“Approximately six thousand years old. And no, I don’t find it at all difficult.”
“Hmm. Interesting,” Sinclair replied. He was about to launch into a logical argument when Reynolds interrupted.
“Eugene’s officially here as an observer, and while we’re pretty much at full strength now with the new crew that came with him, I’m hoping we can take advantage of his knowledge.”
Reynolds was not prepared to let Sinclair engage in a debate over religion that he suspected would change no one’s mind, but that could cause dissension among the group. While Sinclair was generally level-headed in most matters, Reynolds knew that he was antagonistic towards those who believed in what Sinclair termed “myths and fairy tales.”
“I’ll help out any way I can,” Northrop said.
“Good,” replied Reynolds. “Now tomorrow morning, while engineering completes the laser scans, I’m going to call a meeting of department heads to assess what we’ve learned so far.”
He turned to Mitchell. “Steph, I want to know what you can extrapolate from what we’ve found in the Outhouse.”
“I’ve been working on it,” she replied.
“Dan, I know you’ve been getting reports back from your people on the information and materials you’ve sent them. I’m particularly interested in the linguistics results. Whatever you can share with us would be appreciated.”
“I’ve been authorized to provide all the information we have,” Lightfoot replied. “Not that it’s all that much.”
“Good. I want it to be a brainstorming session. I’m going to ask Arnie Greissman and Fred Taylor to sit in, along with Dick Behling from MIT, who just got here. Eugene, you’re welcome to attend, too.”
“Thank you, sir,” Northrup responded.
“It’s going to be a few more days before we reach the second level of Town Hall, and we’ve uncovered a lot of clues at the Outhouse about the folks who built this city.”
In a light voice, Sandy Ruggiero started to sing. “We built this city on rock and roll.”
Reynolds and the others — save Northrup — chuckled. “Knock it off, Sandy,” said Reynolds.
“I want to see what we can deduce by combining disciplines. I want us to play detective, and see what we can figure out from the clues we’ve found. I’d suggest that you all spend the rest of the evening getting your thoughts together for tomorrow.”
At that, the group broke up, clearing their dishes from the table as they went.
Some of the group sat themselves at computers, while others headed off to their quarters at the residence end of the shed. Northrup, feeling somewhat out of place, decided to return to his room. Once inside, he pulled off his parka and snow pants, and took off his outer boots.
Lowering the board on the wall to its horizontal position, he set up his computer and started entering a summary of the day’s activities and his impressions into his journal. He felt that doing so would help him gather his thoughts in preparation for his report to Billy Joe Wilder later that night. He was looking forward to their conversation, and felt certain that Wilder could help ease some of the conflicting feelings he was experiencing.
Everything he’d seen that day pointed to the suggestion that the structures of the city under the ice was not of human origin. But why would God create, or cause to be created, something that would serve beings other than man? There was no question at all that there was an intelligence behind the design of the city, and all intelligence by definition was a creation of God, and the Bible makes no mention of any intelligent creatures other than man.
Is it possible that God created other kinds of intelligent creatures on other planets? But why, if he created man in his own image, would he create other intelligent creatures not in his own image? As Northrup typed his notes, he kept his troubled thoughts out of them. The journal was his official report, and only the facts were appropriate.
When he’d been working for about half an hour, there was a knock on his door. He quickly scanned the room to make sure nothing that shouldn’t be seen was out, and then opened the door.
“Hi, Gene, can you spare a minute?” asked Sandy Ruggiero.
Northrup was slightly flustered. “Wha… uh, yes, of course. Please come in.” He backed up to make room for Ruggiero, who entered and closed the door behind her.
Instinctively, Northrup would have preferred to keep the door open with a woman in his room, but the narrow hallway outside was unheated, leaving him little choice. He retreated to the end of the room, and stood by the desk.
“I was writing my notes for the day,” he said, indicating his computer. “Please, have a seat.”
The moment he said that, he realized that the only place available for Ruggiero to sit was on his cot. He was alone in his room with a woman he’d only just met, and she’d be sitting on his bed.
“Thanks,” replied Ruggiero, unzipping her parka and sliding it off. She sat on the cot.
Lowering himself onto the chair, Northrup was immediately aware that she was no longer wearing the sweaters she’d been wearing earlier. Instead, she had on a flannel shirt, of which the top three buttons were undone. As it happened, Ruggiero would rather have arrived wearing a tight pair of shorts and something a little more seductive for a top — a halter, maybe — and had Northrup’s room been in the main residence section she could have done so, but since the new quarters had their own entrance from the main section of the shed, she’d had to dress more warmly.
“So how do you like it here so far?” she asked.
“Well, ma’am, frankly I’m finding it all a bit overwhelming.” Northrup’s heart was pounding. He’d never been in a situation like this before.
“Yeah, I suppose it is. Sometimes I go downtown, and just stand there, trying to imagine what it must have been like when whoever built it was still there. It gives me goose bumps.”
Goose bumps were exactly what Northrup was experiencing just then. He squirmed in his seat.
“Uh, what can I do for you, m… Sandy?”
Ruggiero moved closer to him on the cot as she answered. As she did, her shirt opened enough that Northrup could see that she had nothing on under it.
