The Unearthing

by Karmazenuk, Steve; Williston, Christine

  “Of course it didn’t arise independently on Earth,” The Cardinal replied, “All life comes from God and that is how that question should be answered!” The Pontiff waived his hand dismissively.

  “That isn’t what they want to know,” the Pontiff replied, “And you know that as well as I do.”

  “Questions of science are not our domain. Questions of Faith are. Whether God grew us here or seeded the world through the Ship makes no difference to me,” The Cardinal said, “Nor should it make any difference to them.”

  “It makes a difference when you consider that God revealed His love for Mankind to us through His Son,” The Pontiff countered, “How then did He reveal Himself and His love to these Aliens? That is what people are asking. That is what I cannot answer. Given the slaughter of innocents perpetrated by The United Trinity Observants people wonder if God truly intends the Ship to have a message for us.”

  “Of course it does,” The Cardinal replied, “But there have always been those who would strive to make us deaf to the Word of the Lord and the Devil’s pawns they are, all of them.”

  “I agree. But I have failed to teach the Faithful this. They will not understand when I tell them so.”

  “You committed no sin, my old friend.”

  “But still I have failed.”

  “To do what? To stop Gabriel Ashe?”

  “No. To stop the crisis in the Faith,” Simon Peter replied, agitated, “What is our place in God’s plan if we are not His sole creation? How was God’s message delivered to the other worlds out there? Are Humans His true Chosen People or is all life, all intelligence numbered among His Chosen?”

  “That we cannot know,” the Cardinal said, “How can we when we are not from those worlds? How can we when we cannot even hope to understand the fullness of God’s Mystery as it concerns Mankind?”

  The Pontiff nodded.

  “This council is getting us nowhere,” He said, rising, “We cannot understand the Lord’s message, if there is indeed one, while sitting here discussing the Ship in a committee. It is clear to me that I must go to Geneva and petition the World Council for access to the Ship.”

  ♦♦♦

  The storm was a threatening band of dark grey on the horizon to the northeast when Bloom took her jog around the Ship. It was such a chilly morning that she hadn’t stripped off her warm-up suit before her run. From where she was it looked like the storm was half a continent away. The morning was otherwise promising to become another bright and sunny New Mexican day.

  By late morning the wind had picked up and the storm was blowing in. The wind suddenly died around One PM and the clouds crested to a halt, darkening the sky to a dusky gloom. The storm broke while Bloom was having a late lunch with Major Benedict and the senior members of the Ship Survey Expedition. They were sitting by the bay window of the Officer’s Mess, overlooking the Ship.

  “Look at that,” Doctor Kodo said, looking up from his cheeseburger platter. The rain was coming down in sheets and the Ship could only be seen because of the blue glow pulsing from the many trenches that crisscrossed its hull. They could see daylight through the rain, on the far side of the Ship.

  “Yeah,” Peter remarked. Above the bay windows, shutters allowing fresh air were open and the room began cooling perceptively. As one of the mess hall workers moved to shutter them closed, Bloom held him off.

  “Easy there, Private,” She said, “The breeze is nice. Let’s enjoy the cool air, while we can.”

  “Yes ma’am,” The Private said, returning to other duties. They sat watching the rain. Then, they watched a large flash of lightning strike the Pyramid. Seconds later the concussion of thunder made itself known. And then as the rain slackened a bit the lightning storm began. The largest metallic object in the area was the Ship and with all the energy it produced to power itself it was a natural attractor. The view of the Ship never seemed to get old, Bloom observed, and when it started to seem commonplace, something else about it would surprise you. The thunderstorm overhead reflected a new, violent beauty back at them: Hundreds of lightning strikes were seared the Ship, doing nothing to the colossus other than showcase it in brief; staccato flares of light casting strange shadows across its even stranger surface. The spectacle was hypnotic and could even boast its own soundtrack: Even over the din of the wind and rain and thunder, the Shipsong could be heard, once more seeming to make the noise of the storm part of its own symphony without once ever changing its alien harmonics or its surreal rhythms. When the storm abated, the meeting resumed. They’d paused for over an hour to watch.

  “Okay,” Bloom said, “Show’s over. Let’s get back on track; time for departmental updates, such that they are.”

  As she finished speaking, Bloom gestured to one of the mess clerks for a large pot of coffee. While they waited, Kodo spoke:

  “Doctor Cole and I have gotten in touch with some people we know,” He said, “Microbiologists, biochemists and geneticists; we’ve sent them all cell samples. When they get them they’re going to start running different experiments. Among other things we’re hoping to clone the cells.”

  “To what end?” Bloom asked.

  “We might have a better understanding of the cells themselves if we can watch them grow,” Cole replied as more coffee arrived. The members of the SSE began preparing their coffees.

  “Other than that, we’re taking a closer look at the extra chromosomes found in the samples,” Kodo said, “With most life on Earth we’d see between twenty and fifty chromosome pairs, depending on the type of life form. Humans have forty-six chromosomes. The cells from the Ship have eighty-nine; assuming that they are indeed even chromosomes.” He glanced at Doctor Cole, who referred to her console.

