by CJ Birch
“Ash, you don’t have to placate me. I’m used to having people not agree with my decisions. But the great thing about my job is that I get my own way no matter if they do or not.”
We follow the others in silence for a few moments. We’re on some sort of trail, which isn’t the best idea. As soon as the avians discover we’re gone, this will be the first place they look for us. But I’m reluctant to veer off the path in case we discover another type of native out to kill us.
“For somebody who’s in the business of taking orders, you don’t do so well at it,” I say.
She stares up at the canopy before responding. “I was five the first time I disagreed with my dad. He wanted me to make my bed every morning before coming down to breakfast. I thought it was silly because it was going to get messed up again when I took my nap in the afternoon and again when I went to bed.” Her face darkens as she continues, and I know she’s not recounting a good memory. “And I’ll never forget the look on his face when I said that, like it was the most stupid thing he’d ever heard. He took hold of the table with both hands.” She demonstrates the grip. “And upended it. Cutlery and dishes flew everywhere. And he screamed. It was the first time I’d heard him yell like that. If there was no point to making a bed in the morning than there was no point to setting the table for breakfast. No point in even getting up and going to work. He said, that if we let the little things run to chaos, our world would follow. It all sounded so stupid to me at the time. And I realized then, my life would be this long string of orders I didn’t want to follow. So I made up my mind that I would find a way to make those orders my choice.”
“And then you joined Union fleet.”
She laughs, but it’s more sad than happy. “I discovered that I don’t actually like being in charge, too much stress and responsibility. But I don’t like being one of the many either.” She shrugs. “It’s weird. You’re the first commander I’ve ever disobeyed, but also the only one that I would follow anywhere.”
I’m floored. I have no response to her statement, but there’s a warmth radiating from the pit of my stomach.
We keep walking, following the others along the path. Every so often there’s a sharp incline followed by a steep downslope.
After our third Ash says, “My mom would’ve loved to see this place. She used to dream about Earth even more than I did.”
“You said she was a twin?” It must be strange to have a sibling, someone to share in the mischief. Ash nods. I want to ask how her mom died. She’s never talked about it, but I don’t want to pry either. I hate when people do it to me.
“We were on Epsilon.” At my confused look, she clarifies. “When it happened. When my mom died.” We reach another sharp incline and I grab Ash’s arm when she slips on some loose dirt. I hold on a little longer when we reach the top.
“It was a Burr raid.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
She squeezes my hand and lets go. “No, I want to. I’ve been thinking about her a lot since we’ve been here. She loved stories of Earth. More so than my dad. He loved living on the Belt.” We’re much further back from the rest now. I wonder if that’s intentional so she doesn’t have to speak so quietly. “We were there visiting one of the mining homes with my cousin. They came on the third day. A small group of them. I don’t even know what they were there for, food I guess, who knows. I was only ten at the time. The whole thing was like a video game. My cousin and I had been playing around in one of the complexes when we heard this loud boom. When we entered the main promenade, there were fires everywhere. People were on the ground, covered in blood and debris.” Ash stops to pick a twig out of her boot and let the others move even further ahead. She chucks it aside before continuing.
“There was this one woman, she’d lost both her legs, but she was still trying to crawl away with her arms. I remember feeling sorry for her because she wouldn’t give up and you could see how much pain it was causing her. Then she looked up, looked right at me, and I realized it was my mom. She’d been crawling toward my cousin and me, trying to make sure we were safe.” Our pace has slowed so much, we’ve almost stopped. I want to wrap my arm around Ash, but I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. She stops completely, right in the middle of the trail and turns to me before she continues the story. “I couldn’t move. I stood there and watched as one of the Burrs came over and hit her in the head. He turned to us, ready to do the same thing he’d done to dozens of other people that afternoon, but I still couldn’t move. To my right was this old man. He’d tripped over someone, a young woman. I started to run over and help him, but my cousin grabbed my arm and pulled me away. The last thing I saw of that old man was his head bouncing off the ground. I kept hoping that he was dead before he hit.” She pauses, cracks a few knuckles and looks back up at me. “My cousin said he died so we could both live. But I’ve always wondered if we’d stepped in, could we have saved him? I always said I’d never let it happen again.”
