Diuturnity's Dawn

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Nobody has any idea yet. I suppose you’ve heard that we’re due to get the results of the combined surveys back some time this evening?”

  The thranx’s antennae twitched with agitation. “No, I had not.”

  Rising, Cullen mashed the wrapping that had contained and warmed his sandwich into a compact ball. Drawing back his arm, he flung it forward in a smooth, arcing motion no thranx could duplicate. The ball sailed out over the edge of the escarpment. By nightfall its transiently bonded organic components would have disintegrated.

  “Come by the presentation tent. I’d be interested in your opinion.”

  “I would not miss it.” Tucking his drinking bottle neatly into his thorax pack, Pilwondepat followed the human back toward the camp.

  The double survey Cullen had authorized was intended to furnish some dimensions for the object the team had unearthed. Any additional information gleaned in the course of the survey would provide a welcome bonus. Riding in the camp’s two aircars, separate teams had utilized a pair of sonic scanners to probe beneath the barren Comagravian surface. Reflected back to the scanners’ receivers, measured and recorded, these sonic echoes could be instantly analyzed by onboard instruments to give a detailed picture of any buried artifact.

  But not, it seemed, this one.

  The inability of any of the scanners’ sensors to penetrate the ceramic material was revealing in its inadequacy. It proved that the brown stratum was far thicker, and denser, than anyone had previously imagined. Whatever lay beneath the ceramic layer, it could not be perceived by the scanners. What the survey teams were able to do was to come up with an estimate of the layer’s horizontal dimensions. These were sufficiently mind-boggling that both teams were compelled to return to base to have their equipment rechecked, and then checked again. Assured that everything was working properly, the team members returned to their task. By nightfall this had not yet been concluded. Even so, the occupants of both aircars voted to return to camp to present what findings they had managed to accumulate.

  At the same time, a third team dropped over the edge of the escarpment and proceeded to perform a vertical scan, hovering above the valley floor while traveling slowly back and forth along the sheer rock wall. With their sensors aimed not down, but sideways, they hoped to obtain clues as to how deep the ceramic layer ran. Information they gathered in abundance: They simply refused to believe it.

  Meanwhile, at Cullen’s request, the orbit of a mapping and climate-monitoring satellite had been shifted slightly so it could take several high-resolution vits of the dig site and the region immediately surrounding it. These proved to be of little beyond aesthetic value. No underlying pattern of construction could be distinguished from overhead. Geology had not masked from above what lay hidden beneath the ground.

  Following the informative presentation, Pilwondepat sought out Cullen. As soon as they saw the thranx approaching, the human couple who had been conversing with the supervisor found reasons to be elsewhere. Ordinarily, Pilwondepat might have been mildly miffed at the slight. Tonight, he did not care.

  “Hello, Pilwondepat.” A subdued Cullen peered down at the thranx. “What did you think of the presentation?” Around them, site workers and scientists were taking their flustered conversations and often wild suppositions out into the swiftly cooling night. Pilwondepat knew he was in danger of freezing on the way back to his chamber, but he didn’t care.

  “Cwissk—we’re sitting atop a seamless layer of radical ceramic material that is, according to the reports handed in by the survey teams, hundreds if not thousands of square kilometers in area. One that also, according to the other team, is at least as high as the escarpment itself. It is surely the single largest artificial structure found to date on this world, easily dwarfing even the icons comprising the Mountain of the Mourners.”

  The human nodded. “Yet we’re no nearer to knowing its function than we were when Verwoerd and Olsen exposed the first depression. If it is solid, then it is certainly the biggest enigma we’ve yet uncovered here. If it’s hollow . . . If it’s hollow, there’s no telling what it might contain.”

  “Perhaps only dead air,” Pilwondepat ventured.

  Cullen responded with an emphatic denial. “Nobody, no sentient species, builds a box of these dimensions, if that is indeed what it is, to hold nothing.”

  “It could be that it was intended to accommodate certain contents that never arrived prior to the emptying of this world. It might also be designed not to store something, but to hide it. To seal it up.”

