“All right.” Aeson resumes examining the sarcophagus, and the others in the chamber do the same.
This is the moment that my Dad chooses to speak up. “Would it be possible to ask you, Venerable Shirahtet, what is written on some of those cartouches?”
Shirahtet turns to my father. “Of course, I am at your service, Ter Charles.”
Dad points out the cartouche in question, the one that seems to be often repeated.
Shirahtet looks at it, then his expression becomes extremely focused. “It says, ‘all things.’”
“All things?” my Dad echoes. “That is what’s written? No specific names?”
Shirahtet narrows his eyes and looks again. “That first part of the pictograph, the joined circles, means ‘all’ while the next portion with the four triangles superimposed is ‘thing.’ Since it is preceded by a plural, it is ‘things.’”
“So. All things,” Dad thinks out loud. “’All’ or ‘every’ and then ‘thing.’ ‘Everything?’”
“Yes indeed.” Shirahtet nods. “It can be read as ‘everything.’”
And then, even as the First Priest mentions the word, his expression comes alive. “The book, the book!” he mutters.
“What book?” Dad asks, sitting up and leaning forward in his seat.
“The Book of Everything!” Shirahtet exclaims. “An elusive ancient artifact we’ve been very eager to find, which has been referenced in other ancient relics. It is something which Our Imperial Sovereign, the Archaeon Imperator is very interested in—has been interested in for quite some time.”
“Ah, I see,” Dad says. “It sounds fascinating. Do you think this Book of Everything is inside that burial box?”
“It must be—such is our hope,” Shirahtet says. “If only it were indeed so!”
Over the next hour, Aeson and the others on the surface of the moon are asked to confirm the occurrences of the Everything Cartouche, as my Dad has begun calling it. According to the count, the phrase ‘Everything’ appears at least twenty times, in different sizes, all over the top of the ancient coffin.
“Can you attempt to open the sarcophagus?” Shirahtet says suddenly, after yet another tiny instance of ‘Everything’ shows up in an almost microscopic size along a design border.”
“Cvutu should be here in less than an hour,” Aeson responds. “I want her to give her estimation of how best to proceed—in a near vacuum or under full atmospheric conditions—to make that initial opening.”
Shirahtet makes a tiny sound of impatience, then checks his wrist comm for messages.
While all of this is happening, I see my brother Gordie wander into view, down there on the surface, as he follows along with the others. Gordie strolls around the bowl-shaped chamber and—after taking a long look at the main “exhibit” in the center, the sarcophagus itself—now peers at the walls and the eight entrances that branch off from the central hub. At some point he stops and simply stands staring at some wall panel, almost transfixed—and yet there’s nothing on it. Yeah, that’s my younger brother, all right.
Those of us on Atlantis continue to watch and wait.
Finally, the long-awaited Antiquities team lands on the Ghost Moon, and Igara Cvutu arrives in the Habitat chamber with her two assistants and a trove of specialized tools to evaluate the ancient burial.
After running some non-invasive scans, it is decided that the best thing to do would be to open the sarcophagus right here and now, in the rarified atmosphere.
I turn to glance at my Dad whose eyes are full of curiosity and energy. Oalla, Radanthet, and others in the workroom stare with anticipation, while Shirahtet manages to look both eager and cautious, and constantly sends out messages on his wrist comm.
When it’s time to remove the lid of the sarcophagus, it takes four SPC crew personnel and both of the museum assistants working together to shift and then lift up the heavy thing. Apparently, there is a layer of stone underneath the jewel-encrusted metal, which explains the extreme weight. Good thing this is being done in the lighter gravity of the moon, and not on Atlantis where the same sarcophagus would suddenly weigh an additional ton.
The lid is removed and set aside with great care by the six people working in tandem.
Inside, another, smaller sarcophagus is revealed. This inner sarcophagus appears to be made of pure gold and covered with fine etchings.
