“So the ring of smaller pyramids we’ve witnessed would also be doors?” Echohawk asked.
“Most likely, yes,” Scott replied, “Assuming we don’t get there and discover the Pyramid’s not an access point at all. The whole Pyramid network could be an elaborate array of some kind. Although I expect it isn’t.”
“In all likelihood there are several other points of access to the Ship as well,” Andrews noted, “Escape hatches, cargo bays…docking bays, that sort of thing.”
“No doubt,” Scott agreed, “This is why we can also count on there being several layers of hull. The Ship will be much like an onion.”
“In order to reduce the risk of explosive decompression,” Andrews said, “The two main problems with a vessel the size of the Ship being accessibility and safety. The inner sections of the Ship closest to the outer hull will probably be quite barren, then; lots of bulkheads and hatches, or the equivalent of such in alien design.”
“Are you acquainted with engineering?” Scott asked, with hopeful curiosity.
Andrews gave his head a quick shake, pulling a cigarette from his breast pocket.
“No,” he said, handing a smoke to Echohawk, “I’m an expert in the laws of probability; the mathematical likelihood of certain things occurring. For instance, I’ll wager that the Pyramid on top of the Ship will be the only way in we’ll be afforded and that it won’t be immediately accessible to us.”
“What makes you say that?” Scott asked.
“Well, perhaps Professor Echohawk would be kind enough to remind us how long the dig had been going on before the orbital scan was performed?” Andrews asked, by way of reply.
“About three weeks,” Echohawk said, “Not including the time that the Laguna Band was working the dig, themselves.”
“And how long after the deep scan did the Ship begin unearthing itself?” Andrews asked. Echohawk looked off to where James, Peter and Kodo were talking.
“James,” Echohawk called, “James! How long after the orbital scan started did we start recording tremors?”
“I’d have to go back and checked the seismography,” James replied, “But I think the initial tremors started about ten minutes into the scan.” This seemed to satisfy Andrews to no end; he smiled broadly.
“The Ship only unearthed itself after it was scanned from a high-orbit, with a multi-spectral deep scan and yet, efforts had been ongoing to expose it for quite some time before that: There were Doppler seismology, MRI and PET scans used on the object while it was still buried. You used precision blasting, laser cutters and picks and shovels to dig it up. However, the Ship only began to unearth itself after it was scanned from orbit.”
“You’re saying it was waiting for an orbital scan?” Echohawk asked, incredulous.
“Many theorists involved with the search for intelligent extraterrestrial life assume that only spacefaring cultures or cultures about to become spaceborne would be targeted for first contact,” Andrews explained, “We know that the Ship was buried at the end of the Cretaceous, by the so-called death star meteoric impact. Likely, the Ship was damaged and needed to repair itself. But fully restored and still buried, why didn’t it just leave? Why not unearth itself then and take off?”
“It must have been instructed to stay,” Scott realized.
“Exactly,” Andrews said with a smile, his unlit cigarette dancing in the corner of his mouth, “And why stay, unless it was waiting for something here? Some sign of intelligence, perhaps? A Spacefaring intelligence, aware of its presence?”
“Then it only unearthed itself in response to our actions,” Echohawk said.
“Most probably,” Andrews replied. “This is why I believe that we’ll find that the archway in the Pyramid is indeed a door and that that same door is sealed.”
“I don’t follow,” Echohawk said.
“No, but I think I do,” Scott said, “An alien race looking for signs of intelligence from another species would use the Ship almost as an interactive tool to determine the level of intelligence of who or whatever species discovered it, and only give access to those able to complete a series of tests.”
“The land bridge we’re driving across, for example,” Andrews said, “Leads directly to the Pyramid, which until recently was the only portion of the Ship to be partially unearthed. The land bridge has nevertheless been sculpted to both fully unearth the Ship and allow us to drive right up to its front door.”
“And the runes to either side of the archway would be another test,” Scott said, his eyes glistening with dawning realization.
“And when we get there, we’ll find out just what form that test will take.” Andrews concluded.
♦♦♦
Paul Santino stared at the console screen before him. Since the Ship had been unearthed the Laguna Band had discovered that it had lost several hundred of its own out in the desert, during the Unearthing. Laguna had also suffered an increase in crime, pollution and traffic. The new highway extension being put down was supposed to take most of the traffic away from Laguna, but the fact that the Band Council had had to shut down Laguna’s bars, nightclubs and even its bowling alley as a result of the influx of people coming to gawk at the Ship wasn’t helping the local economy. The jail was full of rowdies, drunks and even a handful of soldiers from the newly constructed Fort Arapaho. Vandalism, public disturbances, fights, traffic accidents, littering were all up. The problem was that the Village, as the shantytown that had formed near the Ship had been christened, had almost no entertainment. There were shops and a couple of unlicensed ramshackle restaurants, but it was Laguna that had the multiplex, the entertainment complex and the nightclubs, pool hall and other recreation amenities. But even with a bustling population of several thousand, Laguna could not sustain a fivefold increase in business and public traffic. The Protectorate Council wasn’t offering up any assistance in dealing with the issue, still too busy arguing before the World Council, Washington and anyone else they felt encroaching on the Ship and their jurisdiction over it. A flash of inspired thought burned through Santino. He slipped his linx headset into his ear and keyed open a communications line on his console. Moments later he was connected with the loan officer of the Aboriginal American’s Bank of the Protectorate head offices in Pueblo, Colorado.
