Hidden Empire (29 page)
In a sheer box canyon near their encampment, the two xeno-archaeologists climbed into a section of abandoned buildings, curved
structures and free-form facades set back beneath a cliff overhang. Tunnels at the rear of the empty dwellings continued deep
into the mountain.
Either the canyon itself had been cut deeper in the millennia since the Klikiss disappearance, or the aliens’ ramps or footholds
on the cliff wall had eroded away. DD and the three black Klikiss robots had assisted in erecting ladders and temporary sectional
staircases, taking advantage of ledges and dodging cliff bands so the team could have easier access to the lost city. They
went to work every day in the first light of desert dawn.
Neither she nor Louis had been able to find any shafts, pulleys, ladders, or more sophisticated transportation systems for
access from ground level. Louis was certain that the high strategic position of their dwellings had something to do with a
defensive arrangement. “Or, maybe the Klikiss were just incredibly tall,” he suggested facetiously. “We’ve never seen what
they looked like.”
The large black robots standing in the dry wash at the bottom of the canyon could offer no suggestions. “We remember nothing,”
Sirix said.
Louis grinned in response, as if the alien robot could understand a human expression. “We’ll do our best to find out, then.
For you and for us.”
Arcas did not participate in the daily routine as much as they had hoped, often spending his time exploring the landscape
by himself. In spite of his background in geology, Margaret did not count on him for anything but necessary communication.
The Klikiss robots were providing more outright help to the project.
The most overwhelming job, even after a month of survey, was simply to explore and map out the possibilities. The ruined alien
city was so large that merely forming a research plan was a daunting task. Louis wandered through the tunnels and the off-kilter
buildings with his recorder, imaging the walls and structures, the pipes, tubing, and long-quiet corroded machinery the Klikiss
had left behind.
Early in her studies, Margaret had visited the Anasazi ruins at Mesa Verde in the North American Southwest on Earth, a fabulous
mud-brick metropolis that had survived for many centuries. Rheindic Co’s isolated Klikiss city reminded her of those Native
American cliff dwellings. Yet it was also incomprehensibly alien, with architecture based on different aesthetics, walls at
the wrong angles, trapezoidal doorways that were not necessarily at floor level.
Now she took scrapings from a wall, finding a corner remarkably free of the numerous markings and ideographs with which the
Klikiss covered most surfaces. She wondered if the insectoid race shunned the use of paper or textural recording methods,
preferring instead to write their history and mathematics on the permanent walls of their cities.
She’d already run a chemical analysis of samples they had obtained from Klikiss architecture on Corribus and Llaro and Pym,
the other Klikiss worlds they had investigated, and she knew the results would be the same here: The aliens created an organic
mineral mixture similar to mud, tree pulp, and silica combined with a resinous juice—saliva?—that bound together to form a
substance harder and more resilient than steel or concrete, yet absorbent and permanent enough to retain the scribed pictograms,
written letters, and mathematical equations.
In camp, Margaret would have all night to ponder the prior records they had compiled. But it was a different experience to
be here smelling the dry and dusty air, surrounded by the shadows, and perhaps ghosts, of a long-lost race.
A year ago, in the scarred ruins on Corribus, Margaret had stared at the recorded symbols for days without result. Yet when
she’d spent a night inside an empty chamber looking at moonlight shining on the scrawled markings, she finally experienced
her breakthrough, recognizing starmap coordinates that correlated with rare neutron stars. The flood of connections from that
one realization had led to the Klikiss Torch. Now she needed further insights to achieve another flurry of translations.
She and Louis had begun to work in Egypt, using a set of sophisticated new sonic mappers developed by the Ildirans. By applying
the alien technology to map deeply buried relics underneath the Sahara, the Colicoses had found an entire Egyptian city that
had been smothered by the dunes. The astonishing find had established them as important archaeologists.
From there, at the request of the Earth Defense Forces, Margaret and Louis had spent six months on Mars far from the military
base. Working in a deadly hostile environment was far different from the mere sand and insufferable heat of the Sahara. Stiffly
suited, they had analyzed the fabled geometric pyramids found in Labyrinthus Noctis to determine the origin of the fabulous
and intriguing formations. But after intensive study, the Colicoses reached the unpopular conclusion, shored up with many
fragments of detailed data, that the famed pyramids were not relics of an extraterrestrial civilization, but
natural
artifacts, outgrowths caused by the unusual crystalline structure of minerals in the soil, exposed to weather conditions
in the low gravity over thousands of years.
As xeno-archaeologists, they had few extravagant desires, only common goals and fascinations. The two were content to live
their rugged lives, each filling their niche in the marriage. Margaret and Louis often completed each other’s sentences and
sat together engrossed in thought, doing their own work, making only brief half comments to each other. Yet afterward, if
asked, they would claim they had carried on a long and fascinating conversation.
Now, on Rheindic Co, Louis returned to Margaret from some of his explorations, holding the imager in one hand and a glowpanel
in the other. “All finished mapping another section, dear.”
She didn’t look up from where she sat staring at the wall markings. “Make a—”
“I did,” he said, popping out the backup datawafer.
“You know where to put it,” she said, and he stored it in one of the Klikiss cubbyholes. Louis often forgot to take the necessary
precautions, but Margaret had learned her lesson. Many times during their previous digs they had lost data due to electrical
storms, dust blows, or flash floods.
Both went back to work in self-absorbed silence, but experiencing close companionship. Margaret and Louis had formed their
relationship as an intellectually based alliance, since they spent so much time together far from civilization. They had finally
given in to common sense and married each other, as if it were a business venture, bypassing the silly giddiness of juvenile
romance.
