blades and somewhat
reluctantly transferred to the outstretched arms of anxious military
personnel, who take her before helping him into the helicopter.
“Tell the pilot to haul ass out of here,” General Appelt barked
as the doors were closed. He waved away the medical corpsmen who
were trying to staunch a bleeding from a cut on his forehead and
directed them to attend to Carrie as the helicopter began climbing
up and a way at a frantic pace. Two remaining helicopters on the
ground quickly joined them in flight formation.
“Look!” Carrie screamed from her window seat. She pointed in the
distance behind the rapidly shrinking school building as a medic
wrapped her swollen ankle. “Manna is coming!”
From the vantagepoint of his window seat in the helicopter, Niel
looked out and saw a rapidly approaching tidal wave of translucent
green jade block out the landscape and sky. “My God, we’re not
going to make it,” he looked at General Appelt. “It’s coming in
too fast. We’ll never outrun it.”
“Tell the pilot to climb as high and as fast as he can,” Appelt
ordered his nearest aide.
Niel was immediately jerked back into his seat as the pilot put
the helicopter into a steep upward climb. He silently prayed that
it would be enough to get them out of Manna’s destructive reach.
Turbulence from a nearby aerial explosion shook the helicopter
and its occupants. “We just lost a ‘copter and her crew,” a tightlipped
Appelt said. A second round of turbulence signaled another explosion.
“General Appelt, sir,” an aide said. “The pilot said to tell you
that we’re as high as she can go, sir!”
Appelt nodded. “Pray we’re out of its reach for now. Otherwise
we’re as dead as the poor souls who perished in the ‘copters before
us.”
Another round of turbulence shook the helicopter and jostled the
crew and passengers inside her. Niel looked out of the window.
His eyes were greeted with the almost dazzling sight of an emerald
ocean several dozens of feet just below the base of the helicopter.
The green translucent ocean of leaves of the crown appeared to
stretch from horizon to horizon. Absolute rage consumed him as
he realized that nothing resembling Pomona remained. Manna had
destroyed everything he ever cared about. He looked at Carrie
in the seat opposite his and some of the rage abated when she
gave him a smile that mirrored her exhaustion. Most of the rage
he felt at Manna abated for a moment as she held out her hands
to him.
“Thank you for saving my life back at the school,” she said.
He felt himself blushing as if he were some tongue-tied schoolboy
about to say something completely corny and absolutely hokey.
“I was glad to do it. I’d do it again. Anytime.”
He smiled and inwardly grimaced as he took her small hands in
his rather clumsy one. He had been right. He did come up with
a cornball response. If Carrie minded though, her warm smile hid
it quiet well.
General Appelt interrupted the moment between Carrie and Niel
with an abrupt cough. “Hate to break you two love birds apart,
but we’re still not out of danger here. Nor is humanity and the
world, for that matter.
“Anyone got any bright ideas on how we can stop this monster plant
from breaking open the Earth like it was a egg dropped on a sidewalk?”
“Project Acridadae just might be our only chance at salvation
now,” Professor Chouinard said.
“How do you know about a black ops project?” General Appelt demanded.
“I was one of the consultants who advised that all research into
it should be ceased,” Professor Chouinard said. “At the time,
I and several other of my colleagues felt meddling with nature
on this massive scale was too risky and present too many unknown
dangers.”
“What is Project Acridadae, Professor?” Carrie asked.
“A government black ops project designed to offer an eco-friendly
solution to clearing vast areas of vegetation without having to
resort to Agent Orange-like chemicals, like the military did back
during the Vietnam War.”
“How do you get rid of trees, brush, and other vegetation if you
don’t use chemicals?” Niel asked.
“Locusts,” General Appelt replied. “We have enough freeze-dried
locusts on hand that we can revive and send out to decimate a
region several times the entire width and breadth of the Amazon
Rain Forest.”
“Sounds like a winning plan if you asked me,” Niel said. “Locusts
are the natural enemy of all plant life. Those voracious insects
might succeed in cutting Manna down to size where all our advanced
weaponry failed.”
“I need presidential authorization before I can unleash Project
Acridadae into a public area,” General Appelt said.
“With all due respect General, what’s the worst the president
is going to do to you? Pin a medal on your chest if the bio-enhanced
locusts cut Manna down to size?” Niel said.
“Hurumph….well, the president did say to use all means at my disposal
to stop this menace. All right, I’ll give the orders to release
Project Acridadae as a defensive weapon against Manna.” General
Appelt stood up and began making his way to the cockpit. “Just
pray this works, because it’s the only trick we have up our sleeve
and we’re about to use it.”
“Amen,” said Niel. He and Carrie looked out the window as the
helicopter finally cleared Manna’s leafy crown and began heading
towards a temporary safe harbor somewhere along the sandy coastline
of the Pacific Ocean.
* * *
General Appelt had chosen to make humanity’s final stand against
Manna where the Pacific Ocean caressed the white sandy beaches
of Carlsband.