I motion for us to keep moving. I don’t want to get too far behind the others. “You can’t save everyone.” It’s something I learned early on. Even before we escaped the station. Raids would go out with dozens of men and only a few would come back. My dad always said it was the cost of doing business. He treated his men as resources, no more valuable than the items they brought back with them. It’s a cynical way to look at the world. For a brief moment, I see the world as he would’ve experienced it. From the time he was in his late teens, Sarka was an object. A resource. Something to consume and discard once it no longer had use. If that was my life, would I be like him now? God, I hope not.
“Only a dozen or so people survived out of hundreds, my aunt and my cousin included. My dad went ballistic.”
I’m about to reach for Ash’s hand when we halt. The others have stopped on top of a small hill overlooking the clearing we camped at the other day. Beyond stands the pyramid, dark against the night sky.
“Holy shit. It’s massive. When you said pyramid, I pictured something smaller. The shape, yes, but not the size,” Hartley says.
Ash is in as much awe. In the moonlight it looks even more impressive. The black stone reflects the moon and surrounding phosphorescent leaves.
“Come on.” Hartley waves us forward. “Let’s see if we can get inside.”
“Whoa, Hartley, hold up.” I grab his arm, holding him back. “We need to head back to the ship. We don’t have time to get sidetracked.”
“But, Captain, don’t you want to explore? This is the whole point of our mission, to discover other cultures. This,” he holds his arms out, indicating the massive pyramid before us, “is the greatest thing humans have ever discovered. This is ancient technology created by an alien species. And isn’t it amazing how much it resembles our own?” He has a point. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious to see what’s in it. But is it irresponsible when it puts us in a compromised position?
“We may never have this opportunity again,” Hartley says.
“Okay, but if we can’t get in within an hour, we leave the mystery to the pyramid and head back to the ship.”
As soon as I say, “okay,” Hartley skips down the hill toward the pyramid.
When we get to the familiar doorway at the base of the stairs, Hartley feels around the ground near the base of the door. Finally he stands, brandishing a sharp rock. “What’s everyone’s blood type?”
Mostly everyone shrugs except Ash who calls out, “O negative.”
“Ash, get over here and give me your hand.”
She glances at me first before walking over to Hartley and giving up her hand. Hartley drags the edge of the stone across her palm, opening a long nasty gash. Before she even has a chance to scream, he’s shoved her hand in the recess next to the door.
“You couldn’t have used your own blood?” She wipes her hand on her shorts.
Chloe clucks at Hartley. “Do you have any idea how easily that can get infected?” She g
rabs Ash’s hand before she can wipe it on her shorts again. No one seems more surprised than Ash that she even cares. Chloe pulls out her med kit and begins drenching Ash’s palm in disinfectant.
“Ow.” Ash pulls her hand back.
“Do you want to die out here because you’re a big baby?” Chloe holds out her hand. Reluctantly, Ash places her hand back in Chloe’s.
“They already tried that, Hartley. Blood doesn’t open it,” I say.
“I think I figured out what the two circles mean, Captain. The avians discovered that you need blood to open the door, but that’s only part of the key. When you mentioned that they tried Sarka’s and it didn’t work, I started to wonder if the two circles were a sign that it was only a certain type of blood that would open it.” As soon as he says this, we hear a loud crunch and a deep rumble as the door in front of us begins to open. “O negative can be used as a universal donor, but only in emergency situations. There may still be antibodies that can cause problems during transfusions but I figure the pyramid wouldn’t know the difference in this situation.” He grins and takes a deep breath. “And it worked. Ash’s blood opened the doors.” Not for the first time in my life, I’m reminded I have the wrong type of blood inside me.
