Engines Of God к-1

by Джек Макдевитт

  April 11, 2203

  On board NCK Catherine Perth. Monday, April 11; 05JO hours.

  Beta Pacifica III floated in the windows and viewscreens of the Catherine Perth. It was a terrestrial world, with a global ocean and broad white clouds. There was a single land mass, a long slender hook, seldom more than two hundred kilometers across. The hook was often broken by channels, and occasionally by substantial patches of ocean, so that it was in fact a series of narrow islands strung together. The coastline was highly irregular: there were thousands of harbors and peninsulas. It extended literally from the top of the planet to the bottom, sliding beneath both icecaps. In the south, it curved back up almost to the equator.

  There were ribbons of forest, desert, and jungle, usually stretching from sea to sea. Plains crowded with tall, pulpy stalks dominated the equatorial area. Snowstorms were active in both hemispheres, and it was raining along the flanks of a long mountain range in the south.

  Four moons orbited the world. They were airless, cratered rocks, ranging in size from a fifteen-kilometer-wide boulder to a giant a third larger than Luna.

  After the discoveries at the Bowl, Truscott had found it easy to persuade her passengers that they were aboard an epochal cruise, and that they would not want to pass up a stop at Beta Pac III. To encourage their cooperation, she broke into the special stores, provided sumptuous meals, and passed out free liquor. Captain Morris objected to all this, and Harvey Sill sternly disapproved, but the passengers were happy enough. And that was all she cared about.

  It was dusk over the westernmost arc of the continent. They had approached the world from sunward with a high degree of enthusiasm and were now on their first flyby. Among the members of the Academy team hopes were high, although no one would say precisely what he was hoping for, nor even admit to any degree of optimism. In this sense, Hutch was like the others, playing the hardheaded pessimist, but overwhelmed by the possibilities.

  The passengers tried to stay close to them. When history happened, which Truscott's campaigning had induced everyone to expect, they wanted to be able to say they'd been on the spot. Consequently, Carson and Janet had been pressed into giving seminars, and they'd all signed autographs.

  As Perth approached its rendezvous with destiny, the team retreated to their observation lounge, where Beta Pac III floated on the wall screen. Other monitors carried pictures of the moons, the Bowl, a schematic of the planetary system, comparisons between Beta Pac III and Earth, and rows of telemetry from probes.

  Telescopes had been trained for days on the expanding world. They had not yet seen indications of intelligent activity: neither engineering works nor signs of environmental management were visible. But it was possible that an advanced society—this was Maggie's argument—would have learned to live in communion with the natural order. So they watched the continent slide past the terminator. And hoped for lights.

  But no soft yellow glow punctuated the gathering darkness. The night swallowed everything.

  Collectively, they let out their breath.

  "Pity," said George.

  Carson nodded. "Nobody home, I think."

  Hutch had been sitting quietly, contemplating the image, but she was thinking about Richard, who should have been here for this moment, whatever the outcome. "Too soon to know," she said.

  Captain Morris, seated on the bridge at the command console, looked up into the camera, straight into their eyes, and opened a channel. "Still negative EMR," he said. "If there's anyone down there, they aren't generating power." He smiled condescendingly, pleased (Hutch suspected) at the general disappointment. He was mean-spirited, one of those unfortunate creatures who enjoys seeing others fail. Hutch had eaten dinner with him the previous evening, and his position seemed to be that, yes, highly developed species probably existed in the Milky Way. But here! Where we are? That was too incredible.

  The numbers on the atmospheric lower levels appeared: 74 % nitrogen, 25 % oxygen, a goodly fraction of a percent of argon, a miniscule amount of carbon dioxide, and traces of neon, helium, methane, krypton, hydrogen, nitrous oxide, and xenon. Very Earthlike.

  Snacks arrived. Snacks appeared constantly, adding to the generally festive atmosphere aboard ship. Coffee, cheese, pastries, fruit juices, beer, rolled in an unending stream out of the galley. Hutch ate more than she would ordinarily have allowed herself, and refused to give in to disappointment. The fact that they were here at all was cause to celebrate. If there was to be no welcome from the Monument-Makers, they had still achieved much. "What do you think?" she asked Carson.

