Once through, the path extended perhaps fifty feet until widening into an open patch where the grass had been sheered down to knee height. Resting in the middle, sat an old and rather dirty camper trailer, perhaps twenty-five feet long.
The area was peaceful. Angela noted a soft light shining out through the trailer’s small windows.
“Home sweet home. Don’t let it fool you, things are hard to keep clean out here.”
With that, he continued forward and put his hands to his mouth, calling out something in a language that wasn’t English.
“I think that’s Quechuan,” Angela said.
“Of course.” Rickards nodded. “Quechuan.”
“It’s one of the languages spoken by descendants of the Inca,” she said. “At least I think so.”
Ahead of them, Morton leaned the pole against the rear of the trailer, waiting when something was suddenly heard rustling in the bushes to the right. Moments later, a male figure appeared, emerging smoothly out of the tall grass carrying an armful of firewood. He was dressed in a bright T-shirt over long, dark shorts with modern sandals on his feet.
He shouted something short back to Morton, who answered with several words.
“You understand any of that?” Rickards asked.
Angela nodded. “Mike is telling him that I’m awesome. And you’re not.”
“Funny.”
“I have no idea what they’re saying.”
A third voice was heard from within the trailer and the screen door opened from the inside, moments before a dark woman’s head appeared, looking around, first spotting the other man approaching, then Morton, and finally, Angela and Rickards.
Mike Morton waved them forward. “I’d like you two to meet Anku and his wife, Killa.” He spoke again in Quechuan, introducing both Americans.
Both Anku and Killa smiled welcomingly as they eagerly approached. Both were young, dark-skinned and attractive. Killa, dressed in a multicolored dress and matching headdress with a blue bow just above her forehead, continued smiling and reached for Angela’s hand.
“Halo,” Anku said and enthusiastically shook Joe’s.
Killa made an attempt at hello that sounded closer to mellow, causing her husband to laugh.
Morton put a hand on the younger man’s lean shoulder. “Anku and his wife are my business partners.”
“Business partners?”
He nodded. “He is my CNO and Killa is the CCO.”
“I can’t wait to hear this.”
“Chief Navigational Officer and Chief Culinary Officer.”
Angela laughed and smiled at both of them. “Make sure you ask for stock options.”
Neither understood a word, but they continued smiling graciously.
“Come on,” Morton chuckled and ruffled Anku’s long black hair. “You must be even hungrier than I am by now.”
57
Angela peered into her bowl curiously, pleasantly surprised. “What is this?”
Nearby, Morton sat on an old folding chair which squeaked every time he moved his heavy frame. “It’s a special of Killa’s. Made with corn, potatoes, spices and pig.”
Angela took another bite. “It’s delicious.”
Morton nodded in agreement and scooped another bite. “Guinea pig is very popular around here.”
A few feet away, in the glow of a small lamp, Rickards calmly lowered his bowl and put it on the ground.
“Did you say guinea pig?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Angela nodded, smiling politely as her chewing slowed to a crawl. “Great.”
Morton winked and continued eating. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
“I’ll bet.”
“At least they’re not into human sacrifices anymore,” Rickards offered.
Morton chuckled. “Truth be told, even during the Incan empire, human sacrifices were not as common as a lot of people think. More often than not, it was done when a king died, and his servants were sacrificed so they could serve him in death.”
Angela grinned at Rickards. “Enchanting, isn’t it?”
Morton finished and lowered his own bowl to the ground. “A lot of the Incan culture is misunderstood. Even by experts. Anku and Killa are both descendants and think it’s quite funny, especially when I ask about some of them. But I suppose it’s human nature. The more time that goes by, the more we rely on hearsay and supposition. Especially with things so different from our own traditions.”
“How long have you been traveling with them?”
“About a year. I met them during one of my excursions.”
“Would these be illegal excursions?” asked Rickards.
“Illegal is a little vague out here. You have to remember; this is their land. We may have forgotten that, but they haven’t.”
“Hence the trespassing.”
“A lot of indigenas in the area think our laws of possession are funny. After all, how do you own something that will be here long after you’re gone? And everyone you know. Even your entire bloodline. It’s illogical to them.”
“I can see that.”
“The longer you’re out here, the harder it is to continue seeing things from our old point of view, let alone defend them. Because for us, it’s all about the here and now.”
“True,” acknowledged Angela. “But there’s an argument to be made on both sides. For example, much of the here and now dictates the future.”
“Agreed. It’s definitely a tradeoff, but the indigenas see things very differently on many levels. Nevertheless, there’s still quite a bit of commonality if you step back a bit. A lot like with our Native American Indians.”
“Didn’t seem to turn out too well for them,” replied Rickards.
“Can’t argue that. But fighting and taking over land has been going on for thousands of years in every corner of the world. Animals do the same thing. It’s part of who we are as a species. As inhabitants of the Earth. And ironically, the indigenas also understand that.”
