Rise and Fall of the Cosmic Civilizations

By Muhammed Muaaz

A group of high-school teenagers in Toronto are living out their ordinary lives when a secret organization recruits them. Unclear of what they have got themselves into, they start fiddling with the deceptively advanced technology at their disposal. With time, they gradually realize how far back in time the story of these genetic tools go. They unanimously stumble upon an old underground archaeological site and meet Rancer, a dazed individual who shows strong signs of association with the Antaracians – a parallel race of humans who live permanently underground and are blissfully unaware of all other ‘Extraracian’ people living above.

One and half centuries later, remains of an extinct alien species are discovered on an asteroid near the outer edge of the solar system, the text describing something terrible that had resurfaced lately. Yet another alien species lands on Earth as refugees, and only a small lineage of people knows about the clandestine events that had happened before. In a world that has just recovered from a worldwide depression, Carl and Sum team up with various Antaracian nations at war, the organization Vaeglt along with a score of intelligent alien species to plan revenge against the destroyer of them all…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Jan 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781543708400

Muhammed Muaaz

Muhammed Muaaz is the editor of Get, Set, KNOW! – an overcharged mess-machine uncannily obsessed with neutron stars, out-of-place artefacts and orcas. He is fond of reading and writing dystopian – stuff he finds ‘relatable’ in the modern world. He spends his free time drawing, playing guitar, or shoving a Frisbee around

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 by Muhammed Muaaz.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Cover Art by Muhammed Zaid

www.partridgepublishing.com/india

CONTENTS

Introduction

Part One

Humble Beginnings

Things Spice Up

Exa(M)Ishap

Just Getting Along

A Stunning Discovery

Another Stunning Discovery

Cosmic Superpowers

An Ill-Fated Encounter

Burnout

The Dots Join Themselves

Mission Gone Wayward

Blackout

Rescue Operation

Epidemic

More Things Blow Up

There’s More Of ‘Em

Down In The Depths And Beyond

Part Two

Antarix Before Earth

Arrival

Dystopia

The Search Starts

Lost Civillizations

Countdown To Extinction

A Haven Is Found

The Extraterrestial Pyramid

Showdown

Apocalypse

Interstellar Discussions

Confrontation

The Great Escape

Tragedy

Trapped

Part Three

Behind Section 245-Cd

A Fateful Encounter

Unusual Friends

Refugees From Space?

On The Quest For Answers

On The Quest For More Answers

They’re In Here

Too Much To Digest

Things Get Real Serious

Call For Action

It Ain’t Secret This Time

Bedtime Stories

Backup’s Arrived

The Offer

Shake Hands, You Two!

Piles Of Rubble

The Siege Begins

Sneaky Sneak In

Welcome To The Team

Struck Gold

The Dust Setlles

Well, Some Of It

Back On The Footpath

Into The Lion’s Den

A Drastic Turn Of Events

An Intergalactic Voyage

Attack From Within

Burstout

References

Introduction

Deep back in space and time… This region of the universe is quite young… Small particles of matter pull each other by unseen forces… There are larger particles as well, which pull these small particles of matter, but do not interact much amongst themselves… These conditions lead to the birth of a massive star… However, massive objects do not last much… The star soon collapses in itself… Its outer layers are blown away by the explosion, but still surround the part of the star which remains… The cosmic sinkhole feeds and grows, releasing heat… Some of the larger particles annihilate each other… Even this monstrous entity doesn’t last long… It also dies like its surrounding siblings… What remains of it sparks the life of new stars… All such stars in this territory are now long dead… All except one… Something has kept it from dying… Someone is responsible… We have paid the price… The reader of this text is next…

– 16th passage from the Ornisk monument inscription, circa 35000BC,

Part One

1

Humble Beginnings

(Early 2000s)

Darn. Late again. I let out a deep sigh, glanced at my watch once more, and pedalled towards school. As my instincts told me, yet again I would be caught by our history teacher Ms. Christlecrocks (how does anyone pronounce a name like that?), and be scolded to the fullest. An irking thought used to trouble me this day every week. Thursday was the day which started with two periods of history with X-term (abbreviated for ‘Exterminator’, the fancy name we assigned her) and left most of us dishevelled at the end. I hated history.

