The Pilots of Borealis

by David Nabhan

  Lighthorse had spent the best part of his adult life struggling to decipher the true meaning of the glyphs. By painstakingly juxtaposing them, symbol by symbol, with later Mesoamerican script, he’d made quite a number of glottochronological breakthroughs—many of them accepted as absolutely accurate. The tenor of what the codices said though, in the main, was where his colleagues took exception—vigorous exception.

  “The narrative, almost all of it, is a chronicle of our ancestors’ interaction with a race of incredibly advanced visitors,” Lighthorse told assemblages of Mayanists and archaeologists. Pained silence and blank stares allowed him to continue at length. Lighthorse connected the pieces of this exceedingly arcane puzzle with brilliant insights, and everything indeed did seem to fit. As the years passed though, the restrained applause dampened to smatterings of sarcastic, perfunctory clapping that only called attention to the prevailing disdainful hush with which most specialists responded. And that later was replaced by catcalls and snickers.

  “All discoverers have had to overcome similar obstacles,” Lighthorse told the press. “Some were burnt at the stake, others simply booed off the podiums. In the end though, my interpretation is the correct one and history will prove it.” Lighthorse’s colleagues hadn’t come for him with pitchforks and torches but neither was he invited to any more of their seminars. Sadhana wondered what in the world he was doing . . . here?

  Sadhana politely took his outstretched hand. “It’s a great honor to meet you,” Lighthorse said.

  “Roland Lighthorse is . . .” Van Ulroy began.

  She cut him off. “I’m aware of who Mr. Lighthorse is.”

  She didn’t say it with derision—more just matter of fact. But now she gave Van Ulroy a look that he took as petulant; she meant it that way too. Her request to meet with “a representative of the Terran Archonate” concerning a subject “of great importance” and directing her to discuss the matter “with absolutely no party whatsoever” was a missive she’d never received before. That the representative turned out to be the aide-de-camp of the Chief Archon—“first among equals” of the nine men who ruled Terra—was sufficient to cause a case of rattled nerves. Seeing that Roland Lighthorse was also involved was enough to push her beyond coy politeness and to demand some clear-cut answers.

  “What’s this all about, Mr. Van Ulroy?” she blurted out.

  The shuttle reacted instantly to Van Ulroy’s voice command, “Stop.” Now Sadhana was passed rattled nerves. Countless hyper-secret conferences were supposed to have taken place on shuttles in transit between offices in the Terran Archonate. She knew better than anyone why. A new generation of splicers was making a serious come-back. Splicing had its roots in admirable motives—originally at least. It was a technique for people under scrutiny—activists, politicos, intellectuals—to interact surreptitiously, completely unseen and unheard by the System. Suspended in the middle of a cavernous volume, with massive metal bulwarks, miles of conduit, and millions of semiconductors and electrical apparatuses all kept at the furthest distance possible, this was where one stood the best chance to protect a secret. Sadhana, of whom it could be said knew a few things about electronics, and no friend of the current administration on the Ring, had pulled off a few splices in her time. She knew exactly why they halted here.

  “You must have something very important to say to me, Mr. Van Ulroy.”

  Van Ulroy changed visibly, instantly. He no longer wore the charming diplomatic face of a business-like bureaucracy but now made clear he represented a deadly serious, unlimitedly powerful entity whose self-interest would be maintained even if the Sun itself ceased shining. He now spoke to her in a far different tone; the law required it.

  “As per Terran sedition and security codes, I must inform you, Dr. Ramanujan, that the information with which you are to be provided is of the utmost sensitive nature, within the confines of the highest level of classification, and may be shared with no one—in any way, shape, or form.” He paused for the words to sink in. Her puzzled look told him they hadn’t.

  “But, I’ve been through all this, Mr. Van Ulroy,” her voice slightly piqued. “I’ve had the highest security clearance, for many, many years now.”

  Van Ulroy was shaking his head in the negative. “This is strictly ‘word of mouth.’ Do you understand what that means?”

  Of course she couldn’t understand it, since only a handful of people on Terra even knew of such a security classification.

