Palmer thought for a moment before answering. The oldest known artifacts of human civilization dated back to around 8,000 or 9,000 BC, which was easy enough to fudge figures on. As for older human artifacts, from Cro Magnon on back through the earliest known hominids, the standard approach was simply to dispute the accuracy of carbon or potassium-argon dating. The same with dinosaurs; according to strict fundamentalist science, humans and dinosaurs walked the Earth at the same time, and the dinosaurs died out in the Flood.
Palmer knew that this was all nonsense. But Wilder’s viewers — his customers, he called them privately — were hard-core fundamentalists, and if the Bible said the Earth was only 6,000 years old, well, that’s our story and we’re sticking to it. Give the customers what they want.
“I’d go after the whole carbon dating thing. Your folks already think it’s bogus, so this fits in perfectly. As for the ice pack, I’d ignore that. The average person has no idea how the age of glacial ice is dated, so I’d just leave it to them to find their own way to discredit that evidence.”
“Hmm,” Wilder considered. “I think you’re right. I’ll keep things simple. Turn it to a good old, basic attack on the eggheads themselves.”
“Why mess with something that works?” Palmer replied.
“Good,” said Wilder, glad that his instincts had been confirmed.
“So, Billy, when we going fishing again?” asked Palmer.
“Boy I’d like to, Bobby, but, well, Mabel keeps coming up with these functions I gotta go to. You know, keep the image up and give face time to the flock.”
“How is the battleaxe?” asked Palmer.
“Hell, you know,” said Wilder. “Still the same. Shit, she’s so tight when she farts she whistles.”
Palmer laughed. “Well, that’s why the good Lord made secretaries with big boobs!”
“You got that right,” said Wilder with a chuckle. “OK, bubba, speaking of the ball and chain, I’m expected home for dinner.”
“Yeah, me too. See ya later, B. J.” said Palmer, and they hung up.
Before he left his office, Wilder made a stop in the bathroom to wash himself off. It wouldn’t be good for Mabel to notice the aroma that clung to him when he came to bed tonight.
•
When Sheila Eakins got to her apartment, she fed the cat, closed the curtains, went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She then took a large hit of mouthwash and swirled it around for more than a minute before spitting and rinsing.
Billy Joe Wilder was a wonderful man, she thought, and he truly needed her help and support, and she was thrilled that he turned to her to give him the strength to carry on the good fight. And the Lord wouldn’t have made us of flesh and blood, she thought, with all the attendant needs if He hadn’t intended us to fulfill those needs. But all the same, she’d be just as happy if Billy Joe were, well, maybe just a bit more conventional in his appetites.
She slipped out of her clothes and stepped into the shower. As she washed herself, she imagined that the hands moving over her body were Billy Joe’s, and she remembered what he’d felt like, and she knew that she was truly doing God’s work.
Chapter 5
The Spooks
There was a low hum from the panel in the wall as Dan Lightfoot aimed his right eye into the retinal scanner, and then a beep as the words “ACCESS GRANTED” appeared on the display. He inserted his key card into the slot in the door, and turning the handle, entered the offices of the Special Operations Section of the National Security Agency.
“Good morning, Mr. Lightfoot,” said the secretary as he entered.
“Good morning, Miss Ellerby,” he replied, sticking to their traditional script. She grinned as he went past her desk and gave her a subtle little salute. If Lightfoot weren’t a happily married man, he’d be all over Janet Ellerby, and she knew it, and he knew that she knew it. But he was happily married, and so they played their quasi-Bond/Moneypenny game a notch or two below the version played out in the books and movies. Still, she sighed slightly to herself as she watched him walk away. He was an awfully good-looking man.
Navigating the maze of corridors created by the cubicles in the large open area, Lightfoot made his way to Conference Room B. Upon entering the dark wood-paneled room, he found the others were already present, and he appeared to be late, since there was already a discussion in progress. As he moved to a seat at the near side of the conference table, the man at the head of the table looked up and interrupted himself.
“Dan, I’m glad you’re here. Now we can get started.”
“I’m not late, am I?” Lightfoot asked.
“Don’t worry, we’re all early,” said Gordon Winston, the Director of Special Operations.
Lightfoot traded nods with the others seated around the table.
To his immediate left was Archer Demarco, the agency’s resident historian. Next was Florence Hummford, a specialist in languages and cryptology. On the other side of the table was a man Lightfoot didn’t recognize, then Craig Polhemus, head of the agency’s laboratory, and finally, Doug Lee, who didn’t really have a formal title, but always seemed to be present at high-level meetings. Some within the agency considered him to be the “resident genius.”
“Dan, you know everyone here except Roger McReady,” said Winston, indicating the man sitting to his left. “Roger’s a retired Air Force Colonel who was involved with Project Blue Book back in the 60’s, and with several UFO research projects since then. I’ve asked him to sit in so we can get the benefit of his experience on aspects of our subject.”
McReady and Lightfoot exchanged nods, and then both turned to face Winston.