Louis left her to continue his investigations in one of the chambers that contained the most Klikiss machinery. He insisted
that some of the mothballed alien devices still had functional power sources, air exchangers, pumps, and hydraulics. He believed
the city was still alive, but sleeping, and he was sure he could reawaken it with the proper intuition and persistence.
Before he went out of earshot, she thought of something they needed to do. “Tonight, Louis—remember Anton’s birthday.”
“Yes, dear. We’ll ask Arcas to send a message. Otherwise he’ll think we forgot about him.”
Margaret knew, though, that their only son would be wrapped up in his university studies, translating old Earth scrolls and
reinterpreting Terran myths and legends. Anton Colicos had established himself as a scholar just as obsessive as his parents.
He had given his mother a little antique music box, which she carried with her to every dig. Anton knew his parents were proud
of him, though they were often too preoccupied to remind him.
After Louis had gone into the other chamber, Margaret could hear him tinkering and banging on the apparatus. Letting her thoughts
wander, she walked down the dry hallways, through chambers filled with reams of untranslated data, literature, or scientific
discoveries. Maybe it was nothing more than obscene insect graffiti….
Did the Klikiss tell stories aloud like humans and Ildirans, or were they a purely rational race? And why had they gone extinct?
The questions weighed on her like ticking time bombs, making her feel that if she didn’t unlock the answers soon, it might
be too late.
After another day of fruitful yet unremarkable research, Margaret was interrupted by the soft metal footfalls of their loyal
compy DD. “Hello? Hello? Margaret and Louis? You asked me to come get you at dusk. I have already prepared a nice meal for
us all. I am certain you will enjoy the recipe I have developed. Would this be a good time to finish your activities for the
day?”
Margaret turned to look at the compy, rubbing her stiff neck. “It’s never a good time to stop, DD, but we won’t get any more
finished today. Go rouse Louis. He’s probably got his head in an alien generator.” She pointed down a corridor, and the Friendly
compy hurried off, calling Louis’s name.
Together, the three climbed down the long set of metal stairs. DD led, holding a glowpanel and walking backward to illuminate
their way. The compy didn’t miss a step, but he frequently warned them of bumps in the path and rough edges to the scaffolding.
“Careful. Careful.” Soon he would probably remind them that he had access to a first-aid data module that they could upload
into his limited memory if they required his services as an emergency surgeon.
After she reached the base of the cliff, Margaret’s legs ached from the long descent. Louis put an arm around her shoulder.
“Would you like me to help you, dear?”
“You’re just as frail as I am, old man,” she said. “But I’m sure we’ll be much revitalized after we eat the gourmet meal DD
has prepared for us.”
“I hope it’s not ‘camp-food tartare’ again,” Louis said.
“I will file your culinary preferences, Louis.”
As they walked down the rocky canyon that had been scoured clean by forgotten flash floods, Margaret turned back to look up
at the high cliffs, the cities so high and out of reach. “I wonder if the Klikiss ever got arthritis?” she asked aloud. “And
if so, how did they ever get back home? I certainly wouldn’t want to climb stairs like that every day.”
“Especially if they had multiple legs, which seems likely,” Louis said. “Maybe once they got up to the cities, they just stayed
inside.”
Margaret stared up as the canyon shadows deepened, considering the inconvenient placement of the city. “It seems to be typical,
though. Remember the tall turrets on Llaro?”
The structures on that dry and grassy planet had been like high termite castles, extruded pillars made of the same mud-and-silica
composite, built with interconnected tunnels inside them that did not look like main thoroughfares. Some tunnels led to ground
level, but these didn’t look any wider than the higher passages, thus suggesting no greater traffic density. The turret windows
had been wide and dangerously open to the long drop.
Suddenly, Margaret began to laugh.
Louis looked at her. DD, following his Friendly programming, understood that it was polite to laugh along with his human masters,
so he simulated a chuckle, though he had no idea what the joke was.
“It’s so simple, old man,” Margaret said. “And obvious. Why didn’t we see it before?”
He smiled at his wife. When she claimed a breakthrough realization, she was almost always right. “Well, dear, are you going
to tell me or let me die of suspense … or old age?”
Margaret gestured up to the cliff face and indicated the sheer rock, the inaccessible climb, and the broad overhang wide open
to the air. “They could
fly
, of course.” She grinned at him, knowing this realization would make them reassess their basic comprehension of the alien
biology. “The Klikiss could
fly!”
R
efore she went off to Earth, Sarein made plans for how she could become the perfect Theron ambassador, fulfilling all the
political needs and becoming a well-mannered hostess. Her work would be for the good of the forest world, as well as for the
Hansa. Basil Wenceslas had shown her how both peoples shared common needs and goals, deep at the core.
Yes, Sarein had her differences with conservative old Otema, who had unreasonably kept her people from advancing into Hansa
society. Still, the ancient woman was Sarein’s predecessor and well-revered on Theroc. It would help Sarein if she could get
the withered green priest’s blessing.
Inside her personal chamber, Sarein brewed a pot of potent clee. Her room was high in the fungus reef, where the mushroom
flesh was young and the walls remained soft. She liked this chamber because it received more sun than other levels farther
down in the reef encrustation. On a low table Sarein set out one cup of the stimulating beverage for herself and another for
Otema.
As she waited for her visitor, Sarein checked her appearance and practiced her smile. She adjusted the ambassadorial robe
Otema had presented to her, then rubbed the Terran bracelets Basil had given her as a token of his esteem for the Theron people,
and as a lover’s parting gift.
