“Same here. They look like vents. This is some big reactor.”
“Or one hell of a spooky machine.”
“Vertical lines, a rectangle on the side of the thing, maybe a service entry.”
“Radioactivity increasing, but still beneath hazard level. Should I turn around?’
“No, let’s keep going to the end. Meet you there.”
“We have protrusions along the sides, like tubes swelling gradually, the longer they get.”
“Same here.”
“I’m at the back end. The tubes stop here.”
“There are dorsals.”
“Dorsals?”
“Like fins between the tubes. I think there are retractable components too. Did you see the grooves?”
“I just thought they were grooves.”
“They look like wing bays.”
“Are you saying this is a. . .?”
“Yeah, it’s a space ship.”
Day 207:
With these words, one of the greatest discoveries in millennia was immortalized. “Space ship”. The phrase sounded incredibly banal, an old cliché learned from a boy’s comic book or a bit of dialogue in a low-budget sci-fi film from the earliest era of motion pictures.
“Yeah, it’s a space ship.” I want to erase the memory of what that driver or engineer said. It should be stricken from the record. But it won’t be, and on second thought, perhaps that is best because this is mankind in action, after all, with sublime and banal forever entwined.
Thousands of photographs and scan diagrams were recorded that first day, and are now being analyzed.
No entry point into the vessel has yet been discovered. The portal, or suspected portal, is being examined minutely, but no incisions have been made in its seams. The surface material is still unidentified, and resists all instrument probes.
But we know the following about the ship:
It is 31.79 times longer than it is wide, thus it is the shape of an arrow—a rather fat-shafted arrow. There are no windows.
The only external features are the “fins” and the faint seams in the “grooves”, which could be bays for retractable wings. If there are wings inside, they are folded tightly and sealed.
The “tubes” appear to be propulsion units, since the radioactivity has its source near the rear end of the craft. The ends of the tubes are holes, plugged and impenetrable.
Nowhere along the entire surface is there evidence of damage. The “nose” or tip of the “arrow” displays no micro impact holes typically found on rocket-style, atmosphere-piercing vessels such as those once used on Earth.
The black surface continues to confound the metallurgists and chemists. They know it is a kind of unidentified metal. It is not the same material as the thin black coating on the backside of the stone gate. The ship’s skin is extremely hard, certainly harder than any alloy mankind has developed. The nuclear scalpel succeeded in penetrating the skin only a fraction of a millimeter before shutting itself off due to overloading its power system. Repeated attempts have ended in the same manner. However, minute particles were collected where the incision was made, which one might call the “sawdust” from the cut. This was taken up to the Kosmos labs and analyzed under our best mass spectrometers / spectrophotometers, and while they failed to determine the metal’s atomic weight, it was found that molecules of sand or glass, possibly the remnants of superheated clay, were present.
The investigation has progressed only this far, as of today. Engineers are attempting to re-rig the nuclear scalpel in order to give it greater cutting power.
Xue came to my door this evening and asked me to go for a walk with him. In an art alcove, he told me that DSI had called a meeting of the directors of all the science teams, held at their head office on deck D. Xue had been invited in as an advisor. In short, they want to know if anti-matter can be used to penetrate the ship’s exterior, if the forces that gave us half-lightspeed on our outward journey can be harnessed in such a way. Xue informed them that it was a risk. Theoretically, an anti-matter beam could act in a way similar to that of the scalpel, but because we don’t know what material the ship is made of, its matter could react negatively. It could simply explode in our faces, or dissolve into nothingness, or any number of other possibilities. The executives of DSI nodded as if they understood, then mandated the engineers to make a new tool.
“They want to produce a black hole the size of a pinpoint”, said Xue, shaking his head. “It is very tempting for me, as you can well imagine. However, as I said, the risks are considerable.”
“They could practice on the metal floor in the tower”, I offered. “It looks like the same substance.”
“Yes, I thought of that. And suggested it.”
“Will you be involved?”
“I have offered them my paper on anti-matter reduction—entirely theoretical at this point, but I believe reliable. This would give them the parameters of what to avoid. Of course, they’re smart enough to know those things for themselves.”
“Let us hope so.”
“I will probably function as the quality-control man, making sure they don’t come up with anything that would violate the physics. Also, I would need to explain a few things from your own work. Do I have your permission?”
“As long as you promise not to blow the planet to smithereens, Owly.”
He smiled. “I’ll try not to, Nil.”
Day 208:
While the new tool is being developed, the exploration of the chamber continues.
Until now, there has been total focus on the ship. Today, attention has turned to the hundreds of stone blocks embedded in the chamber’s walls, a long row on each side of the ship, each block separated by a distance of 0.3179 meters.
Archaeologists have asked permission for one to be cut from the wall as a test, to see if it covers a tomb or a storage chamber for artifacts. Dariush tells me that the team cannot go forward with this until DSI gives permission and mandates the use of the nuclear scalpel. This I find supremely irritating. Why do such decisions have to pass through the fetid bowels of social infrastructure? What’s to decide? It’s plain what’s needed! I feel certain that DSI derives so much pleasure from the exercise of power that it savors the exquisite sensation of making people wait. So everyone waits.