It had been four months into secondary education for me in this new school. It was one of the largest in town, not much far from home. Restarting studies in a new school, that too with a co-education system seemed awkward at first. You lose most of your older pals, and many more get dispersed in the lot. And it’s not easy for someone like me to befriend hundreds of people. But there were some like Frank Masood and Angela Smith from our afternoon football matches as well, to give me company; so I was in short, quite satisfied.

Frank belonged to an Indonesian migrant family and had been my companion at my previous school for two years. Sporting spiky black hair and heavy cargo jeans laced with pockets, his looks did not create the impression of a good student at first glance; but as far as I had been with him, I knew he was extremely tactful in practical situations. In one of his trouser pockets, he often carried a large Swiss knife with over thirty implements (once he even performed surgery on an injured pigeon with that). Another pocket concealed a small 64-bit screwdriver set with which he had once dissected my headphones.

Angela was a neighbour and childhood friend. The best football player of the entire ninth standard, she was one of the wildest persons I had ever known in my life. She was well built, had short brownish hair, light complexion and a sturdy attitude which had its genetic roots somewhere in Afghanistan. Once I had got hit in the face with her free kick, ending up with a swollen face which had lasted for two whole weeks. Besides we had a band and often jammed together to songs as well.

My concentration has been flawed since I don’t know when. I get distracted easily, and amidst such streams of thoughts, I drifted past vehicles and pedestrians in the most obnoxious of ways. I got my senses back on being hit by a parked car (pun intended). The vehicle’s silencer started to wail inconsolably on the impact, giving me attention unwanted by all means. Seeing the school gates open when being late made me feel like a hungry hound… I plunged the bicycle past the school gates, straight into the compound. The sudden brake of contentment flung me off the cycle and I ended up making a piteous spectacle of myself. I parked it in a corner and whizzed along unceremoniously with the torrent of students.

Fortunately, X-term was not in the class yet and I was safe. We all knew this ‘lucky’ sensation would not last long, as her deadly lectures would easily eradicate most of classroom’s ecosystem. A few brave souls from our class of around thirty usually stood near the entrance (call it an exit, if you wish to) to look out for any signs of her. Seats were fixed monthly by the teachers in such a precisely calculated manner that one could easily find a third of us out of our places at any given time of their absence. That was the extent of our dissent with the system.

My seat for this month was designated alongside Tracy, one of X-term’s favourite pets. I went up there, dropped my payload at the chair, and looked around for another suitable spot to pass the incumbency. I would return to my own place as soon as the process of mental irradiation was complete. I had to admit, it took guts to be an outlaw and be calm enough on someone else’s seat during her classes. Her punishments were not that severe, to be honest. What made every punishment dreadful, was the fact that they were often laborious and like ‘write this crap fifty times’ kind of thing. Guess they were a just the start to the process of complete mechanisation of the mind, right?

There was an unspoken agreement among even the most incompatible of us – the guy at the door had the responsibility to signal the others to settle down when the time comes. No finite time was long enough for her; we still had to witness a class which she could actually finish before the bell rang. X-term, just like any other teacher, would be pleased to meet a class full of supposedly innocent students, and would look upon us as a hungry seagull seeing fat fish with its vicious, gleaming eyes. She held the annoying belief that each of us enjoyed her classes and relished her lectures. Anyway, the intention is all what matters, and she wasn’t a bit guilty of what she was doing.

And it wasn’t just my opinion. Even Frank, the lover of monuments, artefacts and all of history found Exterminator’s classes repressive. In his opinion, such people spoiled history for the masses. Students ‘seeking refuge from the wave of persecution’ was certainly something that no educator would love to hear. With a few nifty seat exchanges, I had managed to get hold of the back seat today. This way we had the chance of having little talks and snacks in between the lectures.

Of course, most friendships would start in this manner only, establishing ‘symbiotic relationships’ in class with people around, sharing the roles of taking notes and breaks. There was the guy Gautam Kumar who was quite efficient at stuff like this, and people like Rachel Wilson who least bothered about it. Anyone within her range would be out of earshot, become a sweet target for X-term and end up with the entire classroom jeering at them. And as you could guess, it was mostly me.

Today’s lecture too started with the usual shrill scream intended to calm the class down. It was a dogmatic, almost compulsive habit of hers to start each and every session in this manner, even if the students were merely whispering amongst themselves. The lesson in its entirety lasted for just two hours, no matter how eternal it seemed. Only after going through romanticised mythologies of various cultures across the globe, were the exhaustive hours were finally over.

