“I trust you,” Hek’Dara said, and they kissed again. He wondered, have I made a fatal mistake?
Kepler 369 – the Ancient Temple
May 6, 2442 – Earth Time
Tensions were high in the mountain complex after Gregaor Xavier arrived several hours earlier. His smug and off-putting attitude added to an already strained mission. Many of Charles Long’s expedition team spoke openly of how they didn’t think he helped the situation. That it would be better off if he just left. Da’Mira didn’t blame them – but she worried they would enrage Gregaor. Since he arrived at the planet, his mood swings were out of control and she knew it would be a matter of time before he turned on them. Most high-born weren’t used to hearing subordinates insulting the upper class.
To keep him separated from the others, they broke off into teams. Da’Mira convinced Gregaor that he and Van should accompany her in exploring the temple. She hoped that would give Charles Long the freedom he needed to restore power to the underground fortress. Something the professor wouldn’t be able to do with Gregaor hovering over him like a watchdog. Da’Mira found survival clothing in the supplies, snug and constrictive, the clothes felt like a snake coiled around her and she struggled to breathe in the tight outfit.
“I don’t know why we have to dress like we are walking into a blizzard, we’re going deeper into the temple that’s all –” Gregaor complained while he suited up.
“You heard Professor Long! It’s colder deeper in the temple, these warmer clothes will be the difference of exploring or becoming part of the ruins,” Da’Mira said. She picked up a flash light and flipped it on to make sure its chemical excitation hadn’t run down. She gave it a good shake, confident, she snapped it on her belt.
Gregaor grunted and said, “I’m not sure your professor is up to this. His knowledge is –”
“More extensive than ours,” Da’Mira assured him. She helped Van into a long jacket and snapped it closed. He swam in the coat and looked like a small boy wearing his father’s clothing.
Once geared up, they met Professor Long at the start of the hall.
“I’ll have the alien writing deciphered before your return.” Hyta said confident.
Charles shook Hyta’s hand, gave her a thin worried smile and led the group of Da’Mira, Van, Gregaor, My Own and several other archeologists into the hall.
The air turned stale and bitter the further the team went into the corridor. Even in her constrictive clothing Da’Mira felt its bite. She’d never known subzero temperatures before.
“Watch your footing,” My Own warned. The floor glazed over with a thin sheet of ice.
Gregaor shone his light onto the wall and Van let out a yelp when he saw the faces incased in the ice. “What are those, ghosts,” he exclaimed.
Da’Mira jumped, startled when she saw the open eyes of the Requiem’s landing team staring out at her.
Gregaor examined them. “And you’re certain they are alive? They look awful dead.”
“Lucky for them you’re not in charge,” My Own said.
“Impudent child,” Gregaor snapped and flashed his light in My Own’s face.
“Hey – how’d you like to eat that flashlight?”
Da’Mira hid a smile and snapped, “We won’t get too far with us bickering at one another. Gregaor this is my expedition, and these are my people. You are here – well you’re here because I can’t trust you out of my sight.”
Gregaor gave Da’Mira a sullen look and lowered his flashlight to the floor.
“This is as far as we went,” Charles said and shined his flashlight’s beam into the face of Vincent Abernathy.
“This is your friend?” Da’Mira asked.
Charles nodded. “This would have excited him.”
“And you’re not?”
Charles cracked a smile, and enthusiastically said, “Oh, I’m extremely excited. I just wish he was here to share in that.”
“Maybe he will be,” Da’Mira said. “Should we go on?”
“Yes,” Charles said and cleared his throat. “From here on everything is unexplored. Stay vigil. I’m not sure what or who we will find.”
“I don’t understand this, Professor,” Gregaor spoke up in a standoffish tone. “If there isn’t any power then how are these ice tombs functioning?”
“Ice tombs?” Charles scratched his chin. “Yes, I suppose they could be called ice tombs. Perhaps they are part of an underground glacier or there is an independent power source that keeps the refrigeration on. I’m not sure.”
