Anu and Gennio immediately look to him.
“It appears, they’re no longer just jumping around and moving at random,” Keruvat says. “They are lining up—with very specific intervals between them—look.”
We crowd around him and stare at the same blazing view from Rah Station.
Except, it is indeed different. The previously chaotic golden lights are assembling into an ordered lineup, forming precisely spaced rows of golden dots. They flit across, then one dot suddenly finds a point and stops. Then the next dot takes its place in the formation next to it and stills permanently, hovering in space.
“Crap, that’s a grid,” Anu mutters.
“Agreed.” Keruvat frowns, then taps some commands, calling up a visual grid overlay which he adjusts until it matches the spacing of the light dots, confirming their ordered formation. “Perfectly equidistant indeed. Imaging sensors are still calculating the exact mag-heitar spacing of the grid, but we should have it in moments.”
“This is not good,” Gennio says quietly.
“They are building a formation of some kind,” I whisper.
“Yes,” Ker says.
“When they are done, what happens next?”
“Not sure at what point they will be done. Because they are still coming.” And Ker taps the screen to point out another new tiny flare, as yet another new golden light object “emerges” from Hel’s corona and flits away to join the others.
Anu cusses in Atlanteo and passes a hand over the back of his head.
It is very late evening, close to eleventh hour, when Aeson finally returns home. Keruvat is the only one still here, glued to the computer display, watching the Rah Station grid. Anu and Gennio have gone for the night, though still on high alert and ready to be called back if needed.
I’ve spent the hours observing Ker and the others work, then watching TV feeds from the sofa that show a lot of panicking and confused people and reporters on the streets of Poseidon, views of the sky supposedly showing something on or around Hel (even though it’s not really possible to see anything with the naked eye in the glare of daylight), and nervous commentators and talk show panelists discussing the alarming events of the day, including the anticipated inevitability of Fleet mobilization.
At some point my brother Gordie calls, asking me if I am okay and what the hell is going on, and that everyone at his workplace “is freaking out about an ancient alien invasion.” I tell him as much as I know, and he promises to drop by tomorrow. Then we talk about Gracie and how she’s been activated for duty. . . . And we talk about Dad and George, flying toward us even now, and what it will all mean in the long run, them coming here to Atlantis with all that’s happening. . . .
Talking with Gordie does not diminish my simmering fear, but it does help me get a grip and focus.
And now. . . .
Aeson is here.
He is wearing his usual public mask of control as he enters the workroom, but his fixed expression is grim and exhausted.
Ker gets up at once and salutes his friend and commanding officer. Aeson nods—even as his gaze searches for me immediately, acknowledges my being there—before he returns his attention to Keruvat. They exchange a few words, and Ker gives a brief status report. In short, no significant new developments except for the immense alien grid, which is still forming somewhere in space between Helios and Rah, as additional light objects continue to arrive endlessly.
“Also, a personal video log report from Rah Station Nomarch Rertu just came in. View at your convenience,” Ker says.
“Very well, thank you, daimon.” Aeson sighs, pours himself a glass of qvaali and takes a long thirsty drink before continuing. “On my end, The IEC meeting went exactly as expected. Much longwinded talk and alarmed confusion, stupid assumptions, plenty of blame, and nothing decided. My Father left early, in disgust, to deal with New Deshret—since the Pharikon’s been calling non-stop. The only good news is, the Imperial Fleet will be in full preparedness by morning, according to Manakteon Resoi.”
“As expected.” Ker nods. “Ever since the Earth mission, Resoi has implemented a trigger preparedness protocol.”
“It’s working well.” Aeson takes another long swallow of his qvaali and unceremoniously wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “At least the SPC Command Pilots meetings were productive, considering this is our first functional test of the organization in centuries. Whether or not the Star Pilot Corps can measure up to its original intended purpose, whether or not it can maintain international cohesiveness at a time of real crisis, is yet to be seen. . . . I’ve issued orders to each of the Command Pilots to be battle ready, with mandatory compliance. New Deshret and Ubasti national fleets are already primed for action, and Eos-Heket is almost ready too. . . . More on this tomorrow. Now, go get some rest, but remain on call.” And Aeson dismisses Keruvat gently.