  The biped gazed back into enigmatic compound eyes. “Are all thranx as cheerfully optimistic and reassuring as you, Pilwondepat?”

  “Most of the time we tend to be . . .” Examining the human’s expressive face, the thranx researcher terminated his intended reply. “Oh, I see. You are being sarcastic. We regard ourselves as more than a little adept at the behavior ourselves, you know.” He gestured repeatedly and eloquently with his truhands.

  “I have been proposing for days that instead of expending time and resources in trying to seek out an external boundary, your people make an effort to search out an entrance to the hypothesized interior.”

  Cullen let out a derisive grunt. “There are no seams, no doorjambs, no rills or surface inclusions. Where do you propose that we start?”

  Pilwondepat had prepared for the question. “At the bottom of one of the innumerable concavities that dot the otherwise smooth surface. With cutting lasers and other devices. Dampened shaped charges, if necessary.”

  “What if the material is combustible? The use of either lasers or charges could cause the entire structure to oxidize.” He chuckled humorlessly. “That would make a fine headline in the Journal of Interstellar Archeology. ‘Comagrave Dig Supervisor Discovers Greatest Single Artifact in North Arm. Promptly Burns It to a Crisp.’ “

  “You are being theatrical. Good material for ire-poetry; not for science. One sample of the ceramic has already been subjected to thorough analysis. Others can be taken from elsewhere and checked to ensure that such an explosive reaction will not take place.”

  “It’s going to take time,” Cullen warned him. “The stuff is incredibly tough.”

  “But not impenetrable,” Pilwondepat reminded him.

  “No,” the supervisor was forced to concede. “Probably not impenetrable. The question remains, is there anything down there to penetrate?” Wearied from work and worry, he reached up to rub the base of his neck. “If it’s an ancient floor, we’re going to waste an awful lot of time digging our way through it just to find more rock on the underside.”

  “The alien ceramic protects the greatest treasure in the Arm,” the thranx exoarcheologist countered. “All the knowledge and riches and wealth of the Sauun, just waiting for someone to uncover it.”

  Cullen’s gaze narrowed, a peculiar ability of humans. The AAnn could not do it, Pilwondepat knew. “What evidence do you have to support such a claim?”

  The thranx gestured elaborately. Sarcasm, indeed. “None whatsoever. But it is an inspirational notion, is it not? And what are your alternatives? To keep surveying and measuring, forever expanding the size of the mystery without ever making an effort to solve it.” Stepping forward, he placed his left tru- and foothand on the human’s lower arm.

  “I know that your kind shares the same distinguishing characteristic of intense curiosity as those of us who have been born to the Great Hive. You want to know what lies beneath this outer layer of rigid matter as badly as do I.”

  “Probably more layers of rigid matter,” Cullen muttered. “You’re right, of course. We’ll get started tomorrow. I’ll authorize the necessary heavy equipment—and attitude.”

  “One more thing.” Pilwondepat spoke as the human had turned to depart. “It would be salutary to keep the AAnn away from any discoveries that may appear. Can’t you send him away somewhere while the penetration attempt is taking place? To confer with his own legation in Comabraeth, perhaps, or on some superficia
lly significant field trip?”

  Looking back, Cullen eyed the thranx pityingly. “You know I can’t order him to do anything, unless it can be proven he has broken some colonial law, or flouted scientific convention in the course of his work, or otherwise made his presence here intolerable.” A small smile creased the supervisor’s face. “I’m afraid your enduring dislike of him doesn’t qualify.”

  “Then at least set a watch on him while the work is being carried out,” Pilwondepat begged with his four-fingered hands as well as with his words. “If something of real significance should be unearthed, he will report it to the AAnn delegation immediately.” He hesitated, wondering how best to balance fact and supposition.

  “Sorry, Pilwondepat. This is yet another occasion on which I can’t indulge your personal paranoias. I have more pressing concerns—like whether I’m about to preside over the opening, or the destruction, of something of real importance.” Turning on his sandaled foot, he exited from the large, seamless tent.