Chapter Twenty-one
“I’ve stepped in something.” Foer groans, halfway down the stairs. “You think there are animals in here?”
“Nothing’s been in here for centuries.” Fossick calls forward from the back of the line. “It’s only your imagination.”
“It didn’t sound like my imagination.”
There’s not much light to see by. Hartley rigged up branches of the phosphorescent leaves to use as torches. They throw eerie shadows against the walls as we descend into what looks like a vast, dark pit.
“That’s not actually true, Fossick. Animals can squeeze into surprising things,” Hartley says.
Mani laughs. “They’re resourceful little fuckers.”
“I once found a rat carcass in the hydrogen chamber of one of my prototypes. The opening was only twenty-five millimeters wide.”
“Gee, thanks, Hartley,” says Fossick.
“You’re welcome.”
It must have taken several decades to build this. The outside is massive, but so is the inside. We’ve been walking for over twenty minutes without reaching the bottom. The smell is getting mustier too. I’m having second and third thoughts about agreeing to this. We should’ve left well enough alone. How do we know we’re not walking into an ancient booby trap?
But why would they make a door if they didn’t want people to enter? Or, maybe it’s the right kind of people. How many avians had to give their blood before they figured out theirs didn’t work? It makes me more worried that ours does work.
Ash halts in front of me and raises her fist for us to stop. She looks at me. In the glow of the green phosphorescence, her eyes flare like emeralds.
“There’s something up ahead. And the air’s changed. Can you feel it?”
I nod. It’s thinner somehow, and it feels more claustrophobic. I turn to Hartley. “You guys stay here. We’re going to investigate.”
We creep closer and find another door like the one at the top of the stairs. We call to the others. As they join us, Ash and I inspect the door. It also has a recess next to it.
“How’s your hand?” I ask Ash. She lifts it to the light and we both inspect the gash. It’s already clotting.
“It’s fine. I can reopen it. Doesn’t hurt much,” Ash says.
“Let someone else do it. You don’t need to reopen yours. It’ll get infected.”
“We don’t know how many doors we’re going to find in here. And who knows if there’s anyone else who can open a door. It’s easier if I do it.”
I hold my makeshift torch up to the recess. Above it is a series of dots. “Hey, Hartley, what do you think these mean?”
He peers over my shoulder, mumbling as he reads. “Wow, this is amazing. They’ve set up a sort of access code to get through the door. It’s not about the blood, you have to figure out what the next sequence is.” He points to a panel below with oblong stones sticking out and extra holes underneath. “We need to place the stones in the right spots to get the door to open.”
“Can you figure out the right sequence?”
“Of course I can. Give me a few seconds to think it through.” Before he’s even finished speaking, he’s rearranging the stones in the holes. As he sets the last peg, the door creaks, then opens.
“What was the sequence?” I ask.
“It was simple. I don’t think they were trying to be difficult.”
Simple. Right. Ash and I exchange a look.
“Hartley, your definition of simple is our definition of difficult,” Ash says.
Hartley points to the series of dots, which to me looks like a jumble of nonsense. I’m amazed that Hartley’s brain can create a pattern out of it. “We have a list of numbers represented by the dots, one, one, two, three, five and so on. Then they ask for the next number in the series, which you get by adding the last two numbers in the sequence together. It’s known as the Fibonacci sequence. It can either start with a one or a zero. Although it would be hard to represent zero on this grid. I bet these avians haven’t discovered zero yet.”
“And that’s unusual?” Ash asks.
I check to make sure everyone is still with us. Foer, who’s holding one of the makeshift torches, stands near the back. His jaw and cheekbones protrude in the light.
We’ve now stepped into another corridor, leading us down on a slight incline. If I were a religious person, it might feel like we were walking deep into hell. A very dark and musty hell.