  “The chromosome-like structures we’ve observed are quite unusual,” Cole said, “Given firstly that there are an odd number of base pairs. Secondly, they don’t quite behave the way we would expect chromosomes to behave in a normal cell. Finally, the structures are lacking the equivalent of telomeres; objects on the ends of chromosomes that gradually shorten as cells divide, regulating cell growth.”

  “You left out the fact that eighty-nine is a prime number,” Andrews interjected.

  “In chromosomes,” Cole continued, ignoring the mathematician. “The telomeres also serve the function of controlling the rate of cellular reproduction, to a certain extent. Without them, cells divide uncontrolled. Cancer, for example, occurs partially because cells mutate and develop without telomeres. Then there are other components, similar to structures in plant cells and yet serving no function we can identify. The mechanics of these cells are completely unlike anything we’ve seen here on Earth.” She’d finished speaking and sipped at her coffee. Bloom turned to Aiziz and Andrews.

  “We’re working with Peter right now,” Aiziz reported, “On determining what we’ll need to generate a high-speed translation software once we’ve mastered the basics of Shiplanguage.”

  “How likely is that?”

  “Very, actually,” Paulson replied, “Once we have the basic structure of the language and know the context of the runic symbols, the rules, the modifiers et cetera, we can generate a ‘ware that’ll translate Shiplanguage into English, or any other Human language we program the machine with.”

  “Although it seems likely we’ll have better luck if we translate into Japanese, or one of the Arab dialects,” Andrews said, “From what we were able to record in the language lab before they shut us down, Shiplanguage is very contextual. The order of the symbols, their placement and the symbols next to them all modify one another in very specific ways. A language as simple and basic as English might not have the complexities necessary to properly interpret Shiplanguage.”

  “We may have to filter Shiplanguage through another level of Human language before it can be translated into English,” Aiziz concluded, “But we should still be able, eventually, to come up with an interpreter.”

  “For my own part,” Bloom told them, “I’ve been working with
engineers through the Grid on a study of the Ship, based on what we’ve seen of it so far. Basically, we know three things: It’s big, it’s old and it’s the most well built thing we’ve ever seen.” There were mirthful groans of irritation around the table.

  “The basics behind the engineering of the Ship are sound,” Bloom said, “From what I’ve seen there’s nothing very new or radical as far as principles of engineering go. The real miracles must be in the materials and alien technology. That’s my basic job here: to locate and extract tech that the World Council thinks will be beneficial to Humanity. Until we actually get beyond the language lab and into the Ship itself, there isn’t much as an engineer that I can do. That’s why I’ve filed for a temporary leave of absence. My daughter’s home from hospital and I’m going to spend the next few days by her side. I’ll return once the World Ship Summit has announced its decision regarding the future of our expedition. Major Benedict will be taking care of you while I’m gone and will be able to reach me if necessary.”

  ♦♦♦

  “And then what happened?” Doctor Brace asked. James swallowed hard.

  “Allison thought it best that she go alone to get Laura home from the hospital,” He said, “And I thought it best I try and reach you as quickly as possible.”

  “You’re fortunate that I do two hours a day of Grid linx appointments,” Brace said from the viewer boom over James’ left eye, “So Allison’s not back from the hospital with Laura, yet?”

  “No…they should be back soon. I got a text message from Allison saying traffic was bad.”

  Brace nodded. “You have your work cut out for you where Allison’s concerned,” She said, “That much is certain. I can’t say that I’m pleased with you using the tranquilizers I prescribed to get high. It was stupid and dangerous. For someone who’s afraid to die, Mister Johnson, you shouldn’t take such a risk with your life. You have to start appreciating your life instead of simply being afraid to lose it. We all die, Mister Johnson. It’s inevitable. You have to focus on other things. When you start thinking about death again, fight back. Think about what you have; what’s worth living for. What you want to accomplish. What you want to do. Life is for living. You’re conscious awareness of your mortality can be a blessing in disguise if you let it.”

  ♦♦♦

  “Mark, have a look at this,” Cole beckoned from where she’d been working with cell samples. It was late at night, Cole and Kodo having spent much of the day hunched over their desks, working diligently. Kodo sighed and stretched, coming over from his workstation to Cole’s. He moved with exhaustive lethargy. Cole turned the eyepiece of her microscope toward him.

  “Here,” She said, “Have a look at this. I was trying to isolate the polymerized cells from the regular cells.” Under the microscope slide one of the darker, polymerized cells was stuck against a small cluster of living tissue.

  “Notice anything?”

  “Not really,” Kodo said. Cole increased magnification until the cells seemed as big as saucers under the lens. She then positioned a microscopic spot light directly over the sample.

  “How about now?” she asked. In the sample dish, a dot of blue energy had appeared in the polymerized cell and glowing veins of blue could be seen flowing to each of the cells in the tissue sample.