We all expected something good to happen after her lectures (as there was little which could be worse than that), but to our wistful disdain, some investigators were touring the school and were supposed to target our class next, as we were told. That was, in a way, the teachers getting back at us for our mischief. It was supposed to be biology period next, and it would be agonising to miss a fun period like that. Damn it.

Despite us having to keep mum and force smiles like the people in early World War photographs, we decided to accept our fate to an extent, as at least something different would happen. Tracy, like other our classroom vagabonds, rarely sat on her own seat. She liked to roam around the classroom and socialise with just anyone whom she could find. Frank, who would otherwise hate to lose a chance to boast in front of the girls, found only her creepy. Her green feline eyes could indeed make anyone sweat, but we all liked the fact that she reserved most of her piercing stares for Frank.

Rachel took advantage of the vacant seat and slipped in beside me with her diary full of scribbles. It often took me only a fraction of a second to get distracted, no matter how hard I tried (or pretended to). Unlike other girls I had seen, Rachel was so eerily straightforward that I doubted that she could ever understand anybody’s feelings. A native Canadian with long black hair, large eyes and a slightly dark complexion, her overall looks made her seem much more innocent than she actually was.

She had apparently watched a documentary-sort-of-thing the previous night and was willing to get my opinions on how amazing certain stellar phenomena were. And I couldn’t blame her for troubling me like that. I don’t think I need to state the fact that what most people want from discussions and chatting is someone who is ready to listen to them. I admit that I barely speak when I talk to her and others like her – I just seal my head from inside and let my brain relax. Sometimes her excitement with life actually helped me fight back boredom and stress.

I tried to observe my surroundings to shield me from the outpour of plasma, positrons and other nonsense flooding my ears. I couldn’t afford to upset her lively self, so I tried to make it as discreet as I could. Sam the nutbrain was hovering near the front row, eager about something that I didn’t want to know. Samuel Edwards was the textbook definition of a nerd. Crooked glasses, shabby hair, dimpled fair face and a weird grin on the face gave him the typical ‘jerky’ look. All books made sense to him only a day before the exam, and I could only marvel at the capacity of his mind which made him capable of such feats.

Because of these habits, he was called ‘Cramster’ in the class, and was target of a wide variety of pranks. The only reason he remained our buddy despite being picked on so much, was that we were the ones only who ‘rescued’ him. And we had kept him in our band to play the keys too, just because he knew music theory, and could understand what we were doing. Being the owner of such a… um... unique character; it was hard to determine what thing could possibly make him enthusiastic.

2

Things Spice Up

Apparently Cramster had seen a glimpse of the expected investigators, who arrived a little later. They were three of them, quite different from the old judgemental type we were used to seeing. Their boss (apparently) was a tall and slim person, clad in a grey suit, fashioning steel framed sunglasses. He had orange brownish hair, which gave him the looks of a spy (the way they are dressed up in movies. His accomplices were bulky ruffians, unsympathetic looking.

Somehow, there was something unusual about these grey suited guys; something other than the regular officers after whom all schools go crazy for their promotion. With brief introductions from a few students, they proceed to ask ‘scientific’ and ‘logic based’ questions. Yeah, they were better than the old ones from last time, who had asked us for our textbooks to find questions from them. Their boss did most of the talking, while his mates made us uncomfortable with their presence.

They mostly asked unusual questions, such as solutions to common industrial problems – power management, ideal locations for resource collection, security etc., problem handling scenarios and the like, which would have been in need of a large corporation. I could see Sam grin within himself at the prospect of being employed in a multinational corporation. Frank tried his best to convince him (and everyone else) that it pays to be in such an organisation only if someone is assured a position in the top bracket.

The fact is he proclaimed, that political leaders mobilise the poorer, uneducated people while the capitalists ‘inspire’ the younger educated lot. I was already fearing the arrival of an enormous speech on the growing scope for ‘entrepreneurs’ in the job sector. I mean, we were still fourteen-year olds with years of studies in front of us; why the heck should we care? There was also the possibility that we could end up with group projects and be asked to survey the entire town for their choices of soap.

Many ingenious and stupid discussions later, they picked out some from our class, and asked us to meet them briefly after class. Incidentally, some of my friends I described above were chosen along with me; most of us were loafing at that time at the rear of the classroom. It was becoming evident that they were here for purposes beyond judging the school and the top graders representing it. Guess Rachel could be of some help, after all…

We met the inspector trio at the canteen after school, whose personalities seemed to have drastically changed. The grey suited guy’s buddies now were looking surprisingly friendly without their glasses, sitting casually on the chairs. They waved at us on seeing us from a distance. They even offered us some of the steak they were eating. They asked us to remove our bags, sit down, eat something and get comfortable before they would start the talking.