And waits.
Day 209:
The archaeologists, feeling somewhat frustrated, filled their idle hours by investigating the black stone cube that sits on the floor close to the ship’s nose. As expected, its dimensions are multiples of our favorite number. Interestingly, the top is subtly concave, like a shallow basin. Thirteen pencil-thin grooves radiate outward from a symbol at the center of the basin.
The symbol may not be a symbol as such, and only purely decorative. It is a circular incision with thirteen smaller circles surrounding it, their rims all touching the central one. Each of the small circles, though they are of varying sizes, is the starting point of a groove. The grooves radiate toward the four edges of the “tabletop”, cut the edges, and run down the sides, where they disappear into small holes in the floor. The cube sits upon a larger rectangle of the black metal. A second metal rectangle is embedded in the stone floor halfway between the cube and the nose of the ship, flanked by the two outer rails. Here, it would appear that the central rail was removed ages ago by the ones who originally made the chamber and/or interred the ship. Metallurgists have determined that the rails are a kind of steel, mainly iron, with carbon and another component that gives it extraordinary tensile strength.
Day 215:
In the late afternoon, I received a voice message from Dariush in my max inbox:
Hello, Neil.
I will be returning to the Kosmos, arriving by shuttle at 5 P.M., in order to consult my books. Perchance, will you join me for supper at a cafeteria or restaurant of your choice? I hope you are well and taking your medications faithfully.
I quickly sent a text reply:
Feel okay, some days not so
good. Bad dreams all the time. Taking my meds, but I wonder if they’re helping. How about Mexican, 5:30?
Hopefully, this would be adequate cover.
At half past five, I stood by the door of the Mexican bistro and beheld Dariush coming toward me along the concourse, head down, looking very weary.
We greeted each other and then went inside. The place was bereft of customers, and so we were quickly served at the bar.
I lustily consumed my tacos and “cheese” while Dariush sipped at his cup of water and stared at the table top. He picked at his basket of tacos from time to time but dropped the uneaten chips back into it without a nibble. When I was full, he turned his bloodshot eyes upon me. I could tell he hadn’t been getting enough sleep during the past few days.
“May we go for a walk?” he asked in a subdued voice.
We ambled here and there on the concourse for awhile, and then almost by default we took an elevator down to the arboretum. It too was deserted. The “birds” were off; the sky above was a deep blue with a few “stars” appearing.
We sat down side by side on a park bench.
“You’ve had quite a wait, my friend”, I began. “But I expect DSI is as curious as we are and will give permission for opening the wall blocks soon. Do you think they contain the aliens’ archives?”
Dariush nodded and said, “It is probable.”
For a moment, I was sure he would launch one of his philological lectures. Instead, he put the palms of his hands to his face and bent over, his head almost touching his knees. He began to sob. I was more shocked by this barely audible weeping than I would have been if he had erupted into loud shouting. To see this most scholarly and quiet man so overcome with emotion left me at a loss for what to say or do.
Without thinking, I pitter-patted him on the back with my hand and made silly consolation noises which I had, I suspect, learned from my mother.
“Oh, oh, pobrecito, Dariush, estás tan triste”, I murmured. “Qué te pasa, ahora, qué te pasa? No te pongas triste, no estés triste. Todo va a estar bien.” (Rough translation: Poor Dariush, you’re so sad. What’s the matter, now, what’s the matter? Don’t be sad, don’t be sad. Everything’s going to be all right.)
When he had composed himself, he told me about new discoveries, which had come to light after closer inspection of the rectangular metal floorplate, situated halfway between the cube and the ship’s nose.
Three days ago, an archaeology team penetrated the rectangle’s end seam and elevated it a few feet, discovering that it was balanced on an unseen axle or bar in its middle. Though the archaeologists did not rotate it fully, they raised it enough to observe that a stone staircase leads down to another level beneath the chamber containing the ship. Their lights did not penetrate far enough to see anything other than the steps disappearing into the darkness below.
Next, the archaeologists, with the aid of engineers, entirely removed the floorplate. Now armed with powerful searchlights, they descended the staircase. Dariush was with them. Arriving at the bottom, they found that the lower chamber was very large. It was filled with skeletal remains. Those who went down there could not proceed far, since stacks of bones blocked their passage. However, they noted that in all directions every space was filled as far as their eyes could see and the lights could penetrate. If, on further exploration, it is confirmed that the heaps of the dead continue uninterrupted to the farthest reaches of the chamber, it would mean that hundreds of thousands of bodies have been interred there, possibly millions.
Examining several dozen skeletons near at hand, the archaeologists learned much about the race that had built this extraordinary monument to their lost civilization.
The aliens were humanoid, with bodies and craniums shaped like ours. However, their skulls were disproportionately larger in relation to their skeletal frames, compared to our human ratio of cranium to frame. They had two eye sockets, not three, and there was nothing in the spinal region to indicate wings. They were much shorter than we are. The tallest of those examined were less than four feet in height. The majority of skeletons were markedly shorter than this, giving rise to speculation that there was more than one sub-race or “breed” (I use this term for lack of a better one) within this alien race. This is indicated by the fact that the taller ones, the minority, had a ratio of cranium size to body size that is closer to ours.
