He had a problem.

“Houston, we have a problem.”

“Here, Houston, copy. What is the problem?”

“I cannot hear you, copy.”

“Hello, hello?”

“Houston… I messed up.”

“...”

“Forget it, Houston, just… forget it,” Alonso sighed as his head fell back in exasperation. Houston, not the mission control center, and absolutely not himself talking to himself, was seemingly not very reliable.

He had been trying to sort out the sound filter system using his EM waves but with no success. There were some minor advances here and there, but the filtering system was not accurate enough. The precision required was too much, way too much.

The problem was, most of the sound waves were a chaotic mess of different pulses at various frequencies and amplitudes. If that wasn’t enough, when these waves reached the brain and were processed into electrical signals by the auditory nerve system, the conversion was insanely precise and minute. Waves with tiny differences in frequencies were treated completely differently. The task was beyond him.

Luckily, he had gotten himself a unique sound tester, who came to be out of boredom and craziness, the not-so-reliable new ‘contact’ of his—Houston. While some may say it was his other half, he had no sort of romantic connection with Houston. It was more like...

“Houston, any ideas on how to proceed?”

“Could you repeat that? Over.”

“Over what? And you say ‘copy’ then ‘over’ now. Get over yourself, Houston! Damn, you are all I have. I’m trying to survive here, you know.”

He shook his head, muttering to himself as he continued to adjust the EM waves.

"Alright, Houston, let's try a different approach," he muttered, dropping the sword again. The result was the same: the sword's sound was muffled, but not completely gone.

“Houston, any progress reports?”

“Negative, try again. Over.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” he grumbled. He adjusted the frequency again and dropped the sword. Silence. He clapped his hands. No sound. He sighed in exasperation.

“Houston, I think I’ve deafened myself. Again. Over.”

“Sounds about right. Over.”

"Forget it, Houston. I’ll figure this out myself."

He needed something to change. He needed a qualitative improvement. As he was now, the task was way above him. And no matter how much he played with the parameters, it was always the same. Always missing by that small bit. But that small bit was everything.

He took a deep breath. He needed to start from the beginning. This was a matter of his lack of control. He simply was not good enough at manipulating his EM waves. He needed to improve his foundation.

"Houston, we're starting from scratch," he said aloud.

"Starting from scratch? Again? Over."

"Yes, again. Over."

He closed his eyes and focused on the most fundamental aspects of his EM waves. He visualized them as tiny threads, each with its own unique frequency and amplitude. He had to learn to manipulate each thread with precision.

"Let's start with just one thread. Can you isolate it?"

"Isolate one thread? Over."

"Yes, isolate one. Over."

He visualized a single thread and tried to control its movement. It was difficult, like trying to catch a single drop of water in a rainstorm.

"Ok, Houston. I think I've got it. One thread isolated."

"Affirmative. Over."

He spent the next hour just working on that single thread, trying to control it with absolute precision. It was tedious, but he could feel his control improving.

"Let's add another thread."

"Adding another thread. Over."

He isolated a second thread and worked on controlling both simultaneously. It was like trying to juggle two balls while standing on a tightrope.

"Any progress?"

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Still unstable. Over."

"Figures," he muttered. He kept at it, refining his control over the two threads. Slowly, he began to feel more confident.

"Alright, Houston. Let's try three threads."

"Three threads. Over."

He added a third thread and continued the painstaking process of gaining control. It was excruciatingly slow, but he could feel his skill improving.

"How's it looking now?"

"More stable. Over."

"That's something, at least," he said, taking a brief moment to rest.

After a few hours of intense focus, he had managed to control five threads simultaneously. It was still far from perfect, but the improvement was noticeable.

"We got it, Houston. Mission accomplished. Over and out."

"If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have noticed. Over and out."

“What was that, Houston?”

“...”

He shook his head and smiled. Houston, for all his flaws, was a good guy. A bit of a jerk sometimes, but a good guy.

“My sentiments are the same. Over.”

“Are you spying on my thoughts?”

“...”

