The Rosetta Codex

by Richard Paul Russo

  “If you’re still alive you have a chance to find your way out. If you’re dead . . . then you’re just dead.” He took his stone-burner and aimed it at Cale. “I’ll kill you one at a time, and see if that doesn’t become a viable threat to those still alive. I think I’d better start with you, Cale.”

  Without hesitating, Justinian pressed the stone-burner’s igniter. Cale tensed with a quick intake of air, squinting his eyes. Nothing happened. Justinian glanced down at the burner and pressed the igniter again. Still nothing. Cale held his breath, afraid to move. Justinian looked up, then shifted his gaze to the alien.

  Cale turned to look. The Emissary set the codex at its feet and withdrew a pair of coppery tubes from a banded pocket on the side of his armored suit, the tubes linked in several places by wire mesh. The alien held them so the tubes pointed at Justinian, and pressed them together. The wire mesh glowed in the alien’s hands, then a golden stream of particles flared from the coppery tubes. Cale felt and heard an electrical buzz, and watched Justinian and the closer of the two Sarakheen women crumple to the ground like animatrons that had been suddenly deprived of all power.

  The other Sarakheen woman raised her laser rifle, aimed it at the alien, and pulled the trigger. Just as with Justinian’s weapon, nothing happened. In desperation she threw the rifle at the alien, who deflected it deftly with one arm. The Sarakheen who’d killed Blackburn stood motionless, as if paralyzed. The alien squeezed the two linked tubes together once more. Again the golden stream flared, an electric vibration washed over Cale, and the two remaining Sarakheen crumpled to the ground.

  Cale turned to the alien Emissary, wondering if they were next. But the alien returned the tubes to their place, then turned its masked head toward Cale and the others. It didn’t otherwise move, as though waiting for something, the codex still at its feet.

  Cicero walked over to the four Sarakheen, and knelt by Justinian. “He’s breathing,” Cicero said. “He’s still alive.” He rose and checked on each of the others. “They’re all still alive. Apparently the alien isn’t quite as willing to kill as the Sarakheen were.”

  Harlock was on his feet now, and shuffled toward them. Although he seemed in no hurry, he appeared to be focused and intent. When he reached them he went by Cicero, then Cale and Sidonie, and then finally walked past Aliazar without even the slightest acknowledgment. He continued on and stopped only when he stood directly in front of the alien Emissary, less than a foot away. Though Harlock was well over six feet tall, he was dwarfed by the massive figure before him.

  The alien put its hands to its helmet as it had earlier, but this time completed the action and removed it, revealing head and face. Its skin was dark and leathery, and its large golden eyes were protected by clear lenses that appeared to be embedded in the sockets. Instead of hair, layers of large and curved dark multicolored scales covered its head and brow, whorled into structures on either side that Cale assumed were ears. Segmented folds of skin formed a wide mouth.

  Harlock straightened, raised his head as high as possible, then bowed it slightly forward. The alien turned the masked helmet around, lifted it, and lowered it over Harlock’s head.

  “Wait!” Aliazar ran a few steps toward the two and stopped, shifting from one foot to the other. “What are you doing?”

  The alien looked at Aliazar, its large and golden eyes never blinking, but did not otherwise react. Then it returned its attention to Harlock and pressed the helmet more firmly over his head, adjusting it slightly.

  “Stop!” Aliazar cried, though he did not step any closer. “That’s my . . .” His voice trailed off, and then he finally finished in a whisper, “My brother.” He glanced frantically from Cale to Sidonie to Cicero, to his brother and the alien, then back to Cale. “What’s it doing to him?”

  Cale could only shake his head. When Aliazar looked back at his brother, the alien gestured with its hand for him to come forward. Aliazar hesitated, and the alien gestured again.

  “Go,” Sidonie said quietly.

  Without looking back, Aliazar nodded and hesitantly approached the alien and his brother. Movements slow and deliberate, the alien gently took hold of Aliazar’s hands, then guided them to Harlock’s arm, pressing hands and arm together. Aliazar stared with fear at the helmet covering Harlock’s face and gripped his brother’s arm.