“I know you’re all aware of the events of the last few weeks in Antarctica, and that you’ve seen the press conference tape that was part of your briefing packages. Frankly, we have no idea if anything found down there poses a threat to the U. S. or any other country, but as is our custom, we like to stay on top of things.
“All of the experts we’ve contacted seem to agree that, if the data are correct with regard to dates, there’s no logical explanation for this ‘city’ that’s been located under the ice that meshes with any of the planet’s history as we understand it. During the press conference, Stephanie Mitchell discussed the possibility of alien activity, and as wild as that may seem, based on the evidence, we have no choice but to include it among the possible scenarios.”
Winston looked around the table for reactions, but this was a stoic group. So he added his kicker.
“Actually, it appears that this is the most likely scenario.”
Lightfoot already had a fairly good idea why he’d been called into this meeting, but Winston’s last comment confirmed it. Lightfoot was a field agent, but was also one of the agency’s unofficial exobiologists, having made a hobby of keeping track of claims of alien activities. He’d even earned the occasional nickname of “Mulder,” after the character from the old “X-Files” television show.
“Are we planning to take an active role?” he asked.
“Not for the time being,” said Winston. “We’re going to monitor the situation until the research team gets its shaft dug. But when they’ve reached the surface — that is, ground level under the ice pack — and have their workspace opened up, they’re planning on bringing in additional personnel. That’s when we want to have someone present, and Dan, that someone will be you.”
Dan nodded. He’d seen this coming.
“Archie, could you give us some perspective on how this site fits in with any other artifacts found on Earth?”
Demarco cleared his throat. “Well, it pretty much doesn’t. As far as the design is concerned, the overall pattern when viewed from above is based on equilateral triangles, while nearly all human cultures that developed construction technology based their designs on squares, rectangles, circles and ovals.
“As to the apparent age of the site, the only things that even come close are what have been called ‘Ooparts,’ which is an acronym for
‘Out-Of-Place Artifacts.’ These raised a little notice during the 70’s and 80’s in a couple of sensationalist books, and most serious researchers discounted them, but not all of them were completely debunked.
“For instance, there’s what was known as ‘Galt’s Cube,’ which was a perfect metal cube under an inch on each side with an indentation running around four of the sides that was supposedly found embedded in a piece of coal. There was also a gold necklace that was supposed to have been found embedded in a piece of quartz. Both of these couldn’t possibly exist unless the objects had been present tens or hundreds of millions of years ago.
“But these examples have never been proved as being valid, so they remain in the realm of the speculative.”
“So the bottom line is…” asked Winston.
“There’s anecdotal evidence of extremely ancient artifacts, meaning tens of millions of years old, but nothing proven or concrete.”
“All right. Thanks, Archie.”
Winston turned to McReady. “Roger, can you give us a quick summary of what the Air Force’s findings have been with regard to any sort of extraterrestrial activities?”
“Sure,” said McReady. Now in his mid seventies, McReady had the craggy look of a flier despite never having piloted an Air Force plane. He had “flown” desks at bases around the world, first in aerial port squadrons, then with Project Blue Book, and finally as an investigator in the Judge Advocate’s office at the time he retired. He leaned forward and clasped his hands in front of him.
“Despite all the commotion in the popular press — Roswell, and all that stuff — we were never able to verify any evidence that any alien presence has ever visited Earth. We had some tantalizing hints over the years, and personally, I’m not completely convinced that we’ve never had visitors, but we’ve never been able to prove it.”
“So what’s your take on the findings in Antarctica?” Winston asked.
“I’d say this is the closest we’ve come to hard physical evidence, assuming that what’s down there is some kind of artificial structure, and absent any other explanation.”
“So this finally could be the proof you’ve been looking for?” asked Lightfoot, though it was as much a statement as a question.
“Well, remember that officially, Blue Book wasn’t out to prove anything. Our job was to collate and investigate reports of alien activity. But yes, on a personal level a lot of us who were involved hoped we’d find some positive evidence eventually.”
“And now?” asked Winston.
“I must admit to being a bit uneasy.”
“Why’s that?”
“Everyone in the press conference keeps referring to whatever’s down there as a ‘city,’ probably because it covers roughly 85 acres. Since then, the reference has stuck in everybody’s mind. But what if it isn’t a city? What if it’s a ship?”
McReady paused to let the thought sink in for a moment.
“If it is, then that’s one big spacecraft.”
The room was still for a few moments before Winston spoke.
“Roger and I discussed this possibility several days ago, which is why I asked you to participate, Florence.” She nodded slightly. “There’s a possibility that we may need to deal with translation from what would be a completely alien language. I thought you might want to get a head start on how you might tackle something like that.”
“Actually, there’s been some interesting work done on the subject already,” Hummford replied. “We assume, of course, that any alien culture would use a written or spoken language in essentially the same way we do, which may not be a safe assumption. For example, it would be possible to base communication on touch, or smell, or on postures — something like sign language. But it seems fairly certain that a technologically advanced species would need to be able to store and retrieve information, and visual and/or aural information is the most efficient method we know of for doing this.
