The Unearthing (14 page)

“Minister, you have a linx from the British Embassy,” Her voice said over speakers hidden on the desk.

The Minister arched an eyebrow and shrugged, slipping on his own earpiece, forwarding the second console’s audio to the unit.

“Put it through in here,” He said. Diane nodded and vanished from the screen a moment later. The screen remained blank for a few more seconds before the image of the British Ambassador to Canada appeared onscreen in a short cascade of pixels. The Minister himself didn’t immediately recognize the man, but identifier software was part of the communications parcel on his console. The ware was able to name him, displaying that text along with other pertinent data at the bottom of the screen.

“Mister Ambassador,” The Minister said, “Good morning. I must say, I didn’t expect to hear from
your
offices. Let alone from you, sir.”

“Good morning, Minister,” the Ambassador said, “No, I don’t suppose you would have expected a linx from me. However, neither protocol nor security concerns would permit me to see you in person.”

“Security concerns?” The Ambassador shook his head in an apologetic, self effacing gesture.

“I’m sorry, Minister. This won’t be much of a welcome to the job,” He said, “And usually you would be afforded more time to settle into your position as Defence Minister before I contacted you. However, given the nature of the ongoing situation in the Protectorates to the south, time is of the essence. I had to contact you as soon as possible.”

“Regarding what, may I ask?”

“Regarding a package that you will receive late this evening. The package will arrive from the British Embassy, by a special secure carrier. It will be a document pouch, the contents of which you are required to read only when you are alone and only from a secure workstation.”

The Minister was annoyed by the sudden cloak and dagger nonsense. “And the topic of these secure documents?”

“That is something I will be unable to discuss with you, Minister, until such time as you have read the contents of the document pouch and contacted me on channel QU137. It’s a secure channel and the linx will be routed to me no matter where I am.”

“This all seems absurdly dramatic.”

“This is a very serious matter, Minister,” the Ambassador said, gravely, “And you’ll better understand and appreciate that when the carrier arrives, tonight. We’ll speak then and I’ll answer any questions you have.” The image of the British Ambassador to Canada froze and depixillated, leaving the Minister both dumbfounded and annoyed. He toggled the intercom.

“Diane, would you be so kind as to bring me the largest goddamned pot of tea you can find? I have the feeling I’m going to need it.”

♦♦♦

Echohawk strolled into the briefing room, sipping from a coffee mug so large it was nearly a thermos. He relished the bittersweet coffee’s heat and energizing caffeine as it pumped from his mouth to his senses through an expanding warmth in his belly.

“Good morning everyone,” He said, “Well, we’ve all had a chance to see the Ship from the air and now our skills as an expedition team will be put to the test: Today, we will be allowed down to the Pyramid and with luck, we might actually get a look inside.” He thumbed a button on the remote. The thin fabric screen lit up with a view of the Pyramid as seen from the Ramp, the land bridge that the Ship had allowed to remain between it and the outside world. The image had depth of field and proportion creating the illusion that the screen was a window overlooking an actual scene, instead of a 3D liquid crystal display. The view slowly tracked in as the Ship Survey Expedition watched.

“This footage was taken two hours ago, by a remote-controlled drone using a Cannon Magic Mirror,” Echohawk explained, “It rolled to within ten meters of the Pyramid at the top of the Ship and recorded these images. Take a close look: it’s about to zoom in on the base of the Pyramid facing the ramp.” The image onscreen changed again as the telephoto lens on the drone switched focus to pull in close to the pyramid. They could all clearly see that there was a depressed archway in the Pyramid’s surface some five meters high and just as wide. The back of the archway was sealed, but all indications seemed to point to this being a hatch.

“The Army’s recorded similar archways on all the other exposed pyramids along the Ship’s dome,” Echohawk explained.

“I expect we’re looking at the main doors into the Ship,” Andrews said.

“I would argue that you’re right,” Scott replied, “But we could just as easily be seeing thruster ports.”