  “My God,” Kodo said.

  “This is occurring under normal light as well,” Cole explained, “But it’s much stronger when light is concentrated on the polymerized cells.”

  “Then this is how the cells have been staying alive; the polymerized cells have become photovoltaic generators.”

  “That’s right. And those cellular components that we couldn’t identify are part of that process. In the regular cells, they convert the power current generated by the voltaic cells into nutrients. In the polymerized cells, they run photosynthesis.”

  “Simone, you’re a genius.”

  “Well, yes, Mark, I am.”

  ♦♦♦

  “Good morning, Elder Santino,” Santino sighed heavily. He could never understand why Catholic clergy always seemed to be such bloody morning people. It was half past six and he wanted for another hour’s sleep, at least. He toggled the comm switch on his console, turning the screen so it faced him.

  “Morning Brother Gage,” He said, to the cheery-faced young man on the roll-out screen before him, “But this early, it can never be good.”

  “Actually, I’d think it is,” Gage replied.

  “You would,” Santino sniped, “Why? What is it? Our committee isn’t supposed to sit…” he called up his schedule on a submenu, “Shit! Brother Simon, we’re not meeting until this afternoon!”

  “I know. You have an unscheduled breakfast meeting.” Why him? Santino bemoaned. He’d been having breakfast meetings off and on since he’d gotten here. First, the heads of the Aboriginal Delegation had wanted to speak to him and then it was the Hindu Delegation, the Muslims, everyone wanting to hear about the Ship, all of them asking for his perspective on it as a Shaman. Try as he might he couldn’t get it through these peoples’ heads that he wasn’t a Shaman, he was a scholar.

  “Who wants to see me, this time?” he growled, “The Pope?”

  “Actually, yes,” Brother Gage said. Santino sat up in bed, suddenly fully awake. The Pope had asked for an audience. With him.

  “He knows I’m not a Shaman, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who told him?”

  “I told the Bishop, who told the Cardinal…I can only imagine the Pontiff saw it on your updated biography on our Grid spar.”

  “When’s breakfast?”

  “His Holiness likes to have breakfast at seven thirty.” Gage replied, “You have about half an hour before someone comes to collect you.”

  “Collect me? I’m housed a half-klick from the Vatican.”

  “We have to brief you on protocol when meeting the Earthly head of the Roman Catholic Church.”

  “Oh. Great.”

  “We’ll see you in a half an hour.”

  “Half an hour. Great.” Santino grunted. He terminated the linx and rolled out of bed. It was going to be a long, goddamn day.

  Santino was escorted into the Pontiff’s inner sanctum and into the walled garden beyond. Besides the Pope, few people ever saw this place. Santino was shown to a table in the middle of the enclosed garden and seated before Pope Simon Peter. The aged Black man poured the former Chief of the Laguna Band a cup of strong coffee.

  “Good morning sir,” The Pontiff said, “I request one thing of you before we begin: speak honestly with me, or not at all. Although the people around me mean well, they so often fail to inform me, as much as they flatter me.”

  “All right,” Santino said, “I think I can do that.”

  “Good,” The Pope replied, “Then I can reasonably expect not to always hear what I want to hear from you. I imagine you’re wondering why you’ve been given an audience with me.”

  “Yes your Eminence, the question had crossed my mind.” A servant brought out a small buffet of breakfast foods. The Pope heaped scrambled eggs and bacon onto his plate, along with toast and sausage. As Santino filled his plate, the Pope glanced at him wryly.

  “One of the greatest advantages of age and heading the third largest religion in the world,” he said, “Is being able to eat what you please for breakfast.” Santino smiled. They ate in silence for a few moments, each of them relishing their initial mouthfuls of breakfast. Finally, the Pope spoke:

  “Plainly put, Elder Santino,” The Pontiff raised a hand to pre-emptively silence Santino as he saw the other man begin to object to the use of the title, “Whether you are comfortable with the honorific or not it owns you as you do it, Elder. Plainly put, I have asked to see you because of all the people gathered in Roma as part of this fourth Vatican Council you alone have seen the Ship; you alone were there when it was unearthed.”

  “I didn’t actually witness the Unearthing,” Santino said, “But I have seen the Ship; I’ve
stood near it and heard the Shipsong.”

  “I have read and seen records of testimony from quite a few people who have been near the Ship,” the Pontiff informed him, “Mainly my fellow-Catholics who related these encounters to their clergy.”

  “Then I don’t suspect there is much new information that I can give you.”

  “Every report I have read, every record I have seen, has all been coloured from the Catholic point of view. Even when the accounts were of Catholics finding doubts in their faith after having been to the Ship, everything is filtered. We tend to be biased by our beliefs. That was one of the reasons I made Vatican IV multifaith. I even invited the Pagans, much to the horror of many Catholics,” The Pope chuckled. “I come from Haiti. I grew up with Voodoo and Catholicism living side by side. All religions, Elder Santino, all religions have something to say to us.”