  He smiled encouragingly. "If they're not there, maybe they left something behind."

  "I'd like to find something" said Truscott, who was standing beside Maggie Tufu, looking out at the darkness. "I truly would."

  "You've gone well out of your way for this," said Hutch. "We appreciate it."

  "You didn't leave me a lot of choice," she said. "It was a chance to be on the Santa Maria. I wouldn't have wanted to tell my grandkids that I could have ridden with Columbus, and passed it up."

  Janet, who had been up all night watching the approach, retired to a corner chair and fell asleep. In a sense, it signaled the death of their wilder hopes.

  Monitors displayed planetary characteristics:

  ORBIT

  SIDEREAL PERIOD: 1.41 Standard Yr

  PERIHELION: 1.32AUs

  APHELION: 1.35AUs

  GLOBE

  EQUATORIAL DIAMETER: 15,300 km

  OBLATENESS: O.OO4

  MASS (EARTH = 1): 1.06

  DENSITY (WATER = 1): 5.3

  ALBEDO: O.44

  AXIS TILT (DEC): 18.7 ROTATIONAL PERIOD (D/H/M): 1/1/17

  OTHER

  ELECTROMAGNETIC RADIATION

  (ARTIFICIAL): None Noted MEAN EQUATORIAL NOON

  TEMPERATURE (EST): 28 °C

  "Hey!" Carson pointed at one of the moons. The one designated Three-B.

  At the same moment, they heard the captain's voice, raised a notch above his usual monotone: "Director, we have an anomaly on Three-B."

  "We see it," said Truscott. Three-B was the largest of the satellites. It was heavily scored, covered with lava seas. In the northern hemisphere, they could make out, on the western arm of a broad plain, something. A mark. An eruption. A speck.

  "What is it?" said Carson. "Can you give us a better picture?"

  The image got bigger. And clearer. "We don't know yet," said the Captain. "It's the same color as the surrounding rock."

  "It looks like a square," said Janet, awake again.

  Morris had become almost frenetic. It was amusing to see him nonplused. "It does appear symmetrical," he said.

  "It's an Oz," said Hutch.

  "Roughly two hundred kilometers on a side," continued the captain. "Big."

  "She's right," said Carson. "It's the same damned thing they've got at Quraqua."

  Maggie raised a triumphant fist. "Except bigger. A lot bigger."

  Truscott looked at Carson. "Do we want to inspect it up close?"

  Carson glanced at each of his people in turn. "No," he said. "We know what it is."

  Truscott nodded. "Obviously," she said. "It is Oz, isn't it? Why do I have the feeling you've been holding back on me. What's the connection with Quraqua?"

  Carson shrugged. "No big secret," he began.

  After the continent had drifted into the world's night, the Academy team reviewed the pictures. They looked for likely city-building sites: harbors, river junctions, mountain passes. And for roads. For any evidence of habitation.

  George was looking at a site about 30 degrees north, where the land mass narrowed to less than half a kilometer. Lush red and yellow forest rolled downhill from a promontory and spilled into the ocean on both sides. It was the kind of area that, on Earth, would have been natural high-roller real estate. Good place to spend a weekend with Hutch. His mind drifted and his tides began to rise when he noticed a sharp angle in the trees. A shadow. A wall, maybe.

  Or a
place where a wall had once existed.

  He could find nothing more definite, and was about to show Hutch, when Janet said quietly, "I think I've got something."

  They were only dark pocks on a river. But they were regularly spaced.

  "I think they're bridge supports," said Janet, her voice rising. "Son of a bitch, they are!" She threw up her hands. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a bridge"

  Well, they didn't really have a bridge. They had the remnants. But it didn't matter. Cheers broke out. The assembled passengers surged forward, spilling coffee, pounding one another, calling to others outside to come see. There were handshakes all around and Hutch got squeezed and kissed and squeezed again. But she didn't mind. Goddam, she did not care.