“I’ll contact some of the people who’ve been working on the problem on a preliminary basis, if that’s alright.”
Winston nodded. “Be discrete, and keep in the back of your mind the possibility that you may need to go down there yourself.”
Lightfoot leaned forward in his chair as he spoke up. “Gordon, under what circumstances would we get involved on a large scale?”
“It’s very simple,” said Winston. “If there’s anything that appears as if it might affect national security, then we’d be prepared to take over completely, using both our own resources and those of the military. The site’s within the Australian sector, so we wouldn’t have much of a problem setting up joint jurisdiction.
“On the other hand, if the find proves to be benign, we’ll offer any assistance we can provide, but other than that, we’ll leave the matter in academic hands.”
Winston turned to Craig Polhemus. “Craig, you’ve had a chance to analyze some of the material brought up from the site. I know your results, but could you summarize for the others, please?”
Polhemus was a direct person, a bespectacled scientist who wasted few words. “It’s concrete, it’s apparently based on granite mixed with organic material, it’s artificial, and I have no idea how it was made or how we could duplicate it.
“From our analysis, this material was poured like concrete, but it set in a way that no concrete we know of would set. The molecular structure of normal, everyday concrete is relatively random. The structure of this stuff is highly regular and interlocked in a way that I can’t explain.
“Because of its density and molecular structure, it’s one of the toughest materials we’ve ever seen. The team down in Antarctica went through an average of three diamond bits for every sample they were able to bring up. They had to fly in spares. Whatever that is down there, it’s still there because it was built to last.”
He turned to McReady. “And if it is a space ship, it’s not only big, but it’s incredibly heavy for something built to fly. That is, assuming that the entire thing is made of the same stuff.”
McReady thought about this a moment, and tilted his head back without answering.
“Thank you Craig,” said Winston, before turning to Lightfoot.
“Dan, when the time comes, you’ll be heading down with an ID from the EPA, on the basis that there could be hazardous materials on site. That should give you full access without raising too many eyebrows.”
Lightfoot nodded. The Environmental Protection Agency was a logical participant on the part of the government. It’d make an excellent cover.
“I’ve set up a briefing for you with a couple of their people who’ve spent time at McMurdo, and they should be able to provide the background information you need and material to study so that you can talk intelligently on the subject.”
“Good,” Lightfoot replied. It was something that he usually found enjoyable about undercover assignments: He got a chance to learn about subjects outside his own specialty.
Winston now turned to Doug Lee. “Doug, do you have any thoughts on all this?”
Lee frowned slightly, pursing his lips and staring at the surface of the table, and didn’t immediately respond. In the pause, Roger McReady glanced first at Winston, and then leaned over the desk and looked Lee. “If it’s not too rude of me, could I ask what it is that you do?”
Lee’s expression remained the same, but he brought his gaze up to McReady. “I’m not really sure,” he answered in his slightly nasal voice. McReady smiled slightly, and then sat back in his chair. After a moment, Lee responded.
“Gordon, I think we should be prepared for the possibility that what’s down there under the ice is not extraterrestrial in origin. We won’t know until we actually get there, but personally, I doubt that it is.”
“Would you care to share your thoughts on what it might be?” asked Winston.
“Actually, no. At this point I’d rather not. Let’s just call it a hunch that I’d like to keep to myself for the moment.
“The one thing that I would like
to suggest, however, in case nobody’s thought of it so far, is that when the science team drills into the structures down there, the drilling should be done with full biohazard protections.”
The room was silent for a long moment, as the group assimilated the implications of what Lee had said, and then Winston made a noise.
“Mphh!”
Chapter 6
First Touch
The jackhammers shut down, and Hal Reynolds waited until the crew shoveled the last of the ice away from the wall. He was standing on the dark gray concrete surface of the “Town,” as they’d come to call it, within a few feet of the main structure. Nine weeks had elapsed since the press conference in Berkeley.
The shaft from the ice surface more than 500 feet above measured approximately eight feet in diameter. A conveyor belt-type lift had been installed that could raise or lower people and equipment, and that carried excavated ice to the surface in buckets. Electrical cables and ventilation, water and exhaust pipes for the gas-powered compressors ran alongside the lift.
At the shaft’s base an area roughly 20 feet square had been opened up to a height of eight feet, much of which was already filled with equipment around three walls. Behind the North wall was “Town Hall” — the main structure.
When the shaft had reached the town level after three weeks of drilling, there had been quite a discussion about who should be the first person lowered on a sling. Dan Lightfoot, who’d only recently arrived, argued that since they had no idea what to expect, he should make the descent wearing protective clothing and a respirator, and armed with the detection equipment he’d brought with him. This would give him the chance to make sure there was nothing toxic at the lower surface.
Reynolds, however, was adamant about making the initial descent himself. His rebuttal to Lightfoot’s concern was that none of the samples brought up to date had shown anything hazardous at the surface. At most, they’d found layers of soil, ash and organic matter — moss, ferns and the like — sandwiched between the ice and the concrete.
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