“I agree,” Andrews replied, “However, thruster ports don’t usually have control panels put to either side.”

“What?” Scott and Aiziz asked together. Andrews took up a laser pointer from his position at the horseshoe-shaped table.

“Here and here,” He said, pointing the laser beam to either side of the image of the arch onscreen, “Professor Echohawk, can we get a zoom in on those locations?” Echohawk consulted the remote he was holding. A moment later, the image did zoom in to one side of the arch. There was a long, recessed panel beside it. The panel was filled with what appeared to be a number of rectangular tiles, all of which had some device inscribed upon them.

“Can we get a better view of those tiles?” Aiziz asked with urgency, “Can we see the inscriptions on them?”

“Unfortunately no,” Echohawk said, “This is already an enhancement of the original image. We’ll have to wait until we get out to the Pyramid, itself.” Aiziz stared long and hard at the indistinct image before her.

“Well, then, what are we waiting for?”

They rode over from Fort Arapaho to the Pyramid in a small convoy of all-terrain transports. The long, multi-wheeled vehicles drove out in a row; the SSE heads and their small entourage of assistants in the first two vehicles, an Emergency Medical Response unit directly behind them; a communications wagon behind that and finally, two cargo haulers that carried all the equipment they would need for their forays into the Ship. Echohawk, Scott and Andrews sat together in a knot of conversation.

“I argue that the arched depression is a door,” Scott explained, “Because on a vessel this size, you’d probably have a network of antenna and sensor arrays across the entire hull. Same thing with weapons, assuming it had any, and because of the sheer size of the thing, manoeuvring and propulsion would have to be spread over the whole surface of the Ship, especially if it was able to make planetfall.”

“Are we sure it landed?” Andrews asked.

“It couldn’t have crashed,” Scott replied, “It wouldn’t have stayed together this well and there’d be some evidence of a crash trail, or a much larger impact crater in the local geography. No, the Ship dropped right out of the sky and nestled itself into the ground.” Having been married to a fighter jock, Echohawk knew a little about physics and a little about aerospace engineering. His engineering studies at university had been one of the factors involved in his introduction to Margaret Bloom in the time of history that Echohawk had begun referring to as
What Couldn’t Have Been That Long Ago
.

“So the ring of smaller pyramids we’ve witnessed would also be doors?” Echohawk asked.

“Most likely, yes,” Scott replied, “Assuming we don’t get there and discover the Pyramid’s not an access point at all. The whole Pyramid network could be an elaborate array of some kind. Although I expect it isn’t.”

“In all likelihood there are several other points of access to the Ship as well,” Andrews noted, “Escape hatches, cargo bays…docking bays, that sort of thing.”

“No doubt,” Scott agreed, “This is why we can also count on there being several layers of hull. The Ship will be much like an onion.”

“In order to reduce the risk of explosive decompression,” Andrews said, “The two main problems with a vessel the size of the Ship being accessibility and safety. The inner sections of the Ship closest to the outer hull will probably be quite barren, then; lots of bulkheads and hatches, or the equivalent of such in alien design.”

“Are you acquainted with engineering?” Scott asked, with hopeful curiosity.

Andrews gave his head a quick shake, pulling a cigarette from his breast pocket.

“No,” he said, handing a smoke to Echohawk, “I’m an expert in the laws of probability; the mathematical likelihood of certain things occurring. For instance, I’ll wager that the Pyramid on top of the Ship will be the only way in we’ll be afforded and that it won’t be immediately accessible to us.”

“What makes you say that?” Scott asked.

“Well, perhaps Professor Echohawk would be kind enough to remind us how long the dig had been going on before the orbital scan was performed?” Andrews asked, by way of reply.

“About three weeks,” Echohawk said, “Not including the time that the Laguna Band was working the dig, themselves.”

“And how long after the deep scan did the Ship begin unearthing itself?” Andrews asked. Echohawk looked off to where James, Peter and Kodo were talking.

