Diuturnity's Dawn

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  "They're all down at the main site. Everyone's gathering there." She hopped over a narrow ravine. Cullen followed easily, while Pilwondepat had to pick his way. He did not fall behind, but neither did he hop. Thranx were not very good jumpers.

  The truth of her words became clear as they neared the site. A large crowd had assembled. As they drew nearer, Cullen saw that not only the exoarcheological crew but a goodly portion of the camp's nonscientific staff was also congregating around the open pit. As he approached, he was recognized, and murmuring onlookers moved aside to make room for him and Holoness. A few less-than-friendly looks greeted the presence of the thranx in their midst, but he was granted passage, as well, and no one said anything. At least, nothing that could be overheard.

  A number of Cullen's people were clustered around something at the bottom of the excavation, blocking it with their assembled bodies. Pilwondepat was inordinately displeased to see Riimadu among them. The AAnn was standing slightly to one side, tail switching back and forth in as transparent an indication of excitement as if he had been hissing wildly and throwing his arms in the air. Holoness led the way to the earthen staircase and then downward into the depths. Around the rim of the hole in the ground, the crowd continued to enlarge until it seemed to Pilwondepat that every worker on the site was present.

  Descending the steps cut into the hard-packed earth more slowly than his human companions, he waited for the cluster of diggers to part. He thought Riimadu might have glared once in his direction, but he could not be sure. In any event, it didn't matter, since he was soon as dumbstruck as everyone else by what the excavators had uncovered.

  It was a vitreous dark brown surface with a meter-wide dimple in the center. That in itself was not especially striking, nor was the fact that they had certainly uncovered an artifact. What was of far greater import was the realization that the object was not made of stone, like the grand statues that dominated the far side of the valley opposite the escarpment.

  "It's not metal." Holoness started talking before anyone asked. "Or plastic. As best we've been able to determine without knocking off a chunk for analysis, it's some kind of bonded ceramic." Crouching over the depression, she used one palm to brush at the sensuous alien curve. "See how it shines?"

  Stepping forward, both Pilwondepat and Cullen made their own cursory examination of the phenomenon. The thranx did not have to bend to do so. The unusual material was slick to the touch and unexpectedly warm. He would have expected something that had been buried at the top of the escarpment for untold eons to be much colder, the temperature of the ground notwithstanding.

  "Any ideas as to its function?" Straightening, Cullen kept his eyes on the article of all their fascination.

  Holoness shook her head. "It's plenty solid, sir. Chenowitz took the liberty of tapping gently on it with a rock, then harder. It's not hollow."

  "Well, whatever it is, it's different from anything anybody's found on Comagrave to date. We'll be able to get a better idea of its intended purpose when we've dug it out."

  That was the signal for the diggers to go back to work. Pilwondepat waited and watched their laboring until the afternoon light began to wane. While the falling temperature had no effect on the much more heat-tolerant humans and the single AAnn in their midst, it soon drove him back to his quarters. There he performed his regular evening ablutions while waiting for the excited call that never came. Surely Cullen would not be so indifferent as to forget to notify him when they finally freed the object from its stony matrix.

  He was right. It was still there when he emerged the following morning, after the sun was well up in the sky and the surrounding high desert had heated up enough to accommodate him without danger of hypothermic paralysis.

  His fixed compound eyes could not widen, the multiple lenses could not expand, but his antennae stood straight up and his abdominal gaster contracted, letting out an involuntary stridulation of surprise, when next he cast his gaze down into the pit.

  It had grown. Apparently, the humans had been sufficiently intrigued - or perhaps astounded was the better description - to work on the site all through the night. Holoness confirmed his supposition when he confronted her on the now rapidly expanding rim.

  "We thought we'd have it out, even if it was pretty big, by dinnertime last night." She was perfectly polite, but he noticed she consciously avoided contact with him. As always, he let the implied slight pass without comment. "But the more dirt and rock we cut away, the bigger it got." She gestured into the hole. "As far as anyone can tell, we're still nowhere near reaching its limits."