  "Congratulations," said Truscott.

  "How much time," said Carson, "can you give us?"

  "Frank," she said patiently, "I am already well behind schedule. We had an agreement."

  "But we have found something."

  "Yes, we have. The Academy has a new archeological site to explore." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I even think I know how much it means to you. But we have to get moving. I'm glad we got something out of this, but I'm going to authorize departure. Morris is raising a storm. And he has grounds for complaint. You'll have to come back with your own people."

  Hutch thought she knew what it would mean. Somebody would figure out that this world had been home to a starfaring society. There'd be a lot at stake, and consequently the mission would be taken away from the Academy. There'd been momentum in that direction before they left home. Carson and his friends might one day return, but it would take a while, and they would be subordinate parts of a much larger operation.

  Damn.

  Truscott left, and they sat listlessly around the lounge, commiserating with one another, crashed from the emotional high of a half hour before. Hutch stood all she could for fifteen minutes, and got up to go somewhere else. As she did, the commlink chimed, and Sill's image appeared. "Dr. Carson," he said, "would you come up to the bridge, please? Bring your colleagues with you."

  "We have an object in orbit."

  Melanie Truscott, with the captain in tow, steered her five passengers to the main navigation display. It was mostly starfield, with a muted planetary arm across the bottom. One of the stars was extremely bright. "That one," she said.

  Hutch felt a ripple of exhilaration. "What kind of object?"

  The captain answered. "We don't know. You're looking at mag five. But it isn't a natural satellite. Its RI is way too high for its range."

  "An RI is a reflectivity index," said Truscott. "It's big.

  Bigger than our station at Quraqua."

  Hutch and Carson silently shook hands.

  "John." Truscott was addressing the captain. "Are we prepared to make a quick exit if we have to?"

  "Yes, Director." He motioned to one of his crewmen, a quick jab with his index finger, and the crewman spoke into a mike. Hutch suspected they were warning all passengers to tie down.

  "Is there any indication of onboard power?" asked Hutch.

  "Negative." Morris bent over one of the consoles. "Nothing." He looked sternly at Truscott. "Melanie, we have a ship full of people. I think we should leave the area."

  The bridge was immense by Hutch's standards. There were four officers on duty, not counting the captain. One, a young woman seated at the navigation console, touched his shoulder and directed his attention to a display. "We've got lights down on the surface," she said. "Low power. Very low. Probably not electrical."

  "Reflections?" asked Truscott.

  "Possibly," she said.

  Truscott turned to Carson. "Someone's made your point for you, Frank. What do you want to look at first?"

  When had Hutch ever seen Carson look more pleased? "The orbiter," he said.

  "Very good." She folded her arms. "I believe we are about to commit history."

  They pursued the white star down the curve of the world.

  It took a hauntingly familiar form on the scopes: a double-ring rotating wheel, not unlike the home station, or Kosmik's orbiter at Quraqua. The architectural style was less utilitarian. This orbiter possessed a degree of elegance and panache, of blurred lines and eclectic curves. It looked fully capable of harboring winding staircases and secret rooms. It was a station with a gothic flavor, maybe the kind of station Poe would have designed.

  Windows were everywhere. But they were dark.

  Hutch loved it. She watched it drift closer, felt a cool stirring within her, a chill that was simultaneously pleasurable and disquieting.

  "Negative EMR," said one of the officers. "It's tumbling." And, moments later: "Wheels not rotating."

  Pity, thought Hutch. We're too late again.

  She knew Carson well enough to read his discouragement. There was no denying the signs: the Bowls in disrepair, no lights on the surface, a collapsed bridge, and a dead orbiter. The Monument-Makers were gone.

  "We'll want to board," said Truscott.

  Carson nodded Yes, as if he had anticipated a struggle.

  The captain's features hardened. "I advise against it, Director."

  There was something wrong about it. More than its strangeness, because strangeness was at the heart of the thing, designed into it, underscored by all those unlighted windows. Something else was wrong.