“Chief Santino!” the loan officer, one David George exclaimed. “How can I help you, today?”
“Hello Dave,” Santino replied, “I guess you must be aware of the situation we have, out this way.”
George smiled.
“It’s kind of hard not to be,” He said.
“Well, that’s why I’m calling. We have a unique business opportunity presenting itself. The Village that’s sprung up around the Ship is all homes and shops. I understand they have a Taco Bell and a couple of coffee joints but little else. We’ve had to shut down some of our businesses because they were being overrun by Villagers.” David George nodded.
“I haven’t talked this over with the Council yet, but I’m positive they’ll agree,” Santino explained, “I’d like to propose that the Band guarantee business loans to Laguna businessmen so they can set up social and entertainment businesses in the Village. The Village is leasing the land from the Laguna Band Council already, so we have no worry about real estate costs. We’re looking at construction and setup costs, only.”
“Interesting,” George replied, “Let me talk it over with some of my people here and get back to you after you’ve thrown it out to the Band Council.”
“Will do. Thanks, Dave. I’ll linx you back this afternoon.” As Santino ended the linx, a message flared to life across his console screen:
You have 1 new text linx waiting.
(1)View now (2)View later
Santino selected to view the message. He read it through once and then directed his console to verify its authenticity by tracing it back to the sender. When that was completed Santino read the message again. Then he requested hard copy and holding the paper print-out in hand read it a t
hird time.
“Jesus,” Santino rasped, stunned. After the Ship unearthed itself in his back yard he’d not believed anything could possibly surprise him. How wrong he had been. The message read:
Chief Paul Santino
Chief of the Laguna Band Council
Laguna, Laguna District
South-western Protectorate
Dear Mr. Santino,
His Holiness by the Grace of God and Jesus Christ our Lord, Pope Simon Peter requests your attendance as a special advisory delegate to the forthcoming Vatican Council.
His Holiness believes that as Chief of the Laguna Band and an accredited Shaman of the Acoma People, your insight to this most pressing matter of Faith will be invaluable. That you live in proximity to the Ship and were present during the Unearthing has also been heavily considered in your favour, as a delegate to this Council.
The Fourth Vatican Council will begin in a few weeks’ time and we request that you reply to this invitation by the deadline listed below, either by reciprocal World Grid linx or by postal service.
We thank you Mr. Santino, for your attention to and consideration of our invitation and pray that you will see fit to join us in Rome for the conference.
Yours respectfully,
Br. Simon Gage
Delegate Liaison Vatican IV
♦♦♦
There was no longer any question; they were face to face with a door. The tiles to either side door were strange, rectangular runes, each carved with a different alien symbol. Complicating things further was a second set of glyphs, these circular and divided into three different sub-types: One type was perfectly round, the other two oval; one oval along the horizontal, the other along the vertical. Round, oval, tall or wide, each glyph-type had only five characters: An empty “ring” glyph, another with one quarter full, a half-glyph, three quarters filled and a full one. Aiziz and Andrews were all over the symbols which were arranged in six different groupings: one for the runes, three for what were evidently numeric glyphs and two combined. The two combined rune groupings were to the left of the door, the four separate sets to the right. Aiziz pulled a small handheld device from her pack. It consisted of a small console screen and a laser pen. She switched the device on, adjusting the width of the beam to its widest and began sweeping it across the surface of the door. Each pass recorded part of the alien script into the device, layering the next pass onto it, flawlessly.
“I’ve never seen writings like these,” She said, “There are certain similarities to ancient written languages that I’ve studied, but it’s unlikely those similarities are anything but coincidental.”
Echohawk approached, studying the scriptures on the door.
“I doubt that we’ll be doing any comparative studies with Earth languages,” He paused, realizing what he had said and chuckled, “Now, there’s a phrase I never thought I’d use: ‘Earth languages’.”
“Funny thing, the way reality catches one up, isn’t it?” Andrews remarked, “Earth languages…alien languages…I doubt that comparative study will yield an interpretation of these symbols. But I do expect that there will be some kind of universal primer. Not here on the door of course, but inside the Ship itself.”
“The primer will do us little good inside the Ship if we’re locked outside,” Aiziz said, “Unless you know how to decipher this and get us in.”