  The alien made some adjustments to the helmet, snapped a band tight around Harlock’s neck. It knelt beside the codex, opened it, and removed a shining and complexly patterned strip of metal from a pocket inside the front cover. The alien stood, inserted the strip into a slot just above the helmet eyes, then pressed a flange on the side of the helmet and stepped back.

  Harlock snapped his head back and cried out, the scream muffled by the helmet. He fell forward to his knees, pulling Aliazar down with him, arching his back and howling.

  “Harlock!” Aliazar grabbed his brother’s shoulders, trying to hold him still, but Harlock twisted and jerked, howling out a distorted wail of anguish. Then he pitched forward and onto his belly, pressing his hands against either side of the helmet, moaning. Aliazar held on to his brother’s arm, rocking from side to side and making a keening sound.

  Harlock’s moaning gradually eased, and after a time ceased completely. He freed his arm from Aliazar’s grip, then rolled onto his back and lay still, only his chest and stomach moving, rising and falling with each harsh and heavy breath.

  Aliazar scrambled to his feet and lunged at the alien, swinging his fists as he struck the alien’s body. “What have you done to him?! What have you . . . ?” His words choked away as he pummeled the alien without apparent effect.

  Cale felt utterly helpless. He thought the alien intended Harlock no harm, but saying so wasn’t going to comfort either Aliazar or Harlock.

  The alien was surprisingly gentle with Aliazar. Gloved hands took Aliazar’s shoulders and eased them back, and Aliazar took to punching at the alien’s arms. The alien bent down to one knee, bringing its face level with Aliazar’s, and still holding his shoulders, looked directly into Aliazar’s eyes.

  Aliazar returned the alien’s gaze and stopped flailing at it. They remained like that for a time, as if some wordless communication was taking place between them: the alien somehow reassuring Aliazar. Or at least that was the message Cale imagined came from the alien’s eyes.

  Aliazar pulled back and the alien released him. He knelt by his brother’s side and placed a hand on his chest. Harlock’s breathing had eased, deep and slow and regular now.

  The alien leaned over, took Harlock’s hand, and with Aliazar’s aid helped him to his feet. It turned to Cale and the others and began to speak, its voice a string of deep, melodic phrases broken by long harsh gutterals. Moments later Harlock, too, began to talk, speaking in his own language the words of the Emissary. . . .

  NINE

  “He is damaged,” the alien said through Harlock’s voice. “The damage is of a . . . quality that more easily allows the . . . functioning of the translator . . . which is why I selected him. More critical matters wait, but it is also important to prevent further violence. I must proceed unimpeded.” The alien stopped, apparently waiting for a response.

  “What critical matters are waiting?” Cale eventually asked.

  The alien turned to Harlock, but after several moments the only sounds that emerged from him were two or three unintelligible noises. Then nothing more.

  The alien motioned at Cale with its hand, and Cale concluded he was being asked to repeat himself, so he did. Once again Harlock could only produce a few harsh sounds. The alien spoke again.

  “There are difficulties with the translator,” the alien said through Harlock’s voice. “Or perhaps the damage. I need to know if you understand me since I cannot understand you. Do you have a . . . gesture . . . to indicate the affirmative?”

  Cale nodded deliberately, with some exaggeration.

  “Then you understand me when I speak.”

  Cale nodded again.


  “And the gesture for negative.”

  Cale shook his head.

  “This will have to suffice,” the alien said with Harlock’s voice. “You brought the manuscript with you, you delivered it to us, so you have read it.”

  Cale nodded.

  “Then you understand what is to next occur.”

  First Cale nodded, then he shook his head, then shook his head again. The alien hesitated, then resumed speaking, followed once again by Harlock’s voice.

  “I am the Emissary, and I am charged with initiating the re-genesis of our people. It is my duty first to determine whether or not it is secure to begin. If it is not secure, or if I would perish before the re-genesis could begin, then all would wait for another Emissary to be awakened by another of the manuscripts such as the one you brought—for there are others to be found, others to be awakened.