Ker salutes and leaves, without any of the usual casual chat between them.
As soon as he’s gone, and we’re alone, Aeson turns to me.
Wordlessly he takes me in a fierce embrace.
“Aeson. . . .” I whisper, stroking his cheek. “Have you eaten?”
We talk over a late niktos meal, mostly for Aeson’s consumption, since I’ve already had some food earlier.
“Gwen,” he says after eating a few hasty bites from his plate. “Tomorrow, before I proceed with anything else, my Father—and also New Deshret—want both of us to go down inside the ancient ark-ship. We are to look for some things—clues, anything—that can help us with the alien situation.”
“Oh!” I part my lips. A weird surge of alarm and excitement swells inside me. . . .
“We are going to be joined by several other individuals selected by my Father. I expect to see Hijep Tiofon, Shirahtet, possibly Rovat Bennu. Maybe a few of his lab tech experts. Likely, ancient historians to interpret the archived information and the artifacts. At this point, be prepared for anyone or anything in those lower levels.”
I frown from the effort of holding back the rising tension. “Is it wrong to admit that I’m kind of curious and eager to see what’s down there?”
“To be honest, I am too.” Aeson chuckles tiredly and resumes eating.
Even now, with all that’s happening, with all the stress and uncertainty in which we’re plunged, I’m distracted enough by the sight of him that my frown eases.
I exhale and release my worry—at least for the moment—and watch his every movement with loving attention.
Chapter 38
The next day is Green Ghost Moon 11, and after yesterday’s eventful Bridal reception hosting the Ladies of the Court, I have nothing official scheduled. Not even the Venerable Therutat could’ve predicted the suddenly looming alien threat, but by some stroke of fortune my Wedding calendar for today has me clear of any Bridal duties.
Today we visit the bowels of the ark-ship.
I wake up soon after dawn, and Aeson is already up and checking overnight SPC reports in the workroom with a tense expression. We quickly get ready to leave for the stadium complex downtown.
“Any news? About them?” I ask with worry as we gulp down our eos bread.
He shakes his head. “The alien grid is still being constructed. It is now immense, stretching across deep space, between Helios and the rest of the system. As for Atlantis defenses, the various Fleets are still assembling.”
Minutes later, we’re heading down to the cars, accompanied by our security guards.
We lift off and fly with the morning traffic, even as Hel rises over the city of Poseidon. Immediately in advance of Hel comes the golden grid of light, briefly visible as it’s cresting above the horizon just ahead of the solar disk.
Having seen the Rah Station enhanced and filtered images I know that in fact the net of golden dots stretches like a fine birdcage veil over the entire face of Hel. But right now, only its upper portion beyond the corona is clearly visible in silhouette against the dawn-stained sky, much of which is still dark. And then
Hel’s light drowns everything. . . .
The phenomenon lasts for only a few seconds before Hel’s white glare overwhelms all other light, but it is enough to leave an impression.
“The grid . . . you can actually see it from here,” I whisper in sudden awe, as I squint and continue to stare through the anti-glare windows of the hover car, even though the bizarre sight is gone.
Aeson glances in the direction of Hel, then quickly looks away, continuing to navigate the hover car in the air traffic lane. “The fact that you can see them without the aid of a magnifying device tells you how large each light object is,” he says grimly. “Each, the size of a planet.”
“No. . . .” My mouth parts as the realization comes slamming down. The planetary scale makes perfect sense, and now that Aeson has pointed it out, the notion of their size starts to plague me.
I think of similar sights seen when stargazing from Earth—Venus and Mars appearing like bright stars, each visible directly with the naked eye if one knows where to look, and so on.