“I just dropped by to say that if there’s anything — anything at all — that I can do to make your time here more… pleasant, just let me know.”
As she settled into her new position, she put her hands on her knees. The motion caused her shirt to loosen against her, and despite his best effort to not look, Northrup could see her left breast. Ruggiero saw him looking and smiled. She leaned toward him slightly, and her hunch paid off, as he could now see her nipple.
“And I truly mean, anything at all,” she added.
Northrup had no idea how to handle this. He wasn’t completely sure, but he thought that this Ruggiero woman might be suggesting something improper. At the same time, this could simply be her way of being friendly. He was tempted to tell her that she was exposing herself to him, but then wondered if it was possible she was doing it on purpose.
“I… I, uh… uh. Thank you, ma’am,” he stammered. He stood suddenly, only to realize with horror that there was a large bulge at the crotch of his pants.
Ruggiero saw that her efforts were having the desired effect, and stood to face him. As she did, she undid the last two buttons of her shirt, and pulled it open, giving him a full view of what she considered to be a pretty decent set of hooters.
“Don’t call me ma’am,” she said as seductively as she could, moving closer to him.
Northrup instinctively backed away, which was good theory but bad practice, since the chair was directly behind him. He half-fell, half sat down, with his elbow hitting the fold-down desk. The spring action of the desk launched his laptop into the air, and it flipped over, closing the screen in the process while he continued backwards, hitting his head on the wall.
The sudden motion had stopped Ruggiero in her tracks, and in the silence that followed, the two were motionless for a moment, she watchi
ng him, and he staring at her breasts.
And then he gathered his resolve. Any question of whether her exposure was accidental had been answered. He remained seated, not daring to stand again.
“Ma’am, this is completely improper. I’m a God-fearing Christian, and I won’t be a part of any sins against the Lord. Please cover yourself and leave.”
“Aw, I thought you religious guys just put up a good front. You sure you wouldn’t like to play with these a bit?” she said, wiggling her boobs side to side.
Northrup nearly panicked. Every fiber of his body wanted desperately to touch her breasts, but his years of Baptist schooling told him that doing so would consign him to the fiery pits of Hell for all eternity. He grabbed the nearest thing at hand, which was his pillow, and standing, held it in front of her breasts.
“Ma’am. Miss Ruggiero. Sandy. Please. Just. Go.” His voice was close to cracking.
“Oh, all right,” she said, buttoning her shirt and tucking it in. She could sense the sexual tension he was feeling, and wondered if a more seductive outfit — perhaps one that would have been faster and easier to get out of — might have pushed him over the edge.
Northrup had lowered the pillow, and now held it in front of his crotch. Ruggiero pulled on her parka, and then turned and came close to him. He shrank back, but as before, had nowhere to go. Standing directly in front of him, she smiled and reached behind the pillow to rub his affliction through his pants. “If you change your mind, just let me know. I’ll be around,” she said, before turning and walking to the door. She opened it, stepped out, turned and smiled at him, and then was gone.
As she’d touched him, Northrup had felt a sudden release — one that he hadn’t felt since he’d been 13 years old and his father had discovered him sinning in the bathroom. The whipping and the lecture he’d received then had kept him from repeating the experience ever since.
For more than a minute, he stood, unable to move. Then he sat, and tried to compose himself. Finally, he got up, locked the door, removed his boots and pants, and pulled off his shorts. He used a face cloth to clean himself up, then put on clean shorts and his pants.
Then he knelt by his cot and prayed.
The events of the day, culminating in this confrontation with a half-naked woman, had left him badly shaken. He prayed for the strength to resist temptation. He prayed for guidance in understanding what lay underneath the ice. He prayed for the truth to be revealed to him so that he might carry it back to all God-fearing people. And he made a conscious effort not to pray for another glimpse of those beautiful breasts.
After more than a half hour, he rose, and returned to his desk. Turning his computer over and opening it, he found to his relief that it was undamaged, and he finished typing his notes. When he was done, he checked the time, and since it would be nearly an hour before he could call Billy Joe Wilder to present his first report, he opened his Bible and began to read, drawn to the book of St. Mark. When he came to chapter 14:38, he stopped, re-reading the passage several times: “Watch ye and pray, lest ye enter into temptation. The spirit truly is ready, but the flesh is weak.” His flesh indeed felt particularly weak.
At 10:15, which would be 7:15 in the morning Eastern Daylight Time, he placed his call to Billy Joe Wilder over his satellite phone.
“Reverend Wilder? This is Eugene Northrup.”
“Eugene, my boy! I’m glad to hear from you. I take it you arrived safe and sound?”
“Yes sir, I did. I arrived this afternoon, and I’ve already had a chance to see the excavation.”
“What’s the situation down there, son? I’ve been seeing some very disturbing things on the Internet about what’s going on down there.”
“Well sir, I’m not quite sure what to make of it. I was in the small pyramid today, and…”
“What’s that?” Wilder interrupted. “You were actually inside the pyramid?”
“Yes sir, I was. They tested the air, and it’s completely safe. I was able to just walk right in.”