“James,” Echohawk called, “James! How long after the orbital scan started did we start recording tremors?”

“I’d have to go back and checked the seismography,” James replied, “But I think the initial tremors started about ten minutes into the scan.” This seemed to satisfy Andrews to no end; he smiled broadly.

“The Ship only unearthed itself after it was scanned from a high-orbit, with a multi-spectral deep scan and yet, efforts had been ongoing to expose it for quite some time before that: There were Doppler seismology, MRI and PET scans used on the object while it was still buried. You used precision blasting, laser cutters and picks and shovels to dig it up. However, the Ship only began to unearth itself after it was scanned from orbit.”

“You’re saying it was waiting for an orbital scan?” Echohawk asked, incredulous.

“Many theorists involved with the search for intelligent extraterrestrial life assume that only spacefaring cultures or cultures about to become spaceborne would be targeted for first contact,” Andrews explained, “We know that the Ship was buried at the end of the Cretaceous, by the so-called death star meteoric impact. Likely, the Ship was damaged and needed to repair itself. But fully restored and still buried, why didn’t it just leave? Why not unearth itself then and take off?”

“It must have been instructed to stay,” Scott realized.

“Exactly,” Andrews said with a smile, his unlit cigarette dancing in the corner of his mouth, “And why stay, unless it was waiting for something here? Some sign of intelligence, perhaps? A Spacefaring intelligence, aware of its presence?”

“Then it only unearthed itself in response to our actions,” Echohawk said.

“Most probably,” Andrews replied. “This is why I believe that we’ll find that the archway in the Pyramid is indeed a door and that that same door is sealed.”

“I don’t follow,” Echohawk said.

“No, but I think I do,” Scott said, “An alien race looking for signs of intelligence from another species would use the Ship almost as an interactive tool to determine the level of intelligence of who or whatever species discovered it, and only give access to those able to complete a series of tests.”

“The land bridge we’re driving across, for example,” Andrews said, “Leads directly to the Pyramid, which until recently was the only portion of the Ship to be partially unearthed. The land bridge has nevertheless been sculpted to both fully unearth the Ship and allow us to drive right up to its front door.”

“And the runes to either side of the archway would be another test,” Scott said, his eyes glistening with dawning realization.

“And when we get there, we’ll find out just what form that test will take.” Andrews concluded.

♦♦♦

Paul Santino stared at the console screen before him. Since the Ship had been unearthed the Laguna Band had discovered that it had lost several hundred of its own out in the desert, during the Unearthing. Laguna had also suffered an increase in crime, pollution and traffic. The new highway extension being put down was supposed to take most of the traffic away from Laguna, but the fact that the Band Council had had to shut down Laguna’s bars, nightclubs and even its bowling alley as a result of the influx of people coming to gawk at the Ship wasn’t helping the local economy. The jail was full of rowdies, drunks and even a handful of soldiers from the newly constructed Fort Arapaho. Vandalism, public disturbances, fights, traffic accidents, littering were all up. The problem was that the Village, as the shantytown that had formed near the Ship had been christened, had almost no entertainment. There were shops and a couple of unlicensed ramshackle restaurants, but it was Laguna that had the multiplex, the entertainment complex and the nightclubs, pool hall and other recreation amenities. But even with a bustling population of several thousand, Laguna could not sustain a fivefold increase in business and public traffic. The Protectorate Council wasn’t offering up any assistance in dealing with the issue, still too busy arguing before the World Council, Washington and anyone else they felt encroaching on the Ship and their jurisdiction over it. A flash of inspired thought burned through Santino. He slipped his linx headset into his ear and keyed open a communications line on his console. Moments later he was connected with the loan officer of the Aboriginal American’s Bank of the Protectorate head offices in Pueblo, Colorado.

“Chief Santino!” the loan officer, one David George exclaimed. “How can I help you, today?”

“Hello Dave,” Santino replied, “I guess you must be aware of the situation we have, out this way.”