Gregaor’s face knotted, and he said snidely, “Aren’t you supposed to be the expert?”
“I am an expert in many things, Lord Xavier, but something like this, I’m in the dark. That’s why it’s called exploring –”
Gregaor huffed, pushed several people out of his way and stormed up the hall, his arms waving above his head cursing and ranting.
Van took hold of Da’Mira’s arm and pulled her aside. His round eyes drooped.
“What is it Van?”
Van shushed Da’Mira by putting his fingers up to his mouth. He looked down the corridor toward Gregaor and whispered, “My brother’s addicted… to gold. He’s not had any for some time.”
Then Da’Mira understood. Gregaor was having withdrawals. “It will get a lot worse before it gets better,” she told Van, and he took her hand in his and squeezed hard.
Charles went to work on the computer system. Most of the circuits were just as frozen like his friends in the ice. Working on the computer was next to impossible. He tried chipping away at the ice but the harder he chipped, the faster the ice recovered and solidified. He huffed; his breath frozen in the air.
“I don’t remember the internal systems being frozen solid when we looked at them the last time,” My Own said staring over Charles’ shoulder.
“They weren’t,” Charles replied flustered.
Da’Mira hung close listening. “So, now what?” she asked.
“We go on…” Charles stood away from the computer. “And hope we find a way of freeing them.”
The group continued on. No one said anything except Gregaor who complained that it was too cold, or too hot, or he needed to rest. Everyone ignored him, and Van kept himself at a distance.
“Gregaor, calm down,” Da’Mira told him in a whisper. She didn’t want to draw anyone else into the conversation. “Everyone would be better off if you’d at least act civil. Like when your telecom cameras are around.”
Gregaor snagged Da’Mira by the arm in his fist, squeezed and pulled her close to him, and he snarled, “My mother can’t control me, what makes you think you can, Bitch.” He pushed past her, quickening his stride.
Da’Mira looked at Van and they shared a concerned look.
The ice tombs continued, unrecognizable frozen faces stared back at the team, faces of people who over the centuries came to the planet and met the same fate as Vincent and the others. The farther they walked through the hall the more alien the beings became. Some so hideous that Da’Mira couldn’t look at them. She cringed. How many life forms inhabited the galaxy before we ventured out here? She wondered. It looked like they’d seen the last of recognizable faces when after more than an hour, Charles exclaimed…
“This is amazing,” he stopped and used his light to examine some not so alien-looking entombed prisoners. “Humanoid – they’re humanoids.”
“What’s that mean professor?” My Own asked.
Excited, Charles replied, “It means that we aren’t the only humans to have come here. Which also means…”
“We can’t be the only humans in the galaxy,” Da’Mira said. Her voice quivered with excitement too.
The excitement traveled through the entire expedition team, whispers filled the air with wild conjectures and impossible stories. The enthusiasm pushed everyone on. Da’Mira forgot about the cold temperature and focused on finding answers. The murmurs continued throughout the group of archaeologists, Charles added to the conversation, r
eminding everyone, “I tell you it can’t be possible for another human species to evolve on another planet… not in the way we have.”
“Could they be members of an early space mission that lost contact with Earth? A colony perhaps,” a young blond-haired scientist asked.
Charles shook his head, said, “Besides Cosmos, no other ship was lost, and no advanced colony ever set off from Earth.”
“We should have been colonizing other planets for years,” another archeologist said. “But the high-born would not allow it.”
“Do you let all your subordinates speak of their superiors like that Da’Mira?”
Da’Mira didn’t have time to answer Gregaor before the blond-haired man replied for her, “If it wasn’t for us subordinates, you’d still be back on Earth trying to figure out how to fly an exploration ship. It’s about time that all changed.”
“That’s enough,” Charles said. His forehead tightened.
“Sorry, sir,” the blond scientist said.
Chatter dropped back to whispers. The excitement of finding human’s in the ice tombs turned to seditious talk about high-born mistreatment. For the first time Da’Mira heard people talking against second class citizenship. If she heard it within the ranks of the archeologists, sooner or later the low-born and the slaves back on Earth would do the same. She’d always known there would come a time that the rift between the classes would widen. After all she helped stoke the fires.