“And these things they say they’ve found, these things they’re sayin’ are toilets. Are they real?”
“Yes sir, they appear to be real. I was standing right next to them earlier today.”
“And what’s your impression? Do you think they’re toilets?”
“They sure look like toilets, only about two times too big, at least for a man to be able to use comfortably.”
Wilder considered this for a moment. “Tell me, Eugene, is there any chance that those scientists down there could have built these toilet things themselves?”
“I don’t see how that would be possible, sir. They only opened the small pyramid yesterday. They’ve even got it all on video tape, though I haven’t seen it yet. Unless everyone here is lying, I’d have to say that those things were in there when they opened the pyramid.”
“Son, let me ask you a larger question. Is there any chance that the whole shebang, including toilets, the pyramid itself and everything… is there any chance that those scientists actually built the whole thing themselves?”
Northrup hadn’t considered this, and the question momentarily took him aback.
“No sir, I don’t think so. Actually seeing the pyramids, well, the scale of the things is just so big, and the main one’s still mostly buried under the ice… No, I’d have to say that it’s been there for a long time.”
“I see,” Wilder replied.
The two talked for a few additional minutes as Northrup described what he’d seen and done that day. He left out the encounter with Sandy Ruggiero. After a few more questions, Wilder admonished him to stay on his toes, and the two signed off.
Northrup packed away his computer, stripped down to his shorts and T-shirt, and knelt to say his evening prayers. Once in bed, the day’s events swirled through his mind, and it took him a while to fall asleep. When he finally did, he experienced some particularly vivid dreams, not all of which involved the pyramids.
When he awoke the next morning, he found that he needed yet another clean pair of shorts.
Chapter 16
Assessment
OK, everybody, if you’d all find a place to sit, I’d like to get started.” Reynolds was standing next to a white board that hung on the wall of the main office. A man who looked to be in his early 40s sat on the edge of a table near Reynolds, and another man, slightly older and quite tall, sat in a nearby chair. On Reynolds’ other side was a woman in her mid thirties. Reynolds waited as the group settled into chairs or sat on tables for a better view. The group included Dan Lightfoot, Stephanie Mitchell, Bob Sinclair, Arnold Greissman, Fred Taylor, Rank Matthews and Eugene Northrup, along with Barry Hanrahan, the senior grad student from MIT. Northrup was relieved to find that Sandy Ruggiero was not present.
“I’d like you all to meet some new members of our team,” Reynolds said. He turned to the woman sitting near him. “This is Deirdre McCollum, from Stanford. Deirdre’s our new M. D.” McCollum smiled and looked around the room at the others. “Over here is Dick Behling,” The man sitting on the table smiled and lifted his hand in greeting. “Dick’s co-chair of Mechanical Engineering at MIT. Next to him is Bob Fletch, from the University of Colorado School of Geology.” Fletch smiled and nodded to the others.
Reynolds asked the others to introduce themselves to the newcomers, which they did in turn.
“Alright, we’ve got a ton of information to work with from the Outhouse. The big question, of course, is who the hell built this place. Let’s start with what we know about the Outhouse and the toilets themselves. Barry, since Dick just arrived, would you bring us all up to speed on what you’ve found?”
“Sure,” Hanrahan replied. “Starting with the door, it appears that it works on a counterweight system, which means that it takes a relatively small amount of energy to open and close it. We can see some of the mechanism through the spaces on either side of where the door slides into the wall, but we can’t tell yet what the energy source is. We think the door is sup
posed to slide entirely into the wall, but it obviously hasn’t. Playing back the video tapes from when it was opened, there’s a scraping sound that makes us think the mechanism jammed as the door slid in. Based on that, we’ve decided not to try closing the door, since we’re not certain it would open again.
“The interior walls and the toilets are all made of the same material as the outer walls. In fact, we can’t find any seams anywhere. It’s as if the whole thing was poured all at the same time into some sort of giant lost-wax mold.
“Aside from the toilets, the ceiling is the most interesting part of the interior, since it has the ability to give off cold light. The light’s triggered by the presence of a weight of right around 260 pounds within an area with a diameter of three feet. We’ve taken micro samples of the ceiling, and it’s fascinating stuff. It’s basically the same granite/cement as everything else, but the mix of organic compounds is slightly different. It includes something similar to but not quite like the components of Luciferon, which is what makes fireflies glow.”
The mention of the word “Luciferon” made the hair on the back of Northrup’s neck stand up.
“The ceiling light obviously uses a power source of some sort, especially considering the fact that we appear to be draining it. When we make sure that we keep our weights apart for a while so that the ceiling turns off, and then apply sufficient weight to trigger it, it comes on brighter for a while. In other words, it seems to be recharging.”
Dick Behling interrupted his student with a question. “Any idea from where it could be drawing energy?”
Hanrahan shook his head. “Nothing certain. Our guess is that it’s absorbing energy from our lights. If this is the case, then the Outhouse had more than seven days under our lights to soak up energy before we went inside.
“There’s also something that we didn’t notice earlier, but that we’ve now confirmed at both Town Hall and the Outhouse. The temperature of the ice drops the closer it gets to the surface of the walls.”
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