  “This matter isn’t in the System; it doesn’t exist. Incredible measures have been taken to accomplish that. Even any allusion or implied acknowledgment of what you’re going to be told—to anyone, by any means—will be considered a breach of the oath you’re going to be required to take and will carry the most severe penalties for transgression.”

  He paused and furrowed his brow. “Let me rephrase. It doesn’t carry the most severe penalties—it mandates them. Before I go on I’ll have to ask you for your oath again.”

  Sadhana Ramanujan swore again, and this time the words were even heavier and more somber. It was more humbling this time. For all her status she was being made aware that she—like any Terran—was nothing more than a cog in a giant machine. She might be a famous and brilliant gear, but a mere cog nonetheless, and one that could and would be disengaged and tossed away should it cause any damage.

  “Well, that’s always a bit unpleasant,” Van Ulroy said afterwards, smiling again. “Good to put that behind us.”

  Sadhana declined to agree and asked flatly again, “So what’s this all about?”

  He motioned to Roland Lighthorse. “Mr. Lighthorse’s presence here must certainly give you some idea of the matter at hand?” It did but she indicated otherwise, slightly shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. Van Ulroy was quite disposed to answer her now, actually rubbing his palms together anxiously.

  “Well, Doctor, where to begin?” He paused for the right words. “Your input is requested on a project that is important enough to quite plausibly change the calendar. I’m guessing future historians are going to categorize every epoch from before and after this event.” Sadhana could tell he hadn’t fished for words; he’d obviously planned this speech. “We’d like you to simply take a look at an incredible item, and just, well. . .just tell us anything you can about it.”

  Sadhana frowned. “Just anything I can tell you about it, is that it?”

  Van Ulroy was shaking his head in agreement. “Yes.”

  Lighthorse helped out. “It’s an artifact, Dr. Ramanujan.” His voice was deep and mellifluous. He spoke slowly, enunciating perfectly. “An artifact.”

  “What sort of artifact?” she asked bluntly.

  “From the Yucatan,” Lighthorse answered just as bluntly.

  In an instant everything became clear as glass, even though at the same time hardly possible.

  “The Bacalar Device?! Is that what we’re talking about?”

  Legends and rumors about an artifact found in a pyramid under a hill near the town of Bacalar in the Yucatan had surfaced, been quashed, and resurfaced again. Sadhana, like everyone else, put the device in the same category as unicorns. It took her a while to form her next sentence. It barely qualified as a sentence.

  “It exists?”

  “It not only exists,” Van Ulroy declared, “but it’s in our possession and you’ll be examining it shortly.” Now he was smiling from ear to ear. “Exciting, no?”

  Sadhana wasn’t smiling yet. She thought carefully, for quite a while, as she composed her next question. The two men sat quietly as she formulated it.

  “Yes, very exciting. However you’ve skipped a few steps. How did such an artifact come into our possession, from the Yucatan on Earth? And why isn’t this common knowledge?”

  Van Ulroy was a good judge of character and had already decided that in Dr. Ramanujan’s case he would have to be more forthcoming than was his custom. He gave her part of the truth.

  “It’s a convoluted tale, Doctor, and I
’m not sure about all the particulars myself. But it’s amazing how closely the story mirrors other Mesoamerican finds in the past—the Dresden Codex, for example.”

  Lighthorse could see she missed the analogy so he explained. “The Dresden Codex was one of only four books left of the Maya’s writings after the Spanish conquistadors finished their auto-da-fé of the 16th century. This plucky manuscript, having survived the fires of the Inquisition, wound up under the boot of a Russian major poking around the smoldering ruins of the State Library in Dresden, Germany, during the Second World War—from which it also escaped.

  “Warfare, Doctor,” Van Ulroy philosophized, “it closes doors, yes, but always opens others. The Western Alliance had the device since its discovery but kept it secretly in the Mexico City State. The Great Planetary War brought such chaos that in the tumult it bounced around the planet, like the Dresden Codex had, until thankfully, it wound up safe here on the Terran Ring.”