  The excavation was now some twenty meters on a side and still expanding. Every piece of heavy exhuming equipment in the camp had been brought into play within the depths of the widening cavity. As laser drills sliced rock into manageable chunks and sonic blasters shattered the larger boulders into powder that could be easily vacuumed, the exoarcheological staff employed finer tools around the edge of the artifact. Additional dimples had been revealed in the lustrous, gently undulating surface. More significantly still, the succession of concavities had given way on the eastern flank of the relic to a perfectly flat surface devoid of indentations or any other blemish. A team of workers was laboring relentlessly to extend this platform, or landing, or whatever it was, in Pilwondepat and Holoness's direction.

  "If they don't come to the end of it soon," the female told him, "we're going to have to start thinking about moving camp."

  He gestured understanding, then remembered to add the easily mimicked human head nod. "Has any further progress been made, sir!ilp, in identifying the material of which it is made?"

  "Actually, yes. Mr. Karasi gave permission last night for a sample to be taken for analysis. It resisted like mad, until we finally got a laser tuned enough to cut away a tiny piece. It's a bonded ceramic, all right. Incredibly tough stuff. The internal crystal lattice is unique, and the molecular structure designed, if that's the right word, to last pretty close to forever. It has a beryllium base, and then it starts to get crazy with introduced metallic salts. Or so the chemistry people tell me. You can't get them to stop talking about it."

  Pilwondepat did not inquire about the artifact's purpose. That was unlikely to be ascertained until they had all of it exposed. "One presumes it's of Sauun manufacture, but without proof . . ."

  "Mr. Karasi thinks he has that." The admiration in her voice for the abilities of the project's leader bordered, Pilwondepat thought, on reverence. "There's a temple on the Coruumat Plain that has a couple of interior walls bearing the same alternating dome-and-depression pattern. The concavities are even the same size. But those on the plain are of stone." She gestured down into the excavation. "No one working on Comagrave has encountered anything like this material before now."

  Pilwondepat watched the humans at work: energetic, capable, able to labor efficiently in a climate so dry the thranx's lungs would have shriveled to half their size after less than a couple of days of exposure to such a desiccating atmosphere. But they were not as precise in their movements as his kind. Still, they were not excavating a pin-sized structure. There was margin for error with hand pick or drill.

  "What," he wondered aloud, "if there is no end to this expanding flat surface?"

  "I don't follow you." She looked over at him curiously. "There has to be an end."

  "Does there?" Seeking signs of an edge, a rim, to the steadily broadening artifact, he saw none. "What if this object, whatever it is, has been built on an order of magnitude comparable to the icons across the valley? What if it is even larger?"

  It took her only a moment to formulate a reply. "Why then, it will take a long time to get there, but it will still have an end."

  "I wonder. Perhaps instead of trying to expose it all, we should be trying to penetrate it."

  Now she laughed. "A lot of good that will do, if it's as solid as a statue."

  "I am not saying that it is. Only that in light of its size, seeking an interior or an underside is anoth
er option that should at least be considered."

  She suppressed her amusement. "Talk to Supervisor Karasi. He would be the one to make that determination. If you'll excuse me?" In the brusque manner of humans, she started down into the pit without waiting to learn if he would.

  Pilwondepat stood staring down into the rapidly expanding pit. Riimadu was there, as usual: chatting with individual humans, gesturing suggestions, frequently pausing to consult his communicator. Pilwondepat envied the AAnn researcher his easy camaraderie with the mammals. Not only was their stature similar; so were their movements. Upright bipeds, albeit one tailless, they shared physical commonalties he could not hope, despite his best efforts, to emulate. Certainly the reptiloids enjoyed advantages in establishing relations with the humans that immediately put any hopeful thranx at a disadvantage.