  Pilwondepat stood, watching the human depart. Against his thorax, the backpack humidifier hummed softly as it extracted moisture from the arid atmosphere and supplied it to his lungs. Cullen Karasi, who had previously demonstrated at least mild interest in the thranx exoarcheologist’s conclusions, was now consumed by the need to comprehend what might prove to be the most important find in the brief history of human exploration on Comagrave. He had no time to devote to the fears of a double-antennaed, eight-limbed alien, however insistent.

  If humans knew the AAnn better, Pilwondepat brooded in frustration, he would not be having this problem. He forced himself to stay calm. What mattered now was that the supervisor convey Pilwondepat’s findings to the human authorities at the capital. Would Cullen be too preoccupied with the unfolding discovery to do so? Worse, would he postpone the journey altogether, perhaps assigning it to an underling with no understanding of or interest in the succession of inimical coincidences Pilwondepat had so painstakingly compiled?

  He had no choice but to exercise patience. It was already apparent that if he tried to force the issue, the human would react defensively and the vital information would never reach the appropriate colonial authorities. Therefore Pilwondepat would have to keep silent on the matter, at least until it was time for the supervisor to make his excursion to the capital. Pilwondepat could corner him then and remind him of the matter as forcefully as discretion allowed.

  Resigned but not content, he ambled out of the tent. He was as interested as anyone else on the project to see what tomorrow’s digging might reveal. If only he could bury his fears as easily as the ancient Sauun had inurned their marvelous, enigmatic, sinuous layer of impermeable ceramic.

  Asking for volunteers to run a night shift, Cullen had been overwhelmed with offers. Quickly setting up lights, workers and machines continued to probe the site all through the chill desert night and on into morning, when fresh laborers took over. By the time Pilwondepat emerged from his sealed environment to check on their progress, the sun was already high.

  When next he strolled to the edge of the pit, he was astonished at the progress that had been made while he slept. Utilizing every bit of the precision cutting equipment at their disposal, the adrenaline-pumped staff had cut a circular shaft into the cinnamon-hued ceramic to a depth of nearly ten meters. If the extraordinary material was a foundation for a vanished building of some kind, the thranx exoarcheologist reflected, it must have been a mighty structure indeed. But why pour such a formidable base for so easily erodable an upper edifice? As the shaft continued to deepen, the likelihood of Cullen’s comment about the tough ceramic forming some kind of ancient floor seemed less and less probable.

  Then someone working in the depths of the excavation screamed, and Pilwondepat felt himself running forward and down as fast as all six legs could carry him.

  Cullen was not there. Nor, thankfully, was Riimadu. The senior overseer on the site bridled slightly at Pilwondepat’s arrival but did not try to prevent the thranx from advancing to the very edge of the excavation. Hearing the scream, every member of the staff within earshot had clustered around the rim of the opening. Anxious, sweaty humans pushed and shoved for the best view, unlike an equivalent group of thranx who would have assembled in an orderly manner.

  Simple ladders made of artificial fiber with sturdy plastic steps dangled over the edge of the hole. Designed to accommodate human hands and feet as well as the upright human form, Pilwondepat could not have mounted any of them had he tried. To descend to the bottom of the shaft, he would have to use the single power lift that had been hastily attached to the far side. As he peered over and down, he had no fear of falling. Carrying the bulk of their bodies parallel to the earth and with six strong legs to grip the ground, he was in less likelihood of falling than any of the humans clustering around him.

  Down at the bottom of the pit, two humans in shorts and shirts were beginning to rise from their crouching positions. Pilwondepat’s interest, like those of the others gathered around him, was not on the extraordinary flexibility of the two men but on the figure they were slowly pulling upward. Ashen-faced, the young woman had apparently fallen into a smaller hole that had been started at the bottom of the main shaft.

  As soon as they had the distraught woman safely clear, the site supervisor looked up. Studying the faces arranged around the rim of the excavation, she settled on the one Pilwondepat would have least expected: himself. Given that she had been noticeably cool to him during their previous encounters, the thranx was therefore surprised when Therese Holoness beckoned for him to come down.