Messages were sent upward to the station and to the Kosmos, requesting additional staff to help bring some of the remains out of the crypt. Within the hour, two physicians and a forensic specialist arrived, along with other station staff, carrying body bags. Every effort was made to load the skeletons intact, but their great age proved their undoing. They tended to fall apart into individual bones when they were moved. They are presently being reassembled in the lab at AS-VT, in preparation for further examination.
Now I must write about one of the more disturbing details of what was found. Dariush explained that the archaeologists thought at first that the chamber was a mausoleum, and he had concurred with this, thinking that it may have been a tradition of this race to bury its dead “in community”, not in individual graves. One of the party suggested that it resembled an ossuary such as those found beneath certain ancient monasteries on Earth where burial space had been limited. It was then argued that Nova offered more than ample space for burial. The discussion continued as the archaeologists stepped this way and that through mounds of bones and skulls. Then came a sudden silence.
Now they were facing the area directly below the cube on the floor above. They could see thin shafts of light from the holes in the ceiling—the holes in the upper floor—to which the cube’s grooves had led. Beneath this corona of light beams, they noticed a dark shape and pointed their lamps at it.
It was a sculpture carved from a massive block of gray stone. More than ten meters high, it was a three-dimensional embodiment of the celestial being or “god” inscribed on the cliff face above the gateway. All the details were there. It had uplifted wings. Its head was horned and had three eyes. Its legs stretched three times longer than the torso, ending in the elongated feet, with the difference that the base of the sculpture was a stone sphere that it gripped in its toe-claws. The arms were extended horizontally, and the claws of one hand held an arrow. The other hand was open with palm upward, though it lacked a carved depiction of flames. Dariush concluded that real fire once burned there.
In another important detail, the sculpture was different from the incised images on the cliff face and the inner wall. The neck and head were tilted back at a 90-degree angle from the body; its mouth was wide open, and into that gaping hole, thirteen light beams fell.
When Dariush had completed describing all this to me, I didn’t know what to make of it. The whole scene was just too weird. We both got up and walked through the park toward the arboretum exit, saying nothing.
As we stood in the concourse, preparing to go to our separate rooms, Dariush said, “I am sick in my heart, Neil.”
“I can understand that”, I said. “All those skeletons and then a nasty shock from a sinister-looking statue.”
“If this idol, and the altar above it, were used for what I suspect, then we have found a memorial of the unthinkable.”
“The unthinkable? You could be misinterpreting the scene.”
“Possibly. But I do not think so.” He shuddered and murmured, “I feel very alone—alone in an ocean of evil.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not alone.”
Without warning, he said, “Will you pray with me?”
“Pray?” I asked, alarmed by his request. “I . . . I’d like to help. Really I would. But I’m no good at praying.”
“It is the intentions of the heart that matter. If you would but trust—”
“Listen, Dariush, I know that what you saw in the cellar seems pretty grotesque, but it may not be what you suspect it is. And even if it is, it happened ages ago. You should get some sleep, and tomorrow you’ll feel bette
r about all this.”
He gazed at me silently for a few moments.
“I must find Dr. Nagakawa”, he whispered.
Day 217:
This morning, I knocked on his door, because I wanted to tell him that I had reconsidered his request and would try to pray, though a prayer of mine wouldn’t be worth much. Did I believe in the soul, did I believe in a benevolent, overseeing God? I wasn’t sure. Even so, I believed that Dariush was my friend, and this was good enough for me.
But he had gone. He was already back down on Nova.
Day 218:
The public presentations are short on details, short on imagery too, just plenty of learned commentary by the archaeologists and quick photos of the monster in the cellar and the limitless fields of body remains—info bites, image bites. Attention is being deflected back to the aliens’ ship, and to the mysterious blocks that run along the walls on both sides of it.
Yesterday, one block was surgically removed, and behind that single slab were found ranks of rectangular metal plates standing on end and leaning against each other—hundreds in this chamber alone. The vault was found to be not very big, just over three meters deep, the same in height, and three times wider than the aforementioned dimensions (our now familiar measurements, I will not repeat them again).
Several plates were removed for examination. They are covered in hieroglyphics, finely inscribed. Dariush’s team is making photoscan records of them, and preliminary analysis will begin soon. Though faintly oxidized, the script is not obscured. The metal is like bronze, an alloy constituted of copper, tin, and a third unknown element. One test plate was easily cleaned with a noncorrosive solution.
Today, more blocks were removed from the walls, and they all contained the metal plates inscribed with the indecipherable script. Thousands upon thousands of them. A linguist’s paradise!
A program on the panorama screens reported the progress in making a new kind of tool that may be able to open the ship. There was a short interview with Xue and other interviews with the designers and engineers, plus a few diagrams and computer simulations of how it will work. The team is a month away from an initial test, which will be performed on the rotating floorplate leading to the crypt, since it appears to be the same substance as the ship’s outer coating.