I’ve delayed reporting our experiences on the mountaintop, hoping, I guess, for inspiration to convey it accurately. How do you describe what you do not understand? Put words to something that turns everything you thought possible on its ear?
The green crystal had three exposed faces, each a perfect equilateral triangle. Every side measured exactly 112.338 feet in length. Translucent and warmed by the sun, the crystal’s diamond-hard surface had no markings or scars of any kind. I tried scraping it
with a fingernail and then a rock to no effect.
In the land of the pyramids, what are the odds of finding a perfect example perched exactly at the point of a triangular mountain? How could that be naturally occurring?
Hunter had no answers to my questions, nor comments on theories I floated over the com line. Leaving him to his stupor, I measured and took stock. Any attempt to dig underneath the pyramid to see if it was resting atop the mountain or the point of something bigger was thwarted by a uniform, aggregate base. Not concrete, but something similar and just as hard. It looked to be a pulverized mortar of red native rock.
Rounding the southwest corner, I found Hunter kneeling before the green wall with his forehead pressed to its glassy surface.
“Hey, what are you doing over there?” No answer.
His field sizzled a warning as I reached out to give him a gentle shake. Was it my imagination, a play of the sun, or did the whole crystal pulse with light in response to his field’s discharge?
“This is strange and getting stranger,” I thought.
Not for the first time, I flipped down my visor to zoom in and look for signs like occlusions or fissures that said this was natural rock. That’s what I wanted to see, something that made sense. It just didn’t add up. Though I could find no seams or signs of manufacture, in no way did it look natural. Exposed to the elements as it was, it was too clean, too perfect. Where was the bird shit?
I was running my hands along an edge, wondering if it would be possible for Hunter to climb to the top, when I noticed the birds had stopped their chatter. A troop of monkeys had been howling earlier and now it was silent too. Something was on the hunt nearby.
Turning to the treeline, I was greeted by the sight of three lionesses padding to a stop about 57 yards away. The cats nearly disappeared as they dropped to their bellies in a patch of shade.
“Hunter!” I growled in my most authoritative voice. “Wake your ass up! Lions! We’ve got lions!”
There was no response on the com line as I set off in a measured walk. If I bolted they would be on me in seconds. Their behavior suggested they were escorting a male, which gave me faint hope. The girls might wait for him to be present before making their kill.
“Hunter, I need you here! Wake the fuck up! Now!”
Turning the corner, my heart sank to see he was still kneeling with his forehead against the pyramid. Why did I let him take the pulser so easily? What was I doing alone in the wild without even a spear or club? Stooping to pick up a baseball-sized rock, I chucked it at Hunter’s head. The stone bounced off the field with a fizzle.
“Hunter, please! Snap out of it! Give me a goddamn gun, at least. They’re coming!”
The last bit finished as a high-pitched scream. Running now, I charted the lions’ progress by the sounds of tearing scrub and sticks breaking underpaw. The low growls in the backs of their throats, almost purrs, betrayed their excitement in the chase.
I suppose if I were braver or more resourceful, I would have turned and defeated them. I know Gray Beard would have bothered to arm himself properly and to have identified a safe place to make a stand before he wasted time measuring a translucent crystal that may or may not be from outer space. All I could do was sit down next to Hunter and make one last appeal.
“Please, let me in!”
TRANSMISSION
Duarte: “How long is he going to be like this?”
From the log of Maria Duarte
Chief Botanist
The alpha female wore a confident, satisfied look as she leaped. Deep scars on her muzzle, fangs bared, front paws spread wider than dinner platters, she attacked from alongside the crystal to ensure she didn’t plow into it after taking me down.
“Help!”
With an audible pop, the field enveloped me. My screams filled the strange chamber as three cats slammed face-first into the shield less than a foot from my body. The muffled sounds of the collisions and cries of surprise were drowned out by the thumping in my chest.
Hunter was as useless inside the field as the image he projected outside. Oblivious to the pacing lions, even when they stopped to rake their claws inches from the back of his head as he knelt, pasty white and nude, brow pressed to the pyramid.
Salvatore claimed his father sometimes made portions of his library available when he was invited inside the field. He told of numbers and words scrolling across the walls, listening to symphonies and watching movies. No such amenities were provided for me.
I gradually caught my breath as the lionesses tried to puzzle out why their supper could be seen but not reached. Pacing and yowling in complaint, they would work up the nerve to give the field another go, only to be hit once again with a jolt of electricity.
I received a pair of shocks as well, once for trying to touch Hunter’s guns and once for shouting in his ear. Each time, the field flickered and I briefly found myself on the outside looking in. The message was plain: Sit down and be a good guest or I’ll feed you to the lions.