“Hahaha,” he started laughing. He needed it. “Ok, let’s see…”

He knew that going from five to six threads would take too much time. It was too difficult for him at the moment. Right now, his only resource was time. He had just enough time before his body started weakening from thirst and hunger and eventually died.

"Ok, Houston. Let's merge these five threads into one. Any objections?"

"Brace for impact. Over."

He began merging the threads, feeling the familiar resistance. It was like trying to braid strands of spider silk. He could feel each thread fighting to maintain its individuality, but he forced them together.

"Five threads as one. Can you handle that?"

"Can you? Over."

He ignored the jab and focused on controlling the merged thread. It felt different, stronger, but also more unstable. He had to be careful not to push it too far.

"Let's test the amplitude. Over."

He directed the merged thread to create a pulse. It was difficult to control, and he couldn't put his maximum amplitude into each thread. He settled on 60% for now.

"Pulse created. Amplitude tripled. Over."

"Should I say congrats? Over."

He continued refining the control, making sure the pulse remained stable. It was like balancing on a knife's edge, but he was managing.

"Ok, Houston. Now for the task at hand. We need to refine the EM field around the nerve."

"Refining field. Precision required. Over."

He visualized the nerve, a delicate bundle of fibers. The field had to be incredibly tiny and precise, allowing some signals to pass through while blocking others.

"Let's start with the filtering."

"Filtering initiated. Over."

He directed the EM field to form around the nerve. It was painstaking work, requiring minute adjustments. The field had to be perfect.

"Scalpel, Houston. I mean, progress report?"

"Minimal incision made. Over."

“What incision?”

“What scalpel? Over.”

He gritted his teeth and continued. Regardless of his emotionally lifting conversations with Houston, his mind was 100% on the task. Each adjustment brought him closer, but it was slow going.

"Let's fine-tune the field."

"Fiddling endlessly. Over."

He focused on the smallest details, making sure the field was as precise as possible. It felt like threading a needle with his mind.

"Houston, how's it looking now?"

"Improvement noted. You're almost competent. Over."

He kept at it, refining the field until it was exactly where he needed it to be. The process was exhausting, but he couldn't afford to stop.

"Ok, Houston. Final adjustments."

"Finally. Over."

He made the last few tweaks, feeling the field settle into place. It was precise, targeted, and exactly what he needed.

"Houston, I think we've done it. The field is precise."

"Well, if you say so. Over."

It was time for the big test. He stood up and held the sword tightly in a horizontal position in front of him. He closed his eyes. He dropped the sword.

“...” Nothing was heard. Absolute silence. He waited several more seconds. Still nothing. He then nervously brought his hands together. And…

“CLAPPP!” … “CLAPPP!” … “CLAPPP!” “CLAPPP!” “CLAPPP!”

“YES!!! FUCKING YES!! Hahaha,” he said. He had really done it. The impossible task completed.

“You saw that Houston? You SAW that!?”

“I heard nothing.”

“Exactly! Aren’t I brilliant?” He then turned to face the walls. “You, whoever you are that is managing these trials—Mr. President, Alien sir, The God, the Devil—whoever you are, I just wanna say: You saw that, right? I mean, you should record this. Signed, Alonso Shemson.”

He took a moment to bask in his achievement. For a few precious seconds, he allowed himself to feel the joy and relief that came with overcoming such a formidable challenge. But he knew there was more to be done.

"Alright, Houston. What’s next on the agenda?"

image [https://i.imgur.com/EPU265m.png]

> August 2, 2024 - Headquarters of the United Nations, New York, US

Elena glanced at her watch. 6:58 am. Two minutes to the big moment. The cameras were set and everything was in place. She had the script displayed on one of the screens in front of her. But she didn't need it. For one, she knew exactly what she had to say. And secondly, she wasn't going to follow it.

She was nervous. Extremely so. One might say someone in her position should have overcome fear by now, and in some sense, she had. But... this moment, this speech. This was different. This was, perhaps for the first time in her three years of service in her position, where she would truly address humanity, the world. And for the first time, she would blatantly ignore the given script.

She looked at her watch again.

6:59 am.