When My Own screamed Da’Mira raced ahead. Her heart hardened in her chest. She felt flush, her eyes widened. Entombed in the ice stood three monolithic creatures; their heads were reminiscent of gorillas. They were massive. Tusks grew out of their mouths and their skin looked like the scales of a reptile. They stood poised to leap out of their ice tombs, their dark horrifying eyes looking out ahead of them, as if they knew what was happening around them.
Da’Mira and Charles took a step toward the ice to get a better look. Da’Mira reached down and took Charles’ hand and held it tight.
Each of the creatures carried some sort of weapon, though they were hard to make out through the thick ice. They wore uniforms, each with a different insignia, perhaps to signify a rank. Before Da’Mira could say anything…
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Gregaor asked Charles.
Certain, Charles replied, “No, never.”
Astonished, Da’Mira couldn’t take her eyes off the entombed creatures. They looked like they could attack at any minute, even frozen they looked formidable. “How long could they have been here?” she asked not looking away from the tombs.
Charles’ face twisted in thought; he glanced down at Da’Mira’s hand in his, her touch was relaxing. “A very long time… I hope we can figure that out once we have power back on,” he said.
Aware she held Charles’ hand, Da’Mira let go and glanced over at him – she caught Gregaor looking in their direction; his silvery eyes narrowed. She ignored him and focused on Charles.
Up ahead, the ice thinned, the tombs ended, and the walls of the corridor became rock.
“This part of the temple must be connected to the mountain,” Charles said.
Large metal beams supported the walls and held back the mountain, except for several broken ones that had buckled over time giving way to the gray rock. Great chunks of stone had fallen eons ago and partially blocked the corridor making it difficult to pass – but not impossible.
The team members helped one another over the larger boulders. Da’Mira noticed the low-born scientists refusing to help Gregaor or Van climb, not that either of them asked for any help.
Charles clasped Da’Mira’s hand and pulled her over a boulder. She fell forward into his arms and for a few awkward moments they stared at one another, until Charles cleared his throat and they separated. Da’Mira caught another questioning glare from Gregaor; his sharp eyes stared at her, disapproving. She looked away.
Several hundred yards beyond the fallen rocks, the team stood before two ornate doors that looked like an entrance to a cathedral. The doors were wood, old and brittle, supported by large tarnished metal hinges. At head height, huge round handles hung in the center of the doors, waiting to be opened.
Charles looked at Da’Mira, the right side of his mouth curled up – his teal eyes sparkled. He stepped forward, removed his gloves and touched the door. He jerked it back, “Ouch,” he exclaimed. Splinters filled his callous palm.
“You all right?” Da’Mira asked. She held his wrist and plucked the shards of wood from his hand.
“Serves him right,” Gregaor sneered.
Da’Mira ignored him and pulled the last of the splinters from Charles’ hand, said, “You better put your gloves back on.”
Charles nodded. “I need a volunteer to help me pull open this door.”
Before anyone answered, Gregaor stepped forward, and told his brother, “Van get yourself well back.”
“You too, Milady,” Charles told Da’Mira.
The two men looked at one another. Gregaor’s face hardened.
“You understand this door could disintegrate when we pull on it,” Charles said.
“I’m aware of the danger… let’s get on with it.”
Both men took hold of the ancient door handle and gave it a tug. Their muscles flexed, their faces contorted and shaded red as they struggled with the door. Several pops and creeks from the large entry followed – but it didn’t budge. Dust fell out of the crevices and off the frame trickling down on them like snow. Charles and Gregaor were disturbing the old majestic, but no movement came. After several minutes of grunting and pulling and cursing from both men they stopped, panting and exhausted. Charles rested his hands on his knees trying to draw breath.
“We’ll… we’ll need – need equipment to open this,” Gregaor grunted between breaths.
Charles replied in the same aspirated tone, “That… will… will… never happen.”
