Chapter 3 (Equator I): Cantata

Sixty-five million years ago, on the ancient supercontinent of Africa—

Nikola Tesla’s spacecraft docked smoothly with the Earth Space Station, which hovered in geosynchronous orbit, thirty-six thousand kilometers above the equator. On the bustling Venus-Mars interplanetary route, this station served as a waystation, affectionately called “Midway Island” by the Venusians.

“Mr. Tesla, you should go see Maria now. Our schedule is tight; you have only six hours,” Colonel Fellman said, flicking his arm to the side. Instantly, a holographic display appeared before Tesla, and Fellman pointed at the time shown on the screen. “Our ship keeps Venusian time. As you know, Earth rotates just a bit slower—one Earth day is fifteen minutes longer than a day on Venus. Make sure you return on time.”

Abbott opened a case containing a spacesuit and said, “Nikola, hurry and put this on. Take the space elevator down.”

“Space elevator? Have you solved the carbon nanotube problem? Woven the ‘rope’ I described?” Tesla glanced instinctively upward. “We’re thirty-six thousand kilometers from Earth. To balance and maintain tension in the elevator cable, you must have extended the structure to over ninety thousand kilometers, haven’t you?”

Abbott smiled enigmatically, clapping Tesla on the shoulder. “That’s right—over ninety thousand kilometers. I know what you’re thinking, old friend. If we extended it to a hundred and eighty thousand kilometers, the device could receive superluminal wavelengths and become a power source.”

Tesla donned the spacesuit and entered the sealed cabin of the space elevator, musing, “A hundred and eighty thousand kilometers, an energy source—essentially a superluminal power station.” For the first time since awakening, a genuine smile crept across his face.

To avoid lateral centrifugal force from Earth’s rotation, the elevator could only be anchored near the equator. The Venusians had found a vast expanse of marshland on the continent they’d named “Africa,” which the equator cut cleanly across. With no towering vegetation and few dinosaurs, the region was ideal. The Venusians named these swamps “Victoria Wetlands,” after the huntress goddess of their mythology.

When the sealed cabin settled on the ground and the hatch opened, two uniformed staff members helped Tesla out of his spacesuit. Across from him stood a woman, gazing intently at him.

“Maria, is it really you?” Tesla hurried forward and embraced the woman he loved.

Maria had been born six years after Tesla, making her more than a century old. Fortunately, Venusian breakthroughs in biotechnology meant that a centenarian was still in their prime, appearing much as people did in their forties or fifties before the gene revolution.

Maria herself was a geneticist. Standing before Tesla, her appearance was unchanged—almost identical to how she’d looked eighty-six years ago in his memory. She had long hair, a round face, fair skin, a slight plumpness, and bright, lively eyes that sparkled with both intelligence and, as Tesla always claimed, a motherly kindness.

Whenever this came up, Maria would pout and playfully punch his shoulder, protesting, “I’m still a young woman! What kindness? Do I look that old?”

After a passionate kiss, Tesla held Maria’s face in his hands, searching her eyes with a strange foreboding, unsure whether he wished to find even a trace of melancholy there.

But Maria’s expression was joyful and serene. Her clear eyes held not a hint of sorrow.

“Maria, what brings you to Earth? Isn’t this the place where Venusians are exiled?” Tesla couldn’t help but ask.

Maria drew him down to sit beside her and began telling her story.

She had graduated from the Venusian Union University with a doctorate in bioengineering and had led research in genetic cloning. Her team progressed from cloning mice to sheep, and eventually to human organs.

Cloning human organs and tissues had brought about a medical revolution on Venus, vastly increasing the average lifespan. But her work drew fierce opposition from naturalist human rights groups and religious circles, who, abetted by sensationalist journalists, denounced Maria as a “dark” scientist.

Debate raged in the Venusian Union Parliament over banning the cloning of human organs and tissues. Ultimately, the Supreme Court ruled that the technology did not violate the constitution, but must be restricted to life-threatening cases only. The parliament soon passed the Human Organ Cloning Restriction Act.

Maria held her own views, believing Venusian evolution was too slow to keep pace with the digital age. More importantly, she argued that human interference with the natural environment had already disrupted the rhythms of natural evolution, making genetic engineering necessary.

Tesla listened, then met her gaze. “So, you defied the restriction order and continued your experiments and therapies with cloned organs and tissues?”

Maria smiled mysteriously, her lips curving in an inscrutable expression. She changed the subject: “You’ve never seen Earth, have you? Let me show you around.”

The Victoria Wetlands stretched as far as the eye could see, the tropical breeze thick and salty. Maria led Tesla out onto a vast platform constructed of wooden planks. He walked to the edge, gripping the railing, curiosity piqued.

In the distance, a large group of people seemed to be busy at something. Maria handed him a high-powered telescope and pointed.

Through the lens, Tesla first saw scattered flocks of sheep and several deer. Then, he spotted a human figure—not in normal clothing, but wrapped head to toe in a black, wetsuit-like outfit.

The figure wore a helmet with a protruding mask over the mouth and nose, connected by hoses to a respirator. Moving the telescope, Tesla found several others in identical garb. He asked in astonishment, “Maria, who are they?”

“They’re clones I created. That’s why I was exiled here with them,” Maria replied, calm yet faintly embarrassed.

“What? And why are they dressed like that? Do they have congenital defects?” Tesla asked.

As Tesla exclaimed in wonder, Maria explained.

Thirty years ago, Maria had used stem cell and genetic technology to clone human beings directly. The experiment was largely successful; the clones were physically and functionally indistinguishable from humans, except their respiratory systems were underdeveloped, requiring respirators during strenuous activity.

Their vocal cords and the neural network for language functioned normally. Strangely, none of them could learn to speak, yet as a group they seemed to have invented a form of communication through calls—akin to human singing.

“Nikola, what baffles me most is how sensitive these clones are to human music. Their communication is like a series of concerts, even operas,” Maria said, taking a violin from its case and tuning it. “Our Venusian pianos have eighty-eight keys, spanning eleven octaves. I’ve measured their calls—they can span seven whole octaves, far beyond human range.”

Tesla was speechless for a moment. Maria’s music began, first lyrical and song-like, then shifting to a plaintive lament.

Tesla felt he’d heard both melodies before. In his heart, he knew: one expressed the joy of love, the other, the sorrow.

The clones, as if summoned, stopped their work, removed their respirators, and gathered in groups on a gentle grassy slope—some standing, some sitting.

Soon, voices rose in song—soprano, mezzo, tenor, and chorus.

Nikola Tesla, holding Maria’s hand, closed his eyes and lost himself in the music.

Suddenly, he realized that these beautiful melodies were from an oratorio composed over two centuries ago by Venus’s father of symphonic music:

Genesis.

&

A poem in collected lines, in harmony with Li Bai’s “A Gift to Wang Lun”:

Once more I sing the song of youth for you, so clear—Jiang Shiquan
It is the world’s first and finest sound—Cui Tu
I lean on gentle strings, singing a farewell—Yan Jidao
Half born of sorrow, half of love—Chao Chongzhi