  It frightened him. It was bad enough that no human could follow the threatening sequence of calamity that was being subtly propagated by the AAnn. That they should become friends with the very people who sought their ultimate ouster from Comagrave was worse than sinister: It was downright infuriating. He wanted to grab Cullen or someone of equal authority with all four hands and shake them until they began to molt. He did not only because he knew that they would react defensively, and with even less interest in what he had to say than before.

  At least Cullen had promised to convey Pilwondepat's findings to the central colonial administration. Another few days, and he could rest a little easier knowing that his findings had been passed on to, hopefully, more perceptive authorities. Until then, and until a reply was forthcoming, he could only continue with his own research, while incidentally keeping a close watch on Riimadu. That the AAnn appeared wholly engrossed in his fieldwork might deceive the humans. It would never be so with a thranx. The two species knew each other too well.

  Cullen gave up on the horizontal dig two days later. By that time, the excavation crew had exposed an area of glistening brown ceramic more than a hundred meters square, lying an average depth of twelve meters. Nowhere could the diggers discern an edge or a break in the material. Nor could they locate a single seam, joint, nail, bolt, clip, or path. The mysterious material appeared to have been poured whole and entire into a huge mold, like lava into a bowl. Of dimples and ripples, of small protuberances and extensive flat surfaces, there were plenty. Of indication as to dimensions, function, or age, there was none.

  Brard Johannsen, the expedition's chief geologist, chipped in with a report stating that the location of the site, almost proximate to the rim of the escarpment, exposed it to howling winds heavily laden with particulate matter. As a consequence, erosion was considerably more active near the campsite than it was farther inland. Preliminary dating of the rock and the packed earth layer overlying the artifact suggested that it had originally been buried far deeper beneath the surface, which had been worn down and carried away by untold millennia of strong winds.

  "There's no question that it's a significant relic, and not just because of its fascinating composition." Cullen had invited Pilwondepat to join him for midday meal. They were seated away from the now quiescent excavation, on a little ridge that provided a fine view over the great valley beyond. The human gnawed on a stratified pulpy compaction called a sandwich, while Pilwondepat chewed jheru -flavored food pellets and sipped from his turbinate juice bottle.

  "That was suspected from the very beginning." In the absence of teeth or horn-covered maxilla, Pilwondepat's four opposing mandibles worked against one another to masticate his food. Since he breathed through the spicules on his thorax, he did not suffer from a fear of choking on his food, as humans were frequently wont to do. In a thranx, air and food took separate internal paths.

  Raising a hand, Cullen pointed across the valley. There was no wind today, and the air was absolutely still. The vast wild panorama possessed an absolute clarity that stunned the eyes.

  "It gains in significance every day. There's nothing of importance behind the Mountain of the Mourners. Similarly, only very minor discoveries have been made to its north and south. Yet here, we find this boundless brown ceramic enigma - right where the Mourners are staring."

  "As Riimadu originally pointed out." Pilwondepat was surprised he could say it without stridulating. "But what can it be?"

  Cullen shook his head and took another bite of his sandwich. Pilwondepat would have had no trouble digesting the human food, but the smell was not to his liking. Anyway, the supervisor had not offered.

  "Nobody has any idea yet. I suppose you've heard that we're due to get the results of the combined surveys back some time this evening?"

  The thranx's antennae twitched with agitation. "No, I had not."

  Rising, Cullen mashed the wrapping that had contained and warmed his sandwich into a compact ball. Drawing back his arm, he flung it forward in a smooth, arcing motion no thranx could duplicate. The ball sailed out over the edge of the escarpment. By nightfall its transiently bonded organic components would have disintegrated.

  "Come by the presentation tent. I'd be interested in your opinion."

  "I would not miss it." Tucking his drinking bottle neatly into his thorax pack, Pilwondepat followed the human back toward the camp.