No sooner than Da’Mira asked, “Now what?” The doors shook and rattle. A crack ran through the old wood like a snake cutting through grass. It popped and cracked like branches of an old tree. The ancient wood wined and cried, breaking and peeling away. Before anyone could say a word, the doors shattered apart and fell toward the ground; a plume of dust and debris filled the air.
Great chunks of wood rained down like giant spears stabbing into the hard floor of the corridor. Da’Mira leapt out of the way just in time before part of the ancient structure slammed where she stood. A slab of wood hit Gregaor in the head. He stumbled and dropped to his knees. Charles grabbed a hold of Gregaor’s arm and pulled him out of the way when more of the ornate entryway crumbled and disintegrated before them.
The old timber slammed to the floor. Aspirated coughs and hacks filled the cave as dust filled the air.
Da’Mira searched for My Own, finding the girl feet away from her leaning against the cavern wall fighting for a breath of air. “Are you, all right?” she asked.
My Own rubbed her dust crusted eyes, nodded, and said, “I’m… O… K…”
Da’Mira found Charles and Gregaor, lying face down on the ground covered in settled dust. “Charles!” she shouted.
“Yes…” Charles replied and let out a painful cry as he moved. His hand still clutched Gregaor’s arm.
“Let go of me,” Gregaor said and jerked his arm from Charles’ grip.
“Gregaor –” Da’Mira said in a sharp voice. “Professor Long saved your life… don’t you think you owe him a thank you?”
Gregaor looked at Charles with a narrow stare. “Thanks,” he said curtly, and looked for his brother.
“I think that’s the best you will get from him,” Da’Mira said.
“I’m surprised I got that much… still –” Charles’ words caught in his throat and his eyes widened.
Da’Mira followed Charles’ gaze. Through the dust, beyond where the old majestic once stood, stood two metal doors.
Charles scratched his dirty blond hair and pursed his lips. He looked
at Da’Mira, said, “Wasn’t expecting that,” he said bewildered, giving the doors a cursory inspection before approaching.
“Be careful,” Da’Mira said earnestly.
“I always knew you to be sympathetic to lower born people Da’Mira. But I’d never seen you be so consistent,” Gregaor said and eyed My Own when the young girl joined Da’Mira.
Da’Mira positioned herself between My Own and Gregaor and said with hubris, “Our expedition rests on Char… Professor Long. He’s a valuable asset, and we’d be lost without him.”
“I have scientists on the Seeker of his caliber,” Gregaor boasted.
“And how do you intend to get them down here?” Da’Mira questioned. “Both of us almost died in the attempt. Another shuttle might not be so lucky.” Da’Mira’s thoughts fell on Captain Kevka. She never even knew if the man had a family. He’d always commanded Requiem. She looked at Gregaor and wondered if he knew the name of his ship commander.
“I think I found something,” Charles called out and placed the palm of his hand on a flat panel. After a few moments he said, “Maybe I haven’t.”
Da’Mira joined Charles. The panel was shaped like a human hand with four fingers and a thumb. She looked at Charles and he smiled in a silent agreement. Nowhere in all the places visited by exploration ships, had they found anything remotely close to human evolution.
“Exciting isn’t it?” Charles said in bated breath.
Before Da’Mira could answer, the control panel flashed alive. A dark amber light followed and seconds later the two metal doors moved apart. Both Da’Mira and Charles jumped back, a high-pitched squealing sound echoed throughout the corridor as the doors parted.
Stale air escaped from the other side of the door. The team members including Gregaor and Van rushed toward the entrance; they beamed their flashlights ahead of them. Da’Mira stepped forward. The room beyond the door was massive. The scale of the room eclipsed the short range of the flashlights. A knot raised in Da’Mira’s throat and she followed Charles into the new chamber. “There’s nothing here,” her voice echoed through the encompassing room. Then their lights caught the glimpse of two stone statues. The first sculpture was bipedal and had a large staff in one hand. Both of its arms were raised blocking its face.
Origin Expedition Page 33