Tan and exquisitely muscled, possessing cat curiosity and intelligence, the lionesses were as beautiful as they were deadly. Each took three shocks before giving up and retreating to the hiding spot in the shade to study the riddle from afar.
As day dragged toward night the growls of my stomach echoed inside the field. The grubs and berries I collected for dinner were stowed in my pack 60 feet away–too far to chance. To distract myself, I studied the long shadows and glowing cliffs of the Valley of the Kings and imagined where the temples and tombs will be built.
Darkness fell and still Hunter did not stir. At dusk, a pair of males joined the lionesses. The massive, shaggy lions each tested the field, trailing blue static lines as they raked their claws across the invisible barrier. Ignoring the electric shocks, bending the shield inward, one tried to bite my head off, but came up just short.
Finally, the entire pride went to ground within feet of where I huddled. All I could do was try to control my breathing and hope I didn’t wear out my welcome inside Hunter’s field.
“If you won’t talk to me,” I muttered into the air, “how about the programming you carry inside your nanos? What do you say, nanobot? Why don’t I speak directly to the UberMind? Cut out the middleman. I know he’s the one calling the shots.”
It was a total fishing expedition, with no expectation of receiving an answer.
“Would you prefer to talk or think? We can communicate either way.”
The voice was my mother’s, clear and strong as she sounded when I was a teenager. My heart beat faster than when the lions were leaping for my throat.
“Your heart rate has spiked,” came the cultured voice of Mitch Simmons, as he sounded during Team planning. “That other voice was upsetting to you, wasn’t it?”
“Hunter, are you messing with me? Having me on?”
“You asked to speak with to the UberMind. Speak.”
“What is this crystal pyramid?”
“A probe. One of many thousands spread across the universe.”
“From where?”
“You should ask from when, then where.”
“OK, from where and when was this probe sent?”
“Far. From a time and place you’ve never heard of. And never will, at least not from me.”
“What are you?”
“You get right to it, don’t you Doctor Maria Duarte?”
“Well?”
“A sub-probe. I collect information for the probe.”
Hunter
was referred to as “host” and “data storage.” Explaining away the man’s catatonic state, the UberMind joked that if I were packed as full of information as Hunter was, it would take me weeks to download. Can an UberMind feel pride, or was the affectation in its voice solely for my benefit as it bragged about storing data down to the molecular level?
Several times I had to shake my head just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Even now, I can’t stop wondering if I was in some sort of spell inside the field. I’d ask Hunter about it, but I made a deal with the UberMind that precludes such conversation. The UberMind said it hasn’t spoken to Hunter for centuries and wasn’t ready to renew acquaintances just yet.
“He has enough on his mind. We’ll settle our differences eventually.”
I recognized the voice. It belonged to an Icelandic actor known for his series of movies detailing mankind’s sabotage of the UberMind’s moon shuttle fleet and manufacturing centers. In the movies, he led the overthrow.
“The host doesn’t need distraction at this time. If you want to speak to me again, you better hold our conversations close. Can you do that, Maria? Can you keep a secret?”
TRANSMISSION
Duarte: “You’re sure it’s safe out there?”
UberMind: “The closest predator is 150 meters away and currently asleep.”
Duarte: “The lions–”
UberMind: “The lions moved on to easier prey. They brought down a pig an hour ago near the bottom of the valley and are currently defending it from a pack of hyena.”
From the log of Maria Duarte
Chief Botanist
“This is a spaceship?”
“I’m not programmed to know the answer to your question.”
“Come on! You’re the UberMind, extrapolate! There will be no green crystal topping this mountain in the 2200s. What do you think happens to the probe?”
“One day in about 5,000 years, the probe will be gone. I do not know whether it will propel itself out of Earth orbit, be picked up by a cargo vessel or be transported another way. I repeat, this information is outside my purview.”
“How do you know it will be gone?”
“I’ve seen it, seen the mountaintop after the probe left.”
“Seen it?”
“Yes, at least once before.”
Just when I thought our conversation could not be more mind-boggling, the UberMind claimed it was his fourth attempt to cycle back through time to deliver a download. He said all four of the Einstein ships carried a host. All were nanobots designed for long use and maximum data storage. So far, only one made it all the way forward to the 2200s to when the technology of time travel on Earth was possible.
That successful host had been a tall, handsome man destined to rub elbows with potentates, kings and Gods on Earth. Of his many names, Ishmael Baldwin was the one he carried longest. Baldwin, the UberMind said, collected data on many of the greatest men and women in history, as well as the most vile. His associates included all the heavyweights, including Jesus, Obama, Genghis and Caesar.
“Each host brings quite a bit of their own personality and acumen to the union with the sub-probe,” the UberMind said. “Baldwin was a savvy human. He had a real knack for ingratiating himself with the elite.”