“Zero is not an easy concept to accept. You think nothing of it because you learned to use it in early math class. Imagine never having seen zero before and then someone says, here is something that represents nothing. It would stump you. Humans didn’t even come up with zero as a placeholder until the Babylonians and even then that was a rudimentary precursor to our current zero.”
Again, I wonder if Hartley spent most of his life reading textbooks.
As we descend, the corridor gets narrower, forcing us to move in closer together. Ash pushes in front so she has the lead. I’m about to argue with her, but the look she gives me tells me there’s no point. She’s put herself in the line of fire. I wish some of the crew could have at least a tenth of her bravery. Fossick’s staked out the back of the line, ready to turn tail the minute we encounter problems.
“I don’t get it though. What’s so big about zero? If it doesn’t represent anything?” Mani asks.
“But it does represent something. Often, it represents the absence of something. Without it, we wouldn’t have algebra, calculus, advanced arithmetic, or even computers. Imagine our world without computers.”
“And what makes you think that the ones who built this pyramid have discovered zero?”
“They were far more advanced than this pyramid suggests.”
When we get to the end of the hall, there’s another series of dots to the left of the door with a panel of blank holes. Ash and I hold up our branches of phosphorescent leaves so Hartley can see the numbers.
I’m glad we have Hartley with us because math isn’t my strong suit. As one of my calculus instructors used to say, I’m not bad at math, just lazy. I can’t help it, numbers hold no fascination for me, not the way they do for Hartley.
He reads out the list of ten numbers—a few times—before reaching for the pre-cut stones. Ash stops him.
“Wait, I want to see if I can get it,” she says, still holding on to his arm. I lean in closer, astonished they can find a pattern in these random numbers. I read them to myself, two, nine, three, one, eight, four, three, six, five, seven, but they’re still nonsense.
Hartley grins. “Did you get it?”
“Two,” she says. He smiles, displaying teeth that glow green in the light.
“Yep.” He puts two stones in the two spot and th
e door opens.
“How the hell did you come up with that number?”
“There’s two sequences. Two, three, four, five, and nine, eighteen, thirty-six, seventy-two. The seventy-two was missing a two. The second sequence doubled the number each time. You see?”
“Ugh, that hurts my brain thinking about it.” I follow Ash and Hartley through the doorway.
This room is different. The realization is immediate. We’ve reached the main chamber. There’s a blue glow coming from the center. It casts odd shadows around the cavernous room. I step forward and stop everyone from walking any further. The light is moving.
“There’s someone here,” I whisper. They all freeze, listening for any sounds. All is quiet. All is still except for the flickering coming from the mass of objects in the center of the room.
I motion for everyone to stay. Then, I creep to the side and edge along the wall. My heart is pounding in my chest, thumping against my ribs so hard I can’t breathe. I look back at the group. They’re all crowded around the doorway. Fossick looks ready to bolt the second trouble comes, Ash is ready to run forward the second I give the word. Chloe, looks fearful, Foer and Mani are watchful. Hartley is kneeling on the floor, examining something at his feet.
As I come around to the source of the light, I realize it’s coming from a bank of monitors. They’re displaying scenes from the jungle and the avian village. I take a step closer. It’s not the village we were at. There are at least five different villages displayed on the monitors.
I stop when I see a figure seated in front of the monitors. It’s slumped forward with its head resting on the table. Its arms hang limp at its side. I step closer, treading as lightly as I can in my boots. There’s still no movement by the time I make it to the set of monitors. I nudge the figure’s shoulder. Nothing. I pull back its shoulder. It weighs almost nothing. The second I touch it, I know it’s dead. There’s no warmth left in this body and hasn’t been for a long time.
As I pull it upright, the head falls back. The face has a frozen grimace and dead eyes. The face is similar to those of the avians, only the beak is much less pronounced. It’s more like a hard shell where our noses are. Goose bumps pop up on my skin and I stumble back. I take a quick look around, but the room is empty except for the monitors and dead guardian.