The pharaohs also took a more direct role in religion at this time. It was in the Fourth Dynasty that kings began to add the title “Son of Ra” to their names, thus stating their divine parentage outright.
Even here, in the ruins of this temple, the workmanship of that dynasty was evident. Even in this simple stone box Eddie was working out of the sand, he could see the quality of the stonework. The corner of the box was so perfect as to be sharp. The plane of the box’s upper surface met at perfect right angles with the planes of its sides. There was not the faintest trace of a chisel mark anywhere. He continued to work at it, now with his pick, now with his brush, gently pulling away the layers of history that had buried it.
Eddie wished his father could see him here and feel the excitement he felt with this work. His father had never quite recovered from the disappointment of discovering that his son had neither the skill nor inclination to go into the family business. Worse, he had come to realize that Eddie had too little discipline to be good at much of anything.
Eddie recalled the defining argument with his father. Harris DeLacy had yelled at him, “What are you waiting for? Life to find you?” Eddie had replied, “Inspiration! I don’t want to waste my life doing things I don’t care about.” At this, Harris had laughed with exasperation and said, “Life doesn’t always supply inspiration, Son. Eventually, you have to do something with yourself.”
Eddie knew his father was right. He loved Egypt and had amassed enough university credit to have a master’s degree in Egyptology, but he had been too careless to keep track of his courses or follow up with his universities, and so he was left with no degree, not even a basic bachelor’s.
The truth, which Eddie was forced to acknowledge to himself, was that he would not make a good archaeologist, even if he had succeeded in getting a degree. He was interested only in the brilliant moments when an archaeologist discovers something that changes the way the entire profession approaches Egypt. The more mundane drudgery that made up ninety-nine percent of any scientific endeavor was something for which he had no patience. He knew this was a failing in his personality, but he had no way of remedying it.
In light of this, Emmett had made a deal with Eddie in exchange for the funding. Eddie was allowed to participate in the dig in any way he wished. If he found himself bored, he could move his attentions to something else. If an area became interesting to him, he was free to devote all of his time to it. The arrangement was perfect for Eddie.
He had now freed the whole front of the box from its encasing sand. It was about eighteen inches wide and twelve inches high. There was a faint line running the length of it, razor thin.
In another half an hour, Eddie had freed the box entirely. It was perfect, smooth and unblemished. He dusted it well, then lifted it and examined all sides. As he did so, he felt part of it move. The faint line he had seen was, in fact, the joint between a lid and the bottom of the box. The joint had been so perfect as to be almost invisible.
He was holding the box upside down, and now righted it and set it on the ground. The lid was now ajar. On some instinct, he glanced around to ensure no one was looking at him. He wanted to savor this discovery alone for a few minutes.
He removed the top and found himself looking in at a box full of sand. Gingerly, he reached in and began to scoop it out. In a moment, he felt something hard within the sand, and he gently brought it to the surface. He caught his breath as he looked at his find. There in his hand was a perfect crystal of a most unusual design. It was pale orange and clear, but there were bands of dark green running through it at regular intervals. The green formed neat planes through the lighter crystal. And yet the crystal itself was perfect. There were no cracks where the orange and green met. In fact, on closer inspection, the green seemed a part of the orange, grown into it, but in a perfectly geometrical way. He had never seen anything like it.
He quickly scooped out the remainder of sand and was thrilled to find seven crystals in all. They were of different sizes, but all were clear orange with bands of green. They were beautiful. He counted them again, and then, on an impulse, took the two smallest ones and slipped them into his pocket.
Then he called out, “Emmett! Come here, you’ve got to see these.”
When the three archaeologists and the workers had all had their fill of staring at the crystals and holding them up to the sun, Emmett carried them away to the main tent, to study them in more detail.
Eddie went back to his own tent, a small affair of army green, that was just large enough for his sleeping bag, camp light, and a few personal items. He buttoned the flap open to let in sunlight and lay back on top of his sleeping bag. He drew the two crystals out of his pocket and held them up in front of him, turning them slowly around. He watched the green rings catch the light of the sun.
CHAPTER 14
The Mechanic stood before the cave’s largest wall vault. At the touch of his fingers on the coded lock, the metalrock door slid away, hissing slightly. The vault had been airtight. That was the Engineer’s workmanship. The door had not been used for five thousand years, and yet it worked perfectly and had perfectly protected the contents of the vault. The Mechanic felt a small surge of annoyance at another reminder of the Engineer’s genius.