“Yes, might as well proceed to open it here,” Igara Cvutu says to the work crew after an initial moment of awe and wonder at the discovery. Her face, seen through the visor of her helmet, is thoughtful and resigned. “Whatever is inside would likely fare better if first exposed to a thin, arid atmosphere such as this. So much dry sand and minimal oxygen. The conditions on this moon are ideal for preservation. We might assume the body has managed to avoid the corrosive effects of oxygen all these thousands of years.”
The crew carefully lift up the golden lid. It is discovered to be considerably lighter because the gold layer is pressed over wood. They set this lid nearby, resting it gently on the platform next to the grand outer lid.
And then everyone stares with disbelief at what is revealed inside.
I admit, I expected to see mummified human remains wrapped in ancient resin and natron-soaked linen—or its Atlantean equivalent.
Instead, within the wooden sarcophagus box, we see a human figure-shaped jewel.
The thing is of a deep, indigo blue color. . . . It has a smoothly polished cabochon surface that immediately glistens in the bright illumination and sends smoky lavender and violet light and shadows playing in its depths.
There is a collective gasp heard around the workroom on Poseidon. And on the Ghost Moon surface, a similar series of exclamations issues from multiple persons.
“Bashtooh! What is that?” everyone asks.
I watch the big screen as Aeson leans closer over the immense blue jewel. He shines a bright beam from his helmet at the upper end to illuminate the bizarre object entombed in this human manner.
And as the light falls upon the rich blue, an even stranger thing happens. The focused beam manages to reach deep inside, piercing the layers of the dark, translucent material . . . and a human face is revealed, ghostly and serene, seeming to float in its depths.
“Whoa!” my brother Gordie exclaims, looking over Erita’s shoulder. He is the first one to react.
Erita peers down. “Is that a trick of the light?”
“Did you see that? That’s a face!” Xelio says from the other side of the sarcophagus.
“Yes, I see it,” Aeson responds coldly. “There’s more.”
“There’s a face, a head and—”
“Not just a head, there is someone in there. An entire body. . . . We need more light.” Erita engages her own helmet’s high beam in addition to her wrist light.
“Extremely unusual. This appears to be a body completely encased for burial,” Igara Cvutu says, bending to stare closer. “I suspect this material is ancient resin. Likely, it was originally clear and transparent—”
“Yes, yes,” Shirahtet says with excitement, here on Atlantis. “And over the centuries it transitioned, acquiring its deep coloration and unique hue. . . . This is Pegasus Blood!”
“What—the whole thing?” Oalla glances at him with a frown. “How is that possible? So much priceless Agnios tree resin?”
“I can think of no other ancient substance that can be poured over a subject without harm to the skin and preserve it so perfectly in its entirety,” Shirahtet says. “Ordinary, cheap resin from other sources would not form such a hard jewel casing around an object. Pegasus Blood alone can do this.”
“Don’t forget, they had many Agnios trees in those early days, and the sap was plentiful,” Keruvat remarks, from his own vantage point around the foot area of the sarcophagus.
“So yes, it is entirely possible,” Igara Cvutu says. “We need to analyze the material to be certain, but I am quite convinced it could be little else.”
In the meantime, Ae
son moves slowly backward in parallel to the sarcophagus, so that his helmet illuminates the entire length of the blue object. As he does so, we start seeing the detail in the depths of the indigo.
A body is indeed sealed inside, like an insect trapped in amber. . . . A female body, with a lovely innocent face and delicate skin unmarred by the ages.
The woman lies, reposing in a semblance of sleep, with her eyelids closed and her arms folded at her chest. She is pale and youthful—or merely timeless, judging by her smooth, unlined features, which are almost doll-like in their exquisite form. Her hair is long and Kassiopei-golden, as the bright beam of light confirms. It seems to float in fine filaments, fanning outward like a mermaid’s mane, suspended in the ancient resin ocean around her.
Surreal. . . .
She wears a golden garment wrapped around her torso, a kind of loose, translucent shift that barely covers her limbs. Her hands rest, one over the other, delicate slim fingers, with nothing underneath, no objects of Imperial power.