I actually like this approach. In the words of Napoleon – The way to a soldier’s heart is through his stomach. A full stomach implies lesser anger, lesser distractions, and blissful contentment. That’s why people go to restaurants and cafes on dates, I thought. To be honest, I wasn’t quite the person you would like to talk to over lunch, as food was my sole domain of mental concentration. Anyways, I wanted to fill my stomach once I reached home only, so I refrained. Angela, as compelled by habit, couldn’t resist taking a bite herself.

Their boss offered us a chance to work with their team and assist them in their research work, while in turn, we could use some of their resources and technology for our leisure. Now this was something that would be exciting for any ninth grader; but again, I felt an internal apprehension of some sort, like I had hundreds of pending patents that these guys could get out of me. They were sure not kidnappers, as the school wouldn’t have had let a bunch of hooligans in, and besides, we didn’t had to sign anything and we could opt out anytime (again, isn’t that what all newsletters say when they prompt you to subscribe?).

I was still unsure what made them select only the five of us, what special potential had they seen common in all of us (apparently, we still hadn’t grasped the idea of the project’s significance yet). One of his buddies told us to get used to calling the boss as ‘Mr. E’, the way he was known by everyone else in the team (maybe even he had a name difficult to pronounce, and that’s how he escaped being nicknamed). In fact, he never disclosed his true name to any of us, throughout the course of time we worked with him.

We reached their workplace the next evening, and I was quite disappointed. It was well lighted and maintained, but a clinic would had been bigger. It was a congested building located in a packed crowded corner of the city. They had some equipment that looked impressive, but I was still not sacrificing my weekend football for this. Mom had dropped me in this stupid place and I felt just as stupid as Rachel was excited about everything.

After a few phone calls, gradually the rest of the lot showed up, and that’s when they showed us a brief presentation on what they were really working on. Seriously, even a kid could understand how screwed up their concepts were. I mean, radiation mutates and destroys DNA, right? The reason why peace organisations want nuclear weapons to go to hell? And then there was the eccentric woman Shelly, who had been Mr. E’s accomplice at college, who was narrating everything as if her colleagues had resurrected dinosaurs with gamma rays.

In this lab? I had asked, in the most sarcastic way possible.

Oh no! This lab is just a prop we use to deal with newcomers. You are yet to see the real thing…

That notion was so incredible that Frank made her say that again. Yes, these nerds were serious, and they had their real base built somewhere underground, so that their discovery was as far from bad hands as possible. I still didn’t believe any of that. Was their research that controversial that even our parents couldn’t know about it? And why the heck did they need us? I mean, we didn’t even complete our school assignments on time…

But wait… controlled genetic mutations have been done before, right? In the form of genetic modification and crossbreeding? If animal cloning is no longer a wild fantasy, then maybe… these guys could really be onto something.

So how do we get to your real lab? Angela asked, without much interest.

By the path nearest to your school. The warehouse near the petrol pump, what say? Shelly asked.

"Oh come on, there is no secret passageway or portal in there. I said. We are regular visitors to that place, aren’t we?"

Are you sure about that? We would like you to have a look alone, just once more. I am confident that you kids are smart enough. If you don’t find anything, then maybe we would need to find a brighter lot…

Worry not! Frank proclaimed, full of pride. You will definitely meet us next week! A challenge is indeed the best way to make someone do something, isn’t it?

Our neighbourhood at the outskirts of Toronto was a mixing pot of people of numerous cultures from across the globe. Most of our families belonged to the middle class, many were settled immigrants. There was something in this place which bonded us all together, and we lived happily together, respecting each other’s identity like metals in an alloy. Our school in the city was an open testimony to our acceptance in society, even from the kids from richer families of the city.

Moreover, the open spaces and roads were friendly for outdoor playing and I actually liked living here more than I would have had in the city itself. Our warehouse studio was the result of the contributions of the community along with our own efforts. We fortunately lived in a place where people appreciated real music, music that people love for their melody, rather than their popularity. A music fest was organized by the community each year, and scholarships were provided to the winning band.