  “Once re-genesis has begun, the process is. . . self-sustaining and will continue until all are”—a long hesitation by Harlock, then the alien spoke briefly again, and finally after another hesitation Harlock completed the sentence—“revivified. This will be followed by our return to our worlds. Our worlds and yours. Our people and your people will meet at last. We hope the interactions will proceed without violence, or with minimal violence, for some probably cannot be avoided, as we have already witnessed.”

  The Emissary paused and motioned expansively toward the walls surrounding them. “Here we are, within our vessels, waiting for rebirth. Waiting for resurrection: for we have died and been disintegrated and been entombed and then re-created in this place outside of time that is not a place. Revivified . . .” the Emissary/Harlock repeated, “so that we may once again procreate and . . . continue.”

  At this point the alien stopped and looked at the still unconscious Sarakheen. It strode over to them, took them by the arms one by one and laid them together, then took several flexible bands from one of the pockets in its suit and strapped one around each of their heads.

  “You need be informed of no more,” the alien said, returning to them. “You may observe, but you must not interfere or you will be incapacitated also. When the ships leave, you may accompany any of them and return to one of your worlds. You need not remain here to die.” After a long pause the alien resumed, its words again spoken by Harlock. “Have you understood all that I have said? Do you agree not to interfere?”

  Cale and the others all nodded.

  “I begin.”

  The Emissary picked up the codex and carried it to the alcove, set it on the long shelf along the left wall, and opened it again. This time the alien manipulated the binding so that the entire spine came away from the leaves, then picked up the top metal sheet with the stenciled markings and held it up, studying it. Apparently satisfied, the alien crossed to the opposite wall of the alcove and inserted the sheet into a narrow slot, holding it flat. An internal mechanism took up the sheet and pulled it steadily into the wall until it had completely disappeared. The Emissary returned to the codex, picked up the second metal sheet, carried it to the slot, and fed it, too, into the wall. The alien stepped back and studied the inert wall.

  The wall came to life with a pulsing hum and brightly shining strips of ruby light. The alien intently observed the lights as several flashed on and off, some brightened or dimmed, while others glowed with a sustained radiance. Then at some change in pattern or frequency or some other indication, the alien returned to the unbound manuscript’s stack of metal leaves. One by one the Emissary fed the stenciled sheets of metal into the wall until it reached a sheet that was not stenciled but etched with black ideograms of a human language. The Emissary laid the sheet back onto the stack and turned to the wall.

  A great rumble took hold of the vault, a heavy vibration and a deep penetrating sound, and the lower rows of lockers became suffused with a phosphorescent violet light from within the walls. The Emissary appeared to take satisfaction from this development, for it exited the alcove and walked past the group of humans, continuing several hundred feet out from the curved chamber wall. The alien stopped and slowly turned a full circle, surveying the chamber, the glowing rows of lockers, the beginnings of . . . re-genesis.

  Aliazar took his brother’s arm and gently eased him to the floor. Harlock sat and cocked his head as if listening to this miraculous event as well as watching it. Cale regarded the two brothers with both sadness and affection.

  Cale looked at Sidonie and Cicero, who stood transfixed, then he walked over to Blackburn’s body and knelt beside it. The pooled blood was thick and dark and in the bluish light appeared unreal. One side of Blackburn’s head was completely crushed; his face was relatively unmarked, however, though his open eyes were glassy and lifeless. Cale was bewildered by the sense of grief he felt for Blackburn, for this man who done so many terrible things in his life—certainly far more than Cale would ever know.

  Blackburn. Cale remained at the dead man’s side and looked up and all around that vast chamber, studying the bands of violet light encircling them, listening to the deep and resonant thrum, and waited for the future to change.

  Several hours later, a lambent azure light issued forth from the upper walls like a thick yet ghostly fluid and flowed down and over the lighted lockers, reminding Cale of the blue light that had flowed up and out of the stone altar that had held the codex. The light coated the lockers like a protective film, glowing more brightly now as if to signify burgeoning life within.