  Now the doctor was even more confused. “But, the Mexico City State was . . . completely destroyed . . .”

  “Oh no, Dr. Ramanujan,” Van Ulroy almost chuckled at the misunderstanding. “The Second Planetary War, not the Third, thank goodness. Or else there’d be no device probably, would there?”

  Tittering about the horrific fate of Mexico sent a quick pang of irritation through her and pushed her mind into high gear. Her next question came fast.

  “But that was half a century ago, Mr. Van Ulroy. Terra has had this artifact in her possession since then, is that the case?”

  “Forty years, Doctor,” he corrected her, and he wasn’t smiling in the least now.

  Sadhana’s mouth turned down. “Not very forthcoming of us, you’d agree?”

  Van Ulroy didn’t like that very much. “I wouldn’t know about that. I wasn’t even born when that decision was made,” he snapped back.

  Now Sadhana took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled through pursed lips. She was looking at neither man, simply thinking deeply for a moment. Then she let loose.

  “Mr. Van Ulroy, you quite properly set the ground rules for me, and now I’m going to set them for you. If the Terran Archonate requires my expertise about some important matter—now I see having to do with the Bacalar Device—I’ll be happy to do my civic duty. If, however, it’s your intention to start things off with a pack of half-truths that quite possibly will make my job more difficult, whatever that job is, in that case I’d simply have to respectfully decline and just be on my way.”

  Van Ulroy was shocked, Lighthorse amused. She was sure of that because he was chuckling to himself. She went on, making the ultimatum plain.

  “I’d love to examine first hand such a rare object. But we’ll work openly and honestly with each other, or you’ll find someone else. Is that acceptable to you?”

  Van Ulroy bit his lip and nodded, not signaling yes or no, but at least acknowledging her words. “I’m not at liberty to explain how Terra acquired the device, Doctor,” he admitted in a defeated tone.

  “Excellent!” Sadhana exclaimed. “Now, let’s see if we can keep that up, shall we?”

  She put her finger up, as if to say that what came next should be marked well. “And you can tell Dante Michelson himself that I have grave misgivings involving myself in what is obviously an unparalleled cultural theft. I’m going to have to have some indication that there are plans to return the device to the people of Earth.” She flashed an accusing glance in Lighthorse’s direction. “I assume you, of all people, must have made the same demand?”

  Lighthorse ignored her, and spoke instead to the aide-de-camp. “Mr. Van Ulroy, please?”

  Van Ulroy had both hands out, gesturing for her to slow down. “Dr. Ramanujan, you don’t understand . . .”

  She interrupted. “I don’t understand,” she agreed. “This device—from 12,000 BC, in Terra’s hands for forty years without breathing a whisper about its existence—and I’ve only just been summoned to examine it now?” Van Ulroy started to answer, but she put up her hand. “Better question, though.” She pointed to Lighthorse. “I can understand why an esteemed Mesoamerican scholar is sitting here. But I’m a materials physicist. How in the world could I shed any light?”

  As soon as she posed the question, she answered it for herself. “It can’t be that you want me to tell you what it’s made of, could it? I’d have sent an intern if that were the case.”

  Van Ulroy now delivered a punch of his own.

  “We know what it’s made of, Doctor. What we’d like for you to tell us is how that’s possible.” He waited for the words to register properly. “Is that forthcoming enough? It’s made of a material that . . . well . . . simply can’t exist.” He paused, he had to for something so important. “It’s transuranian.” He paused again. “It’s transuranian, and somehow stable. It’s made of element . . . number 137.” The three sat wordlessly while Sadhana was allowed to absorb the blow. “It’s composed of Feynmanium. Such a thing, it is seen now can exist,” he added parenthetically. “It’s the largest atomic structure possible in this universe anyway. Anything more massive, as you know as well as anyone alive, Doctor, would violate the Alpha constant and would dictate that the electrons in the inner shell orbit the nucleus faster than light.”

  Van Ulroy graciously gave her something prosaic to focus on, having just been struck with this incomparable thunderbolt. “It’s very, very heavy.”

  “My God,” she said in a whisper, “Feynmanium? I guess it would be.”