Our band literally had no equipment back then, but the grownups at the music club had allowed us to practice on their instruments and we managed to bag the second prize. With that money, we bought our gear – two guitars, a bass, a keyboard, a drum set, a 1×12" speaker cabinet, recording equipment and a laptop. Since then, our band has been quite successful in local record stores with Angela at drums, Sam at keys, Bruce Andrews at lead guitar and me at bass.

What we now needed was just a rhythm guitarist, energetic enough to match the style of the band (and perhaps someone who could sing better than Sam). The contender for the missing spot was quite unexpected. We had previously auditioned many wannabes, and so far we couldn’t find anyone who really deserved it. Some lacked co-operation, some lacked the vibe, some were floppy, some were arrogant, and one simply seemed to be too old for us. It was then, that Angela came up with a valuable suggestion…

I know a girl Zoe who lives in the city and was formerly my friend at school. She’s got to be good if she still plays; but I think that she might be too gritty for us.

Too gritty? At first I couldn’t believe that a person like Angela could consider someone else wild. I asked her again to convince myself.

Sam asked nervously, Do you think she’ll co-operate?

Bruce laughed, patting him on his back, "Don’t worry bro, we’ll see that for ourselves. Ask her to come prepared next week.

3

Exa(M)Ishap

Sometimes it paid to hold a student’s post at school, and sometimes it paid to be an outlaw. We prudential students would make sure to keep a balance between the two. One week was left before the second sessional. Three shabby students, senior to us by two grades, came to me today before the morning assembly asking me for a stupid favour. Of course, they could get no more polite in asking, and somehow, I looked like the guy who could get their work done and help them save their butts at the same time.

I warned them, "Are you sure you want only me? I have a bad feeling in my stomach about this. You guys should have studied and prepared in advance. Look what’s your situation now."

The herculean guy blurted, No nonsense. You’re goanna watch out while we do some personal business in the staff room.

And how will I benefit?

Try to understand boy, his impish partner continued. First of all, you’ll miss the assembly and we can also bring you a copy of the question paper, say which subject would you like?

Shut up, Tom. The herculean guy barked. We’ll pay back some other time, okay? After all, we have to fulfil the requirements of seven others of our division. We need three swift hands and an eye to carry out the entire mission before the assembly finishes.

Three? I asked, as if they were exercising excessive precaution. The third guy was mostly silent. Even though, I was pretty sure he was the one behind this idea, and was clearly not in favour of trusting someone like me with it.

One had hand for locating the file on the computer, and two others for writing down all that shit. You will watch out till then. Tom explained.

I hesitated, but they managed to convince me. Since their fates were now on me, it would be fun to enjoy the privilege of helping them get paid for what they were going to do. I crept out from the back after the prayer along with the three dweebs and found Exterminator alone in the staff room, drinking cyborg coffee and doodling on a misprinted exam sheet. I heard Tom pull back his bulky counterpart, calling him ‘Greg’. He cursed softly, "Why did that cantankerous grouch have to bunk the assembly today only?"

Told you this was a bad idea... I added in.

You better get out of here or I’ll make marmalade out of you! Now scoot!

Alright but I am telling you… I said, as I turned back.

Tom whispered to Greg, when out of earshot, Are you sure it was a good idea to ask that kid? What if he spills it out somewhere?

He’ll do that only when he gets some evidence… or our names. the third guy said dryly.

"I hope he doesn’t find that out. So what now?" Tom asked with actual concern.

So? So we drop tomorrow morning, at 5. Greg replied.

Dude I can’t get up at seven on school days and you want me to...

So you want to leave your ass here in this standard? the third guy taunted him.

Alright, alright. I’ll be there.

(Next Sunday morning)

I was up – as if by coincidence, a little before sunrise to put my feet to the pedal and get a little morning air as a part of my weekly routine. I hated waking up late and sleeping late. The sunlight compelled me to get up even on Sundays. And besides, I was fairly content with my ten-hours-a-day sleep schedule. I don’t know what’s wrong with this world – more and more humans are becoming nocturnal and more and more mosquitoes are becoming active in the day.

I was returning early from the school route, when I spotted someone out of the dark, climbing up the school boundary, one of the figures perched above the other two. I told myself, They have got to be the overgrown buffoons from yesterday. The gate was closed, but someone at class had been modest enough to show me a lower back door once. I followed the ruffians to the staff room where some intense activity was going on –Tom and other guy were copying the exam paper, while Greg was on the computer.