  A new tension charged the air, and the Emissary stood alert now, attention shifting all around that immense chamber as though uncertain where the next stage in the process would begin.

  It seemed to begin everywhere at once. A new sound added itself to the deep rumbling, a sliding electrical hiss as the lockers on the bottom row emerged not quite simultaneously, extending several feet from the wall so that the corners of one nearly touched the next. Within two or three minutes it appeared that all those on the bottom row had emerged, several thousand polished metal caskets forming a miles-long ring around the interior of the chamber. The containers began to open in near unison, hundreds upon hundreds of lids rising all around them, hinged at the rear so the metal plates tilted up and back against the walls and the lockers above them, revealing thousands of pale spectral forms.

  Lit by the surrounding blue light, large tall figures much like the Emissary rose uncertainly from the lockers, stiff and awkward and naked, though whether a distinction of sexes existed among them Cale still could not determine. Their skin was dark and mottled, with strips of fur or thick hair along their torsos and upper legs. The massive scaled heads twitched and jerked, huge eyes blinking spasmodically. One by one they leaned over to retrieve bundles of dark cloth, and all around the vault the aliens pulled loose robes over their heads before carefully climbing out and standing barefoot on the chamber floor.

  Three or four thousand robed aliens now stood around the perimeter of the vault, most of them facing the Emissary, others studying the humans with indeterminate expressions and unfathomable intentions. They stepped away from the lockers, their movements still stiff and weak and unsure.

  The lockers dimmed and drew back into the walls, until they were flush with the other lockers above them. They did not stop there, however, they kept receding, forming dark and empty hollows in the walls. The next row of lockers lowered slowly and smoothly into the new vacancies, and all the rows of lockers above them dropped one row as well, filling in all around the vault. Those lockers now on the floor level slid out from the wall as had the first, with that electrical hiss that filled the air and washed across the floor, surrounding them. The lids opened, and several thousand more aliens rose unsteadily from their coffin-like drawers, pulled on robes, and climbed out onto the vault floor, joining the others.

  Over the following hours, this entire procedure repeated itself six, seven, eight more times until twenty-five or thirty thousand robed aliens stood gathered in an enormous circle and the rows of lockers ceased their movements. The aliens appeare
d stunned, bewildered, yet one by one, throughout the chamber, they turned their attention to the vast empty ground before them as though waiting for something. The Emissary, too, stood looking out toward the center of that great vault, and Cale was certain they all waited for the same thing.

  The wait soon ended. A loud and terrible noise sheared the air, like the wail of some massive and wounded beast. The chamber floor began to open, at first a long rectangular slit through the center and running nearly from one wall to the other, not quite reaching the circle of aliens. It widened in sections as a series of panels pulled away, sliding back and under the floor, the opening now vaguely oval in shape with its rectangular edges, becoming wider and wider as more floor panels slid away.

  No light appeared from the opening, and from where he stood Cale could not even guess how deep the darkness went. The wailing faded, and soon was gone or so faint it was obscured by the deep background rumbling that never ceased. A new sound soon took its place, however, a resonant drumming that shook the floor, shook Cale’s bones, and seemed to presage the coming of . . . of whatever it was the aliens waited for. Cale sensed the increased anticipation among the thousands of waiting figures.

  A huge and hulking form outlined with starlike gleams appeared in the floor opening, indistinct at first and rising slowly. The ambient bluish light of the vault was absorbed in some places, but in others reflected from polished metal, from glass, from projections like antennae and from projections like enormous weapons and from others that bore no familiar shape at all but in size and prominence appeared critical and essential to the workings of the great starship that now rose within the chamber.

  Cale felt overwhelmed by the immensity of the ship, which dwarfed the Night Traveler and any other human starship he had ever seen or heard of. Shaped like some monstrous creature of the deeps, it had the form of a hunched leviathan with massive appendages, squat legs that supported its bulk on the platform that now settled into place with a resounding boom, shaking the vault.