If these things around Helios are each the size of a small planet, and they are forming a cosmic grid, I suddenly feel out of breath just trying to imagine the scale involved.
“They’re going to attack us in this formation, aren’t they?” I say rhetorically.
Aeson does not answer at once. “Not necessarily. It could be a defensive formation. At least for now.”
I sigh, grateful that im amrevu is trying to make me feel better with such a gentle understatement.
For now, I’ll take it.
We arrive at the downtown complex with the Atlantis Grail stadium, and this time do not attempt to navigate the debris-ridden arena with the jutting Grail Monument, but go directly inside the building structure that encircles the venue.
As we approach, we begin to hear the familiar, bone-rattling subterranean hum. The closer we get, the louder the sound grows, radiating from the ark-ship buried deep inside the ground.
Even now, the ancient ship sings. . . . Doesn’t it know it’s already served its malicious purpose?
Aeson gives me a grim nod, acknowledging it, and then we both try to ignore the pervasive sound—which is easier said than done.
The entrance to the ship’s lower levels is accessible from here in the building, via a network of deceptive corridors that circle the complex. Clearly, they are meant to confuse anyone unfamiliar with the truth of the ancient ship.
“For centuries, people working in this building assumed they were merely accessing basement levels,” Aeson tells me as we enter the corridors, surrounded by our Imperial guards. “I did too, Gwen. . . . For so long.”
We follow curving, gradually descending corridors which remind me of my first time here, on the night before the Games began, as I and the other Contenders were taken down along these same corridors and locked inside glass-enclosed cells for the night.
Only this time we advance farther, past the section with the cells, and keep going down, following the trajectory of a gently descending, curving spiral or coil. And then the corridor ends abruptly, before a wide set of metallic double doors which are deeply recessed on top and appear to be set at a curved incline, bulging and extending outward the closer they get to the floor.
Everyone’s been painfully ignoring it, but the deep humming sound here is overwhelming, as it radiates from the doors and their immediate surrounding area.
Knowing what I know now, I understand at once that we are facing the entrance to the ancient ship.
Several familiar figures await us here, before the doors.
Aeson was right. The First Priest Shirahtet is in attendance, looming solemnly in the background. With him is the ACA Director Hijep Tiofon and the STA Director Rovat Bennu, talking quietly, their voices drowning in the general hum all around us.
In addition, I see an unfamiliar dark-haired woman of an indeterminate middle age, in a beige uniform resembling a lab coat. Surprisingly, right next to her is none other than Rurim Kiv, my fellow Champion of the Games in the Artist Category.
My lips part in surprise as I stare at Rurim, wanting to ask him what he’s doing here.
Instead, the moment we approach, everyone offers courtly greetings to Aeson, then acknowledges me politely. Our guards fall back, letting us proceed unobstructed toward the doors.
“My Imperial Lord Aeson—and Imperial Lady Gwen—with your permission, we are ready to begin,” Director Tiofon says. “May I introduce Antiquities Specialist Igara Cvutu from the Imperial Poseidon Museum. She is an expert in the Original Colony Period.”
The woman gives a curt bow to Aeson and me. “I am at your service, Imperial Lord and Lady.”
“And you are both familiar with Games Champion Rurim Kiv. His unusual expertise has been requested by the Imperial Sovereign himself, in regard to deciphering pyramid symbols. He has been informed about the nature of this structure, and he will be joining us in this task.”
“Very well.” Aeson gives Rurim a brief but piercing scrutiny, even as the handsome dark-skinned man watches both of us calmly with a flicker of amusement in his expression, and not a trace of servility.
“I assume this is one of the hull entrances into the ship,” Aeson says, turning to Tiofon. “Please open the doors and let’s proceed inside.”
Hijep Tiofon takes a device that resembles a key card and passes it over a small wall insignia of a Ra sunburst on the right of the doors.