  The double survey Cullen had authorized was intended to furnish some dimensions for the object the team had unearthed. Any additional information gleaned in the course of the survey would provide a welcome bonus. Riding in the camp's two aircars, separate teams had utilized a pair of sonic scanners to probe beneath the barren Comagravian surface. Reflected back to the scanners' receivers, measured and recorded, these sonic echoes could be instantly analyzed by onboard instruments to give a detailed picture of any buried artifact.

  But not, it seemed, this one.

  The inability of any of the scanners' sensors to penetrate the ceramic material was revealing in its inadequacy. It proved that the brown stratum was far thicker, and denser, than anyone had previously imagined. Whatever lay beneath the ceramic layer, it could not be perceived by the scanners. What the survey teamswere able to do was to come up with an estimate of the layer's horizontal dimensions. These were sufficiently mind-boggling that both teams were compelled to return to base to have their equipment rechecked, and then checked again. Assured that everything was working properly, the team members returned to their task. By nightfall this had not yet been concluded. Even so, the occupants of both aircars voted to return to camp to present what findings they had managed to accumulate.

  At the same time, a third team dropped over the edge of the escarpment and proceeded to perform a vertical scan, hovering above the valley floor while traveling slowly back and forth along the sheer rock wall. With their sensors aimed not down, but sideways, they hoped to obtain clues as to how deep the ceramic layer ran. Information they gathered in abundance: They simply refused to believe it.

  Meanwhile, at Cullen's request, the orbit of a mapping and climate-monitoring satellite had been shifted slightly so it could take several high-resolution vits of the dig site and the region immediately surrounding it. These proved to be of little beyond aesthetic value. No underlying pattern of construction could be distinguished from overhead. Geology had not masked from above what lay hidden beneath the ground.

  Following the informative presentation, Pilwondepat sought out Cullen. As soon as they saw the thranx approaching, the human couple who had been conversing with the supervisor found reasons to be elsewhere. Ordinarily, Pilwondepat might have been mildly miffed at the slight. Tonight, he did not care.

  "Hello, Pilwondepat." A subdued Cullen peered down at the thranx. "What did you think of the presentation?" Around them, site workers and scientists were taking their flustered conversations and often wild suppositions out into the swiftly cooling night. Pilwondepat knew he was in danger of freezing on the way back to his chamber, but he didn't care.

  "Cwissk - we're sitting atop a seamless layer of radical ceramic material that is, according to the reports handed in by the survey teams, hundre
ds if not thousands of square kilometers in area. One that also, according to the other team, is at least as high as the escarpment itself. It is surely the single largest artificial structure found to date on this world, easily dwarfing even the icons comprising the Mountain of the Mourners."

  The human nodded. "Yet we're no nearer to knowing its function than we were when Verwoerd and Olsen exposed the first depression. If it is solid, then it is certainly the biggest enigma we've yet uncovered here. If it's hollow . . . If it's hollow, there's no telling what it might contain."

  "Perhaps only dead air," Pilwondepat ventured.

  Cullen responded with an emphatic denial. "Nobody, no sentient species, builds a box of these dimensions, if that is indeed what it is, to hold nothing."

  "It could be that it was intended to accommodate certain contents that never arrived prior to the emptying of this world. It might also be designed not to store something, but to hide it. To seal it up."

  The biped gazed back into enigmatic compound eyes. "Are all thranx as cheerfully optimistic and reassuring as you, Pilwondepat?"

  "Most of the time we tend to be . . ." Examining the human's expressive face, the thranx researcher terminated his intended reply. "Oh, I see. You are being sarcastic. We regard ourselves as more than a little adept at the behavior ourselves, you know." He gestured repeatedly and eloquently with his truhands.

  "I have been proposing for days that instead of expending time and resources in trying to seek out an external boundary, your people make an effort to search out an entrance to the hypothesized interior."

  Cullen let out a derisive grunt. "There are no seams, no doorjambs, no rills or surface inclusions. Where do you propose that we start?"