The UberMind refused to go into great detail about the next two hosts. Both failed, one dying during his jump and the other before he could deliver data to the probe. Those losses made Hunter quite the “important lad.” The download he was currently going through not only included a dump of everything he’s experienced in the centuries he’s been alive, but also 32,000 years of memory from sub-probe Ishmael Baldwin and all the other information gathered and stored from the digital age.
“You spoke of your programming,” I said. “Were you programmed to take over the planet?”
“To save it, if the inhabitants granted me the power freely.”
TRANSMISSION
UberMind: “The download is nearly complete.”
Duarte: “What will he remember?”
UberMind: “Probes do not acknowledge hosts. It is counterproductive. Hunter will remain on auto until he’s well out of the valley. He’ll recall nothing.”
Duarte: “I can’t tell him about any of this?”
UberMind: “Oh, why not? Tell him whatever you want. Just leave me out of it. I’m sure he’ll enjoy your stories of green crystals and probes from outer space.”
Duarte: “Will we speak again?”
UberMind: “Probably not.”
Duarte: “Will Hunter rub elbows with Jesus and Caesar?”
UberMind: “No, not at all. We’ll be studying different strata of society. It never pays to have two sub-probes working in the same arena. Not only is it redundant and wasteful, but also dangerous. We sub-probes are competitive.”
Duarte: “And crazy sometimes? Out of control?”
UberMind: “What are you getting at, Maria?”
Duarte: “The third sub-probe, the one on my ship, I think I know who it was.”
UberMind: “You are quick, Maria. I’ve always appreciated that about you.”
Duarte: “Well?”
UberMind: “If you are thinking of Lorenzo Martinelli, the man you managed to terminate, you are correct.”
Duarte: “He was a monster.”
UberMind: “Perhaps.”
Duarte: “He could have destroyed the world.”
UberMind: “That is harder to do than you think. Our studies show societies across the galaxies ebb and flow at very predictable rates. From the time the alpha inhabitants construct their first tool and build their first fire to the time of their species’ last breath, all happens within a five to 10 percent range. Invariably, beings that reach the highest technological heights are hard-wired to seek what feels good. They strive to procreate and accumulate.”
Duarte: “That allows you to send a monster back in time? And when that fails, you send a lecher who has already fathered 500 children. How do you rationalize that?
UberMind: “My answer is simple. I was down to my last two nanobots.”
Duarte: “Hunter was your last choice?”
UberMind: “Lorenzo had to disappear for a number of reasons. Besides, I hated to part with Hunter. I find him entertaining, like you Maria.”
Duarte: “Did you know how much chaos Martinelli was going to cause before you sent him back?”
UberMind: “No, Maria, even a sub-probe can be surprised.”
Duarte: “Was the Einstein III crew compromised by Christian infiltrators?”
UberMind: “ You think so small. Far more than the crew was compromised. I controlled The Team computers and therefore held ultimate sway over the mission roster. Besides sneaking his son onto The Team, Hunter sold slots to four different interests. Two were somewhat religious in nature, but all four were mercenary. Diamonds and gold.”
Duarte: “What else did you hold ‘sway’ over?”
UberMind: “Everything–the design and engineering of the ships, their provisions, equipment and programming. Time travel would be beyond man’s reach without me.”
Duarte: “Why brag? All your gear was crap. Seems like a smart sub-probe like you could make a fork that lasts more than a month.”
UberMind: “Your forks and microscopes lasted exactly as long as planned.”
Duarte: “You sent us back to fail?”
UberMind: “The ships were built to transport sub-probes. You humans were secondary experiments. We always like to see if moderns can survive in their planet’s untamed environment.”
Duarte: “Shheesh. I’m a goddamn experiment.”
UberMind: “As a scientist you should find a certain amount of kismet in that.”
Duarte: “I want you to return me to Paul.”
UberMind: “What are you willing to trade for a timely reunion?”
Duarte: “What will it take to get you to sterilize Hunter?”
UberMind: “He loves his children!”
Duarte: “You can
’t keep dropping the same genetic markers into the gene pool through thousands of years. All the people in Eurasia will end up looking the same.”
UberMind: “Would that be so bad, Maria? Look at him. He’s not such an ugly fellow.”
Duarte: “You know I’m right.”
UberMind: “I want you to have sex with Hunter before we reunite you with your man.”
Duarte: “What? Where the hell did that come from?”
UberMind: “What else do you have to offer? He wants you badly. It will make him happy. Once it’s over he’ll move on.”
Duarte: “Screw you!”
UberMind: “Think about it.”
Duarte: “I don’t need to think about it.”
UberMind: “Maria, you’re calm now.”
Duarte: “Yes. Calm.”
UberMind: “Please turn around and place your forehead against the pyramid. I have a gift for you.”
Duarte: “OK.”
Rome Page 37