“There’s actually no need for us to decipher this information right now,” Andrews said, “All we need to do is open the door. And the aliens that built this Ship have left us everything we need to do so right here.”
“What do you mean?” Echohawk asked, “How can we open the door if we can’t make sense of the inscription on the door?”
“I said earlier that we’d be faced with a combination lock,” Andrews replied, “And that is essentially what we have here.”
“How, exactly?” Aiziz asked, growing impatient. The other members of the SSE were pausing in their tasks to regard Andrews.
“It’s simple really,” Andrews said, “The symbols to either side of the door would indicate the aliens who built the Ship have a base-five numerical system. Look at the round glyphs. They cannot be anything but number sequences. The runic text accompanying the glyphs is most likely irrelevant to the task at hand anyway. This door was designed to be secured but I doubt it was designed to keep others out; In fact I’d go so far as to say that it was meant to be opened by us.”
“By us?” Echohawk asked.
“I think I see where he’s going,” Aiziz said.
“By us,” Andrews confirmed, “We all agree that the Ship was running a program when it unearthed itself. The Ship executed that program and unearthed itself, giving us deliberate access to the Pyramid via the Ramp. The Ramp leads to the door before us. Aliens intelligent enough to engineer the Ship would probably realize their language would not necessarily be known to us. Therefore they must have left us a puzzle that we could solve. The sets of runes and glyphs along the doorframe are that puzzle. It is therefore quite unlikely that the runic script we see is a set of instructions. I’ll defer the question of what that message must therefore be, to Doctor Aiziz. That they are connected is evident. The individual runes and glyphs are laid out to the right of the door and to the left we have two sets of combined runes and glyphs.”
“Each of the two combined sets is laid out differently,” Aiziz concluded, “Though both resemble alphanumeric keypads. If they’re an input device, the test Professor Andrews is speaking of can only be a sequential pattern recognition test.”
“And once we determine the pattern and sequence we’ll have access to the Ship,” Andrews concluded.
♦♦♦
Lieutenant-Colonel Margaret Bloom had again spent the last few days in a holding pattern. She’d been shipped out to DIA headquarters at Bolling Air Force Base in DC, been assigned to barracks and had been left there to rot. She’d spent days drifting, waiting to be called to Harrod’s office for some sort of assignment or duty. Nothing. Bloom had found herself spending her time drifting between the rec room and its game consoles, Grid connections and vid screens and the Officer’s Club with its alcohol, pool tables, dart boards and where her rank bought her a thousand dollar credit line at the bar. She had access to the airfield but no flight privileges so she oftentimes found herself hanging out with her fellow fighter jocks, including some old wing mates who had become instructors. Her linx was always in her ear, always standing by for the call that never came. Finally this morning Bloom had received word. She’d been in the rec room in a simulator game, heavily involved piloting a deep space fighter called a Starfury, hence the name of the game, when her linx chimed.
“Shit!” she swore absently, pausing the game in mid assault on an enemy frigate. She put down the control pad for the game, pressing a switch behind her ear on her headset.
“Bloom here,”
“Lieutenant-Colonel,” Harrod’s voice came, grating in her ear, “Report to my office immediately.”
“I’m on my way General,” She said. At last; things were moving, again.
“Sit down, please,” Harrod said. He didn’t look up from the central console on his desk. He keyed a switch and behind him a wall-screen rolled out of its recess. Its flexible fabric rippled as some unseen bump on its roller repeatedly hit the groove of the track it was in. The screen drifted to a halt and flared to life. Displayed on it was Bloom’s service record.
“I’ve been reviewing your file Lieutenant-Colonel, trying to decide what is to be done with you,” Harrod said. He looked up at her briefly then resumed reading from his console.
“I’ve kept you here on hold while I did some checking into your background beyond what’s in your service jacket. Needless to say, what I discovered surprised me a great deal. It’s amazing to me that you’ve been promoted up through the ranks to where you are. Apparently however, your skills behind the stick are seen as redeeming a record that’s been spotted with...incidents where you’ve consistently and const
antly challenged your superior officers. Not to mention the number of times you’ve been court-martialled for assault, disobeying direct orders and…other offences.” Bloom said nothing. She’d let Harrod bait her once too often already. He continued.
“Despite your problem with those in authority over you, you’ve handled your own authority quite well. You’re also one of the top aerospace engineers the Air Force has. These things have counted in your favour so far and they are also among the reasons you simply didn’t disappear en route to Bolling. You can still be of use to your government.”
“How?” Bloom asked, at long last.
“Lieutenant-Colonel, as you are aware the DIA is not simply another intelligence and espionage agency like Homeland Security, the NID, the CIA, the NSA, or ConsOp. We are also one of the most important military research and development agencies that the United States controls.”“And if the rumours are true,” Bloom said, “The DIA also operates one of the largest, most well equipped shadow armies in the world.”
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