“Doesn’t seem to make things any better.”
Morton nodded at Angela. “Very true. I’m just saying that history and cultures are a lot more complicated than many of us want to believe or acknowledge. It’s easier just to have one belief and stick to it.”
“Especially when everyone believes they’re in the right,” said Angela.
Morton squinted slightly and studied her in the light. “Why, aren’t you turning out to be an interesting gal?”
“You don’t know the half of it,” replied Rickards.
She ignored the joke and studied Mike in return. “So, tell us about these excursions.”
“Not yet. I want to hear more about that letter of yours. Do you still have it?”
“No, the German man took it. But if you have a piece of paper, I can write it down.”
“Write it down?”
She nodded. “I obsessed about it enough that I have it memorized.”
Morton immediately got up and walked the twenty feet back to the trailer, calling Killa inside. After a brief exchange at the door, he returned with a piece of paper and a pencil, along with a book to write on.
Angela took them, glancing at the title of the textbook. “Energy Defined?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
She shrugged and placed the paper on top, scribbling for several minutes. When she was done, Morton examined it thoughtfully.
“What’s this second paragraph here?”
“A quote from Percy Fawcett’s writings. In the original letter it was written in German.”
“In German?”
“Yes.”
“And Fawcett was that English chap?”
She laughed. “He was.”
“And what is this here? Written below your uncle’s message: ALMV10?”
“We don’t know. Nothing I found by searching made any sense.”
“Hmm.” Morton nodded and stepped back, lowering himself back into his chair with a loud squeak. “And you don’t know why the Fawc
ett quote was included?”
“Only speculation.”
“Which is what the German was probing about this morning.”
“Yes.”
“And you said you’re not sure if even he knows exactly what he’s looking for.”
“It doesn’t feel like it. But I could be wrong.”
Morton nodded again and stared at the paper. “Interesting...”
After a few minutes, he spoke again. “And how do you know this was sent in the fifties?”
“The stamp on the original envelope. Fifties or very early sixties, at most.”
“And that old German guy now has this stamp?”
“A picture of it. Yes.”
“Hmm.”
Several more minutes passed, leaving Angela to glance quizzically at Joe in the darkness. Who had been quietly sitting and listening.
“As I think about this,” Morton said, “I keep coming back to the same question–if this letter was so precious and so urgent, why was only one sent?” He looked at Angela. “I mean, surely your uncle must have wondered why he hadn’t heard back from his brother.”
“It’s something we’ve considered.”
“And?”
Angela gave a helpless shrug. “We don’t know.”
Several more minutes passed before Mike Morton finally took the letter, folded it and placed it into a small shirt pocket. “I need to think on this.”
“Okaaay.”
With that, the older man leaned forward, closer to the lamp, and placed both elbows on his knees. “My turn.”
They both watched him expectantly.
“What I’m going to tell you,” he started, “may seem a bit odd. And it’s something I haven’t shared with anyone except Anku and Killa. But my Quechuan is not very good, so who knows what they understood.” Morton paused to collect his thoughts. “When I was nineteen years old, I went to work for NASA. Recruited in college, and of all people, by my college physics professor.”
“Wow.”
“I mentioned to Joe that I was one of the youngest to work on the Saturn V program. Which is true. And our last Saturn rocket was the one that put Skylab into orbit. Also true. But for me, that was just the beginning. In the mid-seventies, when the program ended, I was drafted again, or rather transferred, to the Skylab team and then eventually to the Landsat program.”
“What’s Landsat?” asked Rickards.
“The Landsat program was a series of programs of increasingly more sensitive and sophisticated satellites used for studying the Earth, primarily imaging in the visible spectrums for geography and surface mapping. But over time, our satellites and other sats expanded into other areas of study. Things like meteorological, thermal and sea surfaces, using things like the Jason satellites. Eventually, we paved the way for GRACE.”
“And Grace is?”
Morton grinned. “GRACE stands for Gravity Recovery And Climate Experiment. Twin satellites that were so sensitive we were able to map, in detail, the Earth’s gravitational fields--which, incidentally, solved a number of physics issues for us. But aside from that, before GRACE was another program called CERES: Clouds and the Earth’s Radiant Energy System.
“And as you can guess from the name, CERES was designed to measure energy levels, both in the atmosphere and on the planet’s surface. And while its purpose was primarily to measure solar energy, the instruments designed were strong enough to measure other forms of energy too. Thermal, electromagnetic, chemical, kinetic and probably a few more, to varying degrees.”
Angela nodded. “Okay, this is interesting, but I should probably warn you that I was never that great at science.”
“Don’t worry, there’s no quiz. The reason I’m telling you this is that before the first official CERES instruments were launched in 1997, a prototype was first created.”
Morton stopped and looked at both of them. “You still with me?”