How did she die? My thoughts race. What happened to her?
Except for being encased in a priceless substance, the body is otherwise unadorned. No rings on her fingers, no bracelets or arm braces, no grand wesekh collar necklace around the slender column of her throat.
“Scan the whole body and the Pegasus Blood itself for anything else that might be within,” Shirahtet says. “And check the wooden coffin box for any other objects. Look for scrolls or collections of writings. Even scraps. . . .”
“You mean, search for The Book of Everything.” Aeson nods and steps back, giving Specialist Cvutu and her two assistants room to work. Everyone else does the same.
The Antiquities team uses hand-held gadgets to pass over the entombed woman and her precious translucent container. They pause to check the readings frequently.
“I am sorry, but there’s nothing that I would call a book, or written artifacts inside,” one assistant says after multiple scan passes.
Shirahtet makes a loud exhalation. He does not look pleased at all.
“Very well,” he says after a pause. “Continue to scan—check the box for hidden slots in the wood, for seams or any kind of secret compartments. Examine places underneath the body.”
And for the next few minutes the scan gadgets are back in action.
“Nothing,” Igara Cvutu concludes.
“Examine the exterior sarcophagus too, look for compartments, press every jewel if needed,” Shirahtet says. “Better yet, load the whole thing on a transport and get it here. I would like to see it for myself.”
“Very well,” Igara Cvutu responds with a shrug. “I no longer have the usual preservation-based concerns as far as damage to the remains, seeing how well it is contained. We will have the whole thing delivered to Atlantis and continue this process there.”
“When it—she, the ancient Kassiopei princess—arrives here, I would love to take a look,” my Dad says, glancing at Shirahtet.
“Of course,” the First Priest replies with a polite nod to my father.
In that moment on the Ghost Moon, my brother Gordie, standing nearby and staring at the jewel-encrusted lid of the outer sarcophagus, says, “Hey, sorry to bother you but there’s something tiny and weird inside that clear glass. . . . If you look at it from directly above, it’s sort of like a magnifying lens. I think there’s something hidden inside. Looks like miniature writing.”
At once, everyone surrounds Gordie, and he steps out of the way as the experts get to work with their gadgets.
“He is correct,” Igara Cvutu says moments later, straightening. “There is a micro-image of an entire scroll contained inside that glass. Someone went to a lot of trouble to do that kind of nano-conversion. I cannot read the details with the insufficient level of magnification of the tools I’ve brought here, but I will examine them thoroughly, once on Atlantis.”
And the large screen in the workroom now shows the feed from her perspective, with the focus on one enlarged pale glass jewel attached to the lid. There is definitely a tiny thumbnail image that looks like written characters and pictographs under a microscope.
“And the Everything Cartouche is right below it,” Dad says. “I recommend you examine every jewel in the neighborhood of every one of those cartouches.”
Shirahtet looks at my father with renewed energy. “Ter Charles, you may very well be right.”
“It would certainly explain why the word ‘everything’ occurs in so many places,” Charles Lark, my father, says. “I suspect it marks the spot where there are more such micro-images of hidden text. I would say The Book of Everything is before you—it is the entire sarcophagus.”
Chapter 82
It is after Midnight Ghost Time on Poseidon by the time Aeson and the others arrive back on Atlantis.
As expected, the SPC teams in charge of transporting the precious archeological cargo deliver the sarcophagus of Arlenari Kassiopei to the research facility underneath the Atlantis Grail Monument for “initial evaluation and possible decontamination”—according to the news media that was given the bare minimal but unavoidable details. The media feeds, including the Hel-Ra Network, do not specify the facility by name, perpetuating the assumption that the sarcophagus now rests somewhere in the Imperial Poseidon Museum vault or one of its affiliates.
By this time Dad and I are back in his guest quarters together with George and Manala, who returned from War-5 only a short while ago. It’s late, and everyone is tired, but we’re sleepless from all the excitement, waiting on pins and needles for what comes next.