Greg said loud enough for me to hear, Write faster! Maybe I can even modify my previous grades from the report card database!

Then why be selfish? Change ours too! squeaked Tom.

For God’s sake, get that damned window off the paper file! the third guy screamed slowly.

Greg spoke to himself, again loud enough, That damned thing is password protected… Hey, see this! The last teacher forgot to sign out… It is the new teacher … Who on Earth has she be talking to…You got to see this, it’s someone in Malaysia…

The third guy again yelled him shut. Amidst their whispered cursing, the school bell rang.

Who the hell was that! Greg actually screamed.

The watchman came running from his cabin, torch in hand. Yes indeed, I was responsible, but in the process of ‘teaching them a lesson’, I had messed up my escape, and one of the seniors caught a glimpse of me. The watchman rounded up all the three of them, but probably allowed them to go home after some inquiries and confirmations. I didn’t know cycling back even after supposedly doing the right thing could be so chilling.

Maybe we should skip school tomorrow. suggested Tom, long after I was gone.

It’s of no use. This is the first time when we’ll get zeroes, after all. The third guy said, sad that his perfect plan didn’t work.

It is that little pipsqueak who did all of this… Greg cursed again.

What now Greg? Tom asked.

We’ll get even today after school. He will be at the old warehouse, understood? the third guy replied in his place.

We had to meet today at the warehouse, as per Mr. E’s instructions. It was a little far from Sam’s house in the city, but we had decided to pay our first visit to Mr. E together. And there was no guarantee that Sam could have found the entrance himself, had it been near his house. Angela had picked up Rachel from her home, and all of us were there by four’ O clock. It took us twenty more minutes to locate the tunnel which led to the place.

Yes, it was a tunnel; that too disguised under the cement cover upon which the drum set was placed. The tunnel was barely two feet in diameter, but had descending stairs which went a long way down. Sam was the last to enter, and when he did enter, he fell upon all of us in cascade. But all we had against him were just some hearty laughs.

The tunnel lead us half an hour down; how many meters that was, I cannot say for sure. When we finally saw the light, the sight which beheld us was absolutely astonishing. Though we could see only a part of the superstructure ahead, it still managed to throw us into utter wonder, at the sheer scale at which it was built. The real headquarters of these guys was present in a massive underground vault, several metres high and deep. Even its width was surprisingly greater than our football field.

The steel and glass of the building gleamed against the bare rock of the surface of the vault. A narrow pathway led us to the entrance of the building. It might have been ten stories tall at least, extending many more stories below as well. We went up to the counter, shook hands with the receptionist, and indulged ourselves in feeding our eyes the commotion of people and machinery. He was a cheerful guy wearing a casual shirt and jeans and waved at us as we entered. Hey folks, just sit over here for a minute while I call boss. He’ll be here in a moment to explain everything.

Mr. E himself, as it turned out, was the boss. Here he was even more informal – he wore a blue t-shirt coordinating the young people buzzing around him. I was immediately captivated by the friendliness of everyone here, working together like players of a sports team. Mr. E himself was in his forties, and seemed quite comfortable with having to work with people half his age. Moreover, he even didn’t treat us as kids (in fact, no one here did).

Despite the ample artificial lighting, most of the people here seemed as been barred from sunlight for ages. I had been told that Mr. E made his colleagues work only four alternate nights a week to make up for that. Rachel had told me that these guys had an array of state-of-the-art machines to pump air down here. Guess that’s what she had been pestering Shelly with yesterday. Mr. E summed up his talk with his pesky colleagues and came over to us.

Greetings, folks! he said. I see you all are here as promised. Smart, and quite brave of you to have located the entry and reached here all by yourself. For starters, I am the director of CRDT abbreviated for Cosmic Ray Detection Team – the fancy name we have for our team. Our members are few in number, but are spread all across the globe. We work for the detection and study of cosmic radiation, especially of the frequencies abundant in the early universe.

You mean radiation from the earliest stars? Rachel asked, full of enthusiasm.

Yes, but no. We do detect the light from early stars, but that’s not the oldest we see. Before the first stars, there was no object that could emit light for us to detect. Only seamless clouds of hydrogen and helium.

Then how do you detect radiation older than that?

"With adequate apparatus, one can detect radiation in the early universe that was produced when subatomic particles had condensed to form neutral atoms. We today call this omnipresent radiation the Cosmic Microwave Background [1]