While in flight to where the CH-53A Sea Stallion transport helicopter
had landed and set up a temporary base of operations, Appelt had
ordered every single freeze-dried locust that comprised Project
Acridadae at its homebase in Nevada’s infamous Area 51 Air Force
Base to be rehydrated. The plan called for dumping the locusts
over Manna from and shipped aboard every available transport plane.
He had taken the liberty of using his rank and position in the
Air Force hierarchy to have every C-5 Galaxy and C-17 Globemaster
III transport plane diverted to Area 51 and loaded up with the
hungry grasshoppers of Project Acridadae.
“But Professor Chouinard, won’t the sterile, mutated locusts find
a way to produce offspring with native, non-mutated grasshopper
species?” Carrie asked. All of them were within the safe confines
of the helicopter, which was ready to immediately take off to
make another attempt at outrunning Manna if needed, but Niel doubted
that they would get very far if this attempt to stop the giant
tree in its tracks failed.
“Humanity has always shared the planet with insect pests,” Professor
Chouinard replied. “What’s a few billion more annoying bugs that
we can squash under our feet when Manna threatens the very existence
of Earth!”
The translucent green trunk and crown of Manna appeared on the
distant horizon of the Carlsband skyline as if in defiance to
the action the military was about to take against it.
“General, now would be a good time for your planes to begin dumping
their cargo out to feed on Manna,” Niel said.
“They are,” General Appelt said, pointing at Manna. “Look upward
over the crown!”
Niel looked to where Appelt was pointing. He could see what looked
like a swarm of dots over Manna’s leafy crown. “It looks like
pink snow is coming out of the planes,” Niel said.
“Those are the genetically engineered Project Acridadae locusts,”
Professor Chouinard said. “We should know if this works soon.
Manna could have some natural protection against insect infestations
that we aren’t aware of.”
An aide rushed to General Appelt’s side and whispered something
to low for Niel, Carrie, and Professor Chouinard to eavesdrop
in on. Appelt nodded once and gave the aide whispered instructions.
The aide jotted something down on a notepad before hurrying off
to the helicopter cockpit.
A very serious looking Appelt faced the anxious trio of faces
waiting for any positive word of hope from him.
“Our plan worked folks!” He broke into a toothy, relieved smile.
“Ariel surveillance planes are reporting the locusts are making
great strides in cutting Manna down. Under current projections,
Project Acridadae will have successfully decimated Manna in a
mere eleven hours. Best of all, those COIL lasers on the 747-400
Airborne Laser Aircraft are burning up the dead locusts that ate
themselves into oblivion.
“The president is very happy! And I might just get a promotion!”
Niel found Carrie within his arms, returning the heart felt hug
and kiss she was giving him. Professor Chouinard clasped his hands
together in thanks. In the distance, Manna was experiencing something
no one kind of its species of plant had ever done before.
Manna was being eaten to death by an insect predator far tinier
than it could have imagined.
* * *
About nine months later, the orbital path of Near Earth Objects
Monitoring Satellite Number One Hundred and Forty-Seven took it
over the house belonging to Niel and Carrie Lupoff in Carlsband,
California.
Pomona and the surrounding region of California that had been
decimated by Manna was still off to civilians limits as scientists
from around the globe made sure that no trace of alien plant DNA
existed in the now sterile, lifeless soil. Manna had stripped
every vital nutrient vital for plant and animal life out of the
Pomona Valley region.
If NEOMS #147 had positioned it’s telescopic cameras back at Earth
towards that particular region of Carlsband, where Niel and Carrie
fussing over their newborn son–Jason.
NEOMS #147 had a more pressing mission then reviewing the pleasing
family life of two of Earth’s beloved heroes. A review of the
data downloaded from its predecessor satellite NEOMS #4, after
the death of Manna, showed how the giant tree arrived on Earth.
Now NEOMS #147, like its newly minted orbiting sister satellites,
monitored all incoming meteorites that approached the spinning,
cloud speckled blue marble below it.
NEOMS #147 had just one singular mission once it identified a
potential Manna seed–destroy it at any cost, by any means possible–even
at the sacrifice of its own existence. After all, if the galactic
winds carried one Manna seed to the shores of Earth, who knew
how many more Manna seeds were waiting to drift up to the cozy
harbor that the planet offered in the galactic wilderness.
Joseph Baneth Allen has been previously published in the anthologies Amazing
Heroes 2, Testosterone, A Splash Of Crimson, and Xoddity and Romance and
Beyond magazines.
His feature articles have appeared in People, USA Today, Boys' Life,
Girls' Life, Ft. Myers Magazine, Kidsworld, Popular Science, Canadian
Geographic, eBay Magazine, Muse, Omni, Astronomy, Pet Life, Business North
Carolina, Jacksonville Business Journal, Maxim, Final Frontier, The Retired
Officers' Magazine, and many other magazines.
He has also received the Disney Showmanship Award for his work on
promoting “The Nightmare Before Christmas” and other animated movies.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any informational storage or retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
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