After the successful completion of Manala’s part in the astroctadra mission aboard War-5, Xelio flew away solo to join Aeson and the others on the Ghost Moon. Manala was left with Consul Denu and George on the battle barge, to return home at their convenience. As a result, Manala—accompanied by my older brother and the Consul, and all her guards—stayed to watch, along with the War-5 high command, via SPC secure channel transmissions, some of the events taking place on the Ghost Moon. Afterwards they headed back to Atlantis, intending to be here earlier, but encountered extreme weather delays and took extra care returning from orbit.
And now, we wait for Aeson’s return. Dad lies down for an hour to rest—or so he says; I’m guessing he will just sleep through the night—while the rest of us continue to watch the TV feeds. We switch back and forth from Ghost Moon coverage and its stunning ancient ship graveyard discoveries to the global weather disaster coverage—particularly on the opposite side of the world in New Deshret, Abuud, Karamat, and Xeosan.
It’s currently morning there, and multiple hurricane systems and tidal waves are in progress—some are successfully contained and neutralized by weather tech, while a few others manage to break through and make impact against the various coastlines. Yes, the weather control agencies are still working on reprograming the control parameters to account for the gravitational effects of the Ghost Moon. . . .
At last, Aeson shows up, together with Gordie and Erita, who makes a point of “delivering Gordon Lark home safely.”
Gordie appears unusually wound up but also sleepy, judging by his huge yawns. But he starts talking about the details he got to see on the amazing Ghost Moon. “Hey, since we did the Ghost Moon thing today and missed dinner, I mean, niktos meal, how about a ghost meal now? Cause that would be super.”
I smile at Gordie fondly, and call the kitchen staff to order a meal service for everyone—exercising my role as a proper Imperial.
“Oh, I am so glad the Plural Logos Voice singing command worked,” Manala says. “It would have been terribly sad if it had all been for nothing.”
“Fortunately, it all worked out, so no need to stress over alternate possible endings,” George says calmly, giving Manala an amused, brief stare.
Manala turns to look at George with widened eyes. “What alternate possible endings?” she asks.
George opens his mouth, begins to say something, then shakes his head and exhales loudly. He takes a seat on th
e sofa and puts his feet up.
Manala continues looking at him with a slightly startled look of expectation. But George makes a point of ignoring her, so neither one of them says anything else.
Meanwhile, Aeson comes up to me and leans down to simply kiss me. We linger in the breathless, deep intimacy. Then I wrap my arms around him and we just stand there, both of us, in utter exhaustion.
“I’m so mad at you, Aeson,” I whisper after a few moments, placing my hands on his cheeks and turning his face to stare directly into his beautiful lapis lazuli eyes.
His eyes focus in surprise and he stirs. “What? Why?”
“Because you told Oalla to take me back home instead of going with all of you to the Ghost Moon! I wanted to be there and see all those wonders! How could you not ask me first?”
“I’m sorry,” he replies, blinking. “Yes, I should’ve talked with you, but the situation was extremely volatile, potentially dangerous, I couldn’t risk taking you into something—”
“Next time, at least let me know what the plan is,” I whisper with intensity, staring into his eyes with a frown. “Let me make the decision, okay?”
“Okay. . . .” His expression is so tense and worried in that moment that my heart melts. I give him a peck on the cheek, and at the same time whisper, “Promise?”
“All right. I promise.” He looks down at me in relief.
“So,” I say. “Arlenari Kassiopei. Who was she? I—my Dad, all of us—have a million questions.”
He sighs, shaking his head, glancing briefly at the others in the room. “Believe me, im amrevu, so do I. Tomorrow morning, everything begins—literally. The so-called Book of Everything. My Father’s specialists will analyze those microscopic, jewel-encased scrolls, then run every test imaginable on every other part of the sarcophagus and the ancient body. My Father expects significant results and they will give it to him. You and I will know much more, by this time tomorrow.”
Survive Page 88