Behind the door was a space ten feet wide and two feet deep, as high as a man’s head. It was the repository of Kinley wisdom. Hanging from the wall at eye level were rows of soft leather cases containing data crystals. Below these, stacked to chest height, were manuals, paper copies of the most relevant information contained in the crystals. These manuals were large books of filament-thin pages bound loosely between strips of plastic. They were manuals of geological science, animal biology, archaeology, and dozens of other disciplines. They had been used for quick reference by members of the survey team, and they contained all needed information for maintaining, and even rebuilding their ship, as well as running their camp day to day.
The Mechanic ran his hand along the stacks of books until he found it: the manual to their space ship. Within its pages were instructions for building an Eschless Funnel–driven ship from the ground up. He pulled it from the stack. He continued to scan the books and found a manual of general physics that also discussed the Eschless Funnel. He took that as well.
Then he pulled out a manual of human biological science and flipped through it. From what he had observed of modern Earth on his computer screen, local medicine was in a barbaric state. The Earth natives may have built ships to take them into space, but they were dying of things the Kinley had been able to cure for centuries.
He scanned the stacks of books to ensure he was leaving nothing that would mention the Eschless Funnel. Then he began on the crystals. Each leather case was clearly labeled, one for geology, one for atmospherics, etc. Every case of crystals contained a library’s worth of information. The Mechanic pulled down three cases, one labeled “General Physics,” one labeled “Advanced Physics,” and one labeled “All Ship Systems.” Those three were the only sets that made reference to the Eschless Funnel.
He carefully opened the cases and removed the crystals, setting them in neat rows on the floor. They were clear or pale orange or yellow, with data bands of darker colors cutting through them. In all, there were about a hundred of them on the floor.
He returned to the closet. On one side were tools and small pieces of machinery. With a little searching, he found a first aid kit, a jawline translator, and something of real value—a stunner knife.
He hefted the stunner knife and fiddled with a dial at the base of the grip. He fiddled with it, changing the intensity of the electricity it generated. Then he returned to the rows of crystals on the floor. He stared at them for a few moments, a smile pulling at his lips. He, the Mechanic, had power over all of that knowledge. He was the one who would decide what would survive and what would be destroyed. Those Kinley may have been traveling for decades to get to Earth to recover this technology, but it was his to dispense or withhold. And he wou
ld withhold it from them, for the Kinley would consider it was theirs and take it from him without compensation. He could not have that. Compensation in great amounts was exactly what he needed. There was a whole world outside, a brand-new technological Earth, and someone out there would pay dearly to have an exclusive right to those manuals. When they did, the Mechanic would finally have what he had always wanted. He would live a life as blessed as the Captain’s. He would be a god among men. He would not have the divine trappings, but the pleasures of modern Earth might prove to be superior.
He sat cross-legged on the floor and picked up one of the crystals. He flicked on the stunner knife and touched it to the crystal’s base. Immediately, the crystal changed texture and seemed to expand. On closer examination, the Mechanic could see thousands of cracks that had grown within milliseconds, like infinitely branching tiny trees. The crystal was compromised at the microscopic level, and the data bands were ruined.
The Mechanic smiled again and picked up the next crystal. It took nearly two hours, but he destroyed every one. Now the only record of the Eschless Funnel existed on those delicate paper manuals. His manuals. His monopoly.
He loaded the ruined crystals back into their cases. He would bring them up to the surface and scatter them. He turned to the stasis tanks. It was time to consider the others.
He walked along the row of tanks. All but three were empty now, their lids drawn back, their interiors dry. The Mechanic recalled their occupants. The first tank had held the Engine Supervisor. He was the one who should have been woken by the computer at regular intervals. He was the one who was supposed to maintain the cave, the tanks, and the sleepers. But the Mechanic had bested him. Secretly, he had changed the programming, and it was tank five, the Mechanic’s tank, that had been called upon to wake. It had only been a small change, a simple alteration that had gone undetected by the Engineer, but it had made all the difference.
“I never regretted you,” the Mechanic said.
He had turned off the Engine Supervisor’s tank on his first wake. They had only been sleeping for five years then. The Engineer had suggested a five-year interval, for they had all been certain that rescue was on its way, and they did not want to risk missing the arrival of help. The logic of the kill had been simple: Kill the Supervisor and take his job as maintainer of the sleepers. This put him in control of their tiny crew. He had planned an explanation of how the Supervisor’s tank had failed, but that had never been necessary. Rescue had never arrived, and so there had never been any need to wake to others.
And he did not regret it, for the Engine Supervisor had been the Mechanic’s senior officer on the ship, though he was ten years his junior. Their relationship