  A number of the assembled workers watched in surprise as he hurried to the power lift and descended to the bottom of the excavation. By this time the shaken young woman had been helped to the side of the dig. With her back against the smooth, gleaming ceramic, she sipped cold sweetened tea from a dispenser cradled in shaky hands.

  “What happened?” Though she was addressing the three workers, Holoness’s gaze was fixed on the central cavity that dominated the center of the main dig.

  Looking up over her tea, the younger woman responded carefully. “I was working the drill over the center of the next start hole when I heard a funny cracking sound. It was different from the stuttering splits you get when you cut into the ceramic. Then the surface collapsed under my feet, and I felt myself falling.” She struggled to bring the rim of the container to her lips. Her hands were shaking so badly that tea was flying out of the container. “I’m afraid I lost the laser.”

  “Never mind that.” Holoness glanced at the larger of the two men. “You caught her.”

  His expression drawn, the man nodded slowly. “Just barely. When I heard Miranda scream, I was working a scooper. I dumped that and made a dive in the direction of the center hole. Caught her right arm and held on tight.”

  The other, smaller worker chimed in. “I managed to grab her left wrist. Together, we pulled her out.”

  The woman looked up again. “I don’t know how deep the fissure is. My feet never touched bottom.”

  Holoness considered, then glanced over at Pilwondepat. “Like to have a look? Understand, I don’t particularly like you, or your kind, but I think it’s vital when something like this happens to have the advantage of a completely different point of view.”

  Without commenting on her opinion of him, Pilwondepat gestured acknowledgment. As the two men wrestled a pair of powerful lights toward the cavity, he walked gingerly toward the dark aperture. To put as little pressure on the now unpredictable surface as possible, Holoness approached from the other side.

  The lights were gradually positioned until they were hanging directly over the opening, with their beams aimed straight down. Remembering that he was a guest, Pilwondepat gestured courteously in Holoness’s direction. “You first, if you like,” he said.

  Nodding, she dropped to all fours and crept to the edge of the dark cavity. Pilwondepat was quietly amused at this human effort to imitate the more stable thranx stance.
Peering into the darkness, she gazed downward. She stared for a long time, in fact, saying nothing. After several minutes of this Pilwondepat felt he would not be breaching either personal or professional etiquette if he joined her. Moving to the gap, secure in his six-footed stance, he tilted his head forward.

  A constant breeze was pouring out of the opening. It was cold with the echo of ages past. Dipping his antennae into the hole, he tried to identify the strange smell that rose upward on the steady wind. It reminded him of something familiar. He pushed the thought aside. The eccentric efflux could be dealt with later. Of much more immediate importance was the identification of what they could not see, and why. Powerful as they were, the deeply penetrating survey lights that were shining directly down into the black void revealed nothing.

  Not because there was necessarily nothing to reveal, but because despite the fact that their operators had them pushed to maximum, the powerful beams could not reach bottom.

  13

  It was not to be an official excursion. Mindful of what had happened to her late fiancé, and acutely conscious of the continued presence of the AAnn envoy Preed NNXV at Azerick, her trip back to Daret was officially listed as a “vacation.” She had ample off-time coming to her, and while some might have remarked on her unusual choice of a destination at which to relax, there was nothing illicit about it.

  Had Toroni or anyone else known the real purpose of her visit, they would at the least have been seriously upset. Technically, what she was about to do constituted a clear case of ignoring the diplomatic chain of command, if not directly undermining local authority. This was a risk she was prepared to take. Issues of far greater import were at stake.

  Diplomats, too, could belong to secret organizations.

  She was especially careful to avoid the inquisitive Sertoa as she slipped out of the settlement in the early hours of the morning. Always ready to disparage the thranx in conference, he had been positively enamored of the AAnn envoy ever since Preed had arrived at the settlement. She had no fear of her colleague, whom she regarded as too irresolute to cause real trouble. The AAnn, however, was another matter.