  "I understand, John. But we can't really sail away and just leave this." Truscott's face glowed with excitement. "And I wouldn't miss it for anything." She looked at Carson. "I assume you would like to come?"

  Hutch saw a shade of disapproval cross Carson's features. In view of the long history of accidental damage caused to artifacts by untrained personnel, he would have preferred to limit the landing party to the Academy group. But he was prudent enough to hold his tongue. "Of course," he said.

  "Any others from your team?"

  "I expect," said Carson, "everybody."

  "Very good. We can manage it." She turned to Sill. "How about you, Harvey?"

  "If you're going."

  She swung back to Morris. "Seven for the shuttle, Captain."

  Hutch went to her compartment to change. She was still uneasy. There was something that shouldn't be there. Or something missing. It was at the edge of vision, a memory that one can't quite grasp.

  She switched on her monitor. The orbiter was coming into sunlight. Its twin wheels would once have rotated counter to each other. Now the entire artifact simply rolled slowly over as she watched.

  What might its design reveal about its builders? It was the sort of question Richard would have asked. What do the esthetics tell us? There were symbols on the hull, black, angled strokes and tapered loops. Two groups of characters, she thought. Two words. What had they been?

  Details appeared: blisters and antennas and connecting coils and hatches and maintenance pods (at least she assumed that was what the teardrop bulges above and below the rim, distributed at equal intervals, had to be) and loading bays and equipment whose purpose would have to await closer inspection.

  A long cable trailed behind the thing. And hatches were open.

  She wrapped her arms around her knees and stared hard at the object, trying to imagine how it might have been when it was active, and exotic ships circled it. And the antennas received signals from the Great Array.

  How long ago?

  She got up, padded across the floor, and into the washroom. She started the flow of water in the shower, adjusted the temperature of the stream, and stepped in. It was cool and brought a sting of pleasure.

  Gravity was generated on all starships the same way: by rotating the living spaces, whether they were located within a permanent hull, as was the case on Perth, or within the ring-shaped modules of the Winckelmann. Consequently, the shower stream bent slightly counter to the direction of spin. Not enough to be noticeable, but the same crosswise pressure sent the water swirling across her toes and down a drain located at the side of the stall. Hutch enjoyed the sensation; it was one of
the many effects of shifting gravities that she relished, that lent her wings and granted a sense of freedom from terrestrial shackles.

  And today, while she closed her eyes and let the cool spray wash over her, it occurred to her that the space station had also been designed to spin. To create the same effects.

  And that was what was wrong.

  She finished quickly, dried off, slipped into a Wink work uniform, and hurried up to the Academy observation lounge. Carson was still there, and Maggie. The others had gone, presumably to prepare for the boarding.

  "Everything okay?" Carson asked as she burst into the room.

  "Why was it built to rotate?" she demanded.

  "Why was what built to rotate?"

  "The space station, damn it."

  Maggie stared at her, astonished at the question.

  "Why is it so much like our stations, Frank? The Monument-Makers are supposed to have had anti-gravity. So we always assumed they had artificial gravity as well. But then why build rotating wheels?"

  "Maybe we were wrong," said Maggie. "Either we still haven't found the Monument-Makers, or—"

  Frank finished her statement. " — this was built before the Monument-Makers came to lapetus."

  "That," said Maggie, "would mean this thing's been up here more than twenty thousand years. I don't think that's possible."

  Carson did not want to talk about more complications. "Maybe it's a Monument from their early days. So they kept it in place. Let's not worry about it now."

  "Another Monument?" Hutch didn't believe that for a minute. She opened a channel to the bridge. The captain was not there, but she spoke to the command duty officer. "I wonder if you would do me a favor?"

  "What do you need?" The CDO was a middle-aged, graying, no-nonsense woman.

  "The space station," she said. "How stable is its orbit? How long would you say it's been here?"

  The CDO looked uncomfortable. "We're navigators, Ms. Hutchins. You'd need a physicist to come up with that. I'd like to help, but we just don't have the expertise."