The card is read and the heavy bulging doors slide apart in silence, showing themselves to be at least thirty inches thick. Immediately beyond them is a second set of doors, with only a twenty-inch clearance between the outer doors and the interior ones. The clearance is basically a gap in the walls—nothing but empty space filled with darkness, stretching in all directions, up, down, to the sides. . . .
I stare with widened eyes, as my mind attempts to understand what I’m seeing. A secondary hull layer? Insulation?
Meanwhile, Director Tiofon passes his key card again over a similar insignia in this second set of doors.
They open, similarly thick and curving, to reveal a dimly lit interior. At the same time, stuffy air comes at us, carrying a strange chemical smell, both sterile and somehow pungent.
I glimpse a wide corridor with a low ceiling. The corridor must run parallel to the doors, essentially hugging the perimeter—or circumference—of the hull which is probably rounded like the modern ark-ships.
Director Bennu wrinkles his forehead and sniffs. “Ah, that smell. . . . I used to think it was just a poor ventilation system in the old building and the labs were not vented properly. Now I can imagine there’s so much more to it.” And then he steps over the empty gap in the floor and enters inside ahead of everyone.
Director Tiofon pauses for a moment as if to check the air for himself, then goes in directly after.
“My Imperial Lord, after you,” the First Priest Shirahtet says, with a courtly hand gesture.
Aeson merely walks inside and I follow him. Shirahtet, Igara Cvutu, Rurim Kiv, and the Imperial guards enter last.
The moment we’re inside and the thick doors slide shut behind us, the humming sound disappears almost entirely. Now it seems to be coming from a great distance, the noise and vibration barely perceptible through the walls. Which raises the question: specifically where in the ship does it originate?
The corridor stretches on both sides of us into a curve of infinity, fading into darkness in places where the wall sconce lights are missing, while several others flicker from disrepair. Just ahead of us, the opposite interior wall also curves slightly, and I can see the seams of ancient wall panels holding them together. The walls, ceiling, floor—all are colored slate grey with flecks of gold, which indicates orichalcum.
There are interior doors at sparse intervals, narrow and oddly-shaped like hatches, all along the corridor. Small plaques appear next to each door, inscribed with Atlantean numbers and text in addition to unfamiliar pictograph characters not unlike Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.<
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“As many here are aware, this is the uppermost section, mostly retrofitted as modern laboratory space,” Director Tiofon says as we linger in the corridor, looking around us. “You know this floor as the Red Sector, or Basement Level One.”
“Yes, looks generally familiar to me,” Aeson says.
“In fact, this is Red Habitat, Ra Deck One, Level Four—according to the ship records, which you will have access to shortly,” Tiofon says. “We are not entirely clear on this area’s original purpose, but for the last five decades at least we’ve been using it for biomedical research. Since so much facility space on this level has been retrofitted, there is very little of interest here that is pertinent to our current task. Only the walls and underside portions of these signs and plaques are original—that which is obscured underneath this text overlay.”
“If this is Level Four, I assume there are Levels Three, Two, and One somewhere above us?” Director Bennu asks. “How exactly does that work?”
It is Shirahtet who replies, nodding slowly. “Yes, we are Four Levels below the top of the ship. The levels are approximately aligned with the stadium building structure floors, so that Level One—a small round attic level—lies directly underneath the Grail Monument ‘stem,’ which is a passage tube, hollow on the inside and can be accessed via a hatch.”
“Yes, precisely,” Director Tiofon says. “In addition, the levels are all accessible from a central stairwell that runs all the way down through the middle of the ship.”
“All right. So, where do we begin our exploration?” Aeson asks.
“This way,” Hijep Tiofon replies. “My Imperial Lord—” And he points with one hand before him, beginning to walk left along the corridor.
We go after him, advancing for a long stretch past many closed doors. Occasional staff workers in lab coats walk past us or emerge at random from some of those enclosures. They appear as surprised to see our group as I am to see them. At the sight of Aeson they nod quickly or bow to the Imperial Crown Prince before proceeding on their way.
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