Angela squinted and Rickards held up his thumb and index finger, leaving only a tiny space between them.
“Okay. Here’s the gist. CERES was designed to measure energy on the Earth, but the prototype designed to provide a working model was launched two years before that. And it worked for several months, until it reentered our atmosphere and died, as expected. But not before it did something very surprising.”
58
“What was so surprising?” asked Rickards.
Morton remained still, staring at both of them. “It measured something it wasn’t supposed to measure.”
They looked at each other. “Like what?”
“Perhaps instead, I should say, something it wasn’t designed to measure.”
“What was it designed to measure?”
Morton paused. “You have to understand, there are a lot of different forms of energy, and even each of those contains different types. For example, just within electromagnetism, you have radio waves, microwaves, ultraviolet, X-rays, Gamma rays and more, all different types of energy swirling around us, over the planet, as well as through outer space, depending on a few things. And like I said, those instruments on the CERES prototype were designed for just a few. But what that prototype recorded before falling to Earth was something no one was expecting. And it did so because we never gave it a lot of rules on what it should be looking for.”
“And what did it record?”
“Let me clarify one more thing--that the shapes of these energies can vary quite a lot. But if you were able to see them, most would look rounded or donut-shaped as they travel out from the source. And as we would later find with the gravity waves, what our CERES prototype detected was that a lot of these energies moved not just around the planet but actually through it.”
“Is that…unusual?”
“Not really. Not in theory. But we weren’t necessarily expecting it, either. Primarily because the core of our planet is very dense, which is why we experience a lot of energy waves like radios and cell phones, that don’t work well underground.”
Rickards turned and looked at the back of the trailer, mostly hidden in the dark except for the brightly lit windows. “I’m guessing this has something to do with that pole you had in the truck.”
“Very good,” said Morton. “It wasn’t all that strange for the prototype to reveal all these energy patterns. But what was strange was that it revealed things subsequent satellite launches never did.”
“Why is that?”
“Most people think it was faulty data or a faulty hardware design and therefore, it wasn’t valid.”
“So, the prototype thought it saw something the others didn’t?”
“Correct.”
“And what was that?”
“Imagine,” Morton said, “that you could see all the different types of energy, all those waves swirling about in slow motion, up and down and in and out of each other.” For effect, he interlocked his fingers and moved them around. “That is all normal. But what is not normal, and what the prototype saw only briefly—was a single location where all of those energies appeared to converge into a single point. And actually touch the surface of our planet.”
Angela tilted her head. “They did what?”
“They converged.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea,” Morton said. “But that’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Rickards motioned back to the trailer. “With that pole.”
Morton nodded. “It’s a bit more than just a pole, but yes.”
“Huh,” said Rickards. “So that’s what you’re looking for.”
“Yes.”
“With Anku and Killa.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why you keep getting arrested for trespassing?”
Morton nodded. “That’s why I keep getting arrested for trespassing.”
“So, Anku is your guide.”
“One of the best there is.”
Rickards nodded from his own chair. “Explains why you mentioned their concept of property rights. I’m guessing
that getting caught with someone of Incan descent buys you a little extra compassion with the authorities.”
“It helps,” he acknowledged.
“So basically, you’re out here looking for a mystery energy source,” said Angela.
Mike Morton shook his head. “Not exactly a source. But yes, something like that.”
She glanced at the trailer when the door opened and Anku stepped out. Turning back to Morton, she asked, “So why isn’t anyone else from NASA out here looking for…whatever it is?”
“Because they think I’m crazy.” He grinned. “Everyone thinks the prototype was faulty and reported bad data.”
“And you don’t?”
“No,” Morton said.
“Why not?”
“Because I was one of the guys who designed it.”
They both stopped and stared at Anku, who stepped into the glow of the light with a wide smile. He handed something to Morton, who took it and then crossed to Angela and Joe, holding out his hand. In his palm were two short green shafts or sticks. Each taking one, Rickards noticed the sticks felt soft and fibrous. They both watched as Mike inserted one end into his mouth and began chewing it.
“What is this?”
“A favorite Incan dessert. Called sweet tube. Try it.”
Angela glanced at Joe, who was clearly waiting for her.
“Does this come from anything I’m not used to eating?”
“You mean like guinea pig?”
“Yes, like that.”
“No,” Morton snickered. “This is a root. Sweet, like a sweet potato.”
Angela eyed him suspiciously and slowly inserted it between her lips, nibbling the tip. Then, surprised, she chewed a little harder.
“It’s not bad,” she said. “Tastes like…red licorice. But not as sweet.”
Rickards looked up at Anku, who was waiting. He took a small bite and chewed slowly, nodding politely at him.
The young man smiled approvingly and went back to the trailer, where he retrieved a short mug. One end of a sweet tube could be seen protruding from the top of the cup as Anku sat down on a nearby log and began stirring.
The Last Monument Page 18