  URANIUM, THE HEAVIEST NATURAL element, number 92 had been overtopped as early as the 20th century when physicists had already learned to play demigod with the laws of the universe, creating heavier and heavier elements: californium, einsteinium, fermium, etc. The densest element ever cooked up in Terran laboratories was the unnamed element number 132, and unnamed for good reason maybe since its half life is something less than a trillionth of a second. Nature abhors these synthetic creations, and they are all radioactive and degrade quickly.

  “It’s stable? A nucleus that big, and stable?” She was still whispering.

  “Absolutely stable, obviously. It’s ancient. Looks like shiny purple iron,” Van Ulroy said.

  Sadhana quietly absorbed the rest of her briefing in mostly stunned silence. She tried to listen carefully but a hundred divergent thoughts raced across her mind. One that soon crowded to the front concerned the unusual progress that lately had been made in the production of ponderously weighty transuranian elements, with a sudden flurry of six having been fused in the last few years—numbers 127 to 132. She saw good reason now for the string of recent successes, and tried to imagine the sort of painstaking disassembly, examination, and reverse-engineering which must have garnered this and who knows whatever other great leaps forward.

  She turned to Lighthorse and asked a very simple question.

  “This device—what in the world is it?”

  Lighthorse was wearing the look of satisfaction. Armies of scientists had either scoffed at or ignored his clarion call for years. Now he had the breathless and undivided attention of the most esteemed scientist on Terra—or anywhere else probably. This was the last laugh for which he’d waited so long; he didn’t mask his relish in the least.

  “I’m afraid that if I’m constrained to answer that question within the restricted limits of ‘the world,’ I’d be at a loss for an explanation. The short answer is that I don’t know for sure, no one does. My best guess though is that it’s a weapon, or more specifically, some component of a weapons system.”

  Sadhana’s expression said absolutely nothing. She just sat quietly taking in the words.

  “As I’ve been saying for many long years, Doctor, and as the codices discovered with the device strongly support, the Pre-Mayans played host to a race of visitors about which not much in the inscriptions goes by without referencing again and again a great war between the stars.”

  “Codices? It comes with an owners’ manual?”

  Lighthorse laughed. “Well, not quite.
”

  Van Ulroy gave Lighthorse a cautionary glance; she noticed it out of the corner of her eye. Lighthorse was involved in the project to aid Ramanujan’s thrusts and parries as she’d crack her head on this enigma. Maybe working together they’d be able to use the ancient clues and the physicist’s razor sharp expertise to force some headway. The device was the seed around which the greatest single project in the history of mankind had grown. After making some good progress in the beginning, it was clear that the mammoth—yet secret—undertaking had languished at a dead-end for some time.

  “I don’t want to put any thoughts in your head, Dr. Ramanujan. I’d rather you examine the device for yourself, read what’s been gleaned about it already, and then we can speak about it.”

  Now all the science was eclipsed by the pure human emotion that flooded out of her overwhelmed mind, into her breast, and out through her vocal chords.

  “Where were they from?” She asked the question plaintively, almost in a child’s voice.

  Lighthorse answered soothingly. “There are certain places in the sky that we might talk about later, Doctor. Right now, just best to say that we think the civilization that built the device calls or called the extreme far side of the galaxy home. To be located any further away from them would necessitate leaving the Milky Way.”

  Van Ulroy, seeing Sadhana rendered speechless beyond simple queries, chose the moment to drive home the State’s now clearly seen appropriate reprimand for her lapse in confidence in the Terran Archonate. “I’ll consider the request you just made for me to relay to the Chief Archon retracted, yes, Doctor?”

  The idea of the Archonate letting loose of the most important find in the history of the human race was positively ludicrous—and beyond that; it was insane. But to hand it back to Earth—that roiling, unstable, suicidal confederation of fratricidal nihilists—well there was no adjective for that. Entropy would decrease, light speed would be superseded, time would run backward, before that happened.

  “Yes, of course,” she answered in a humbled voice. “Thank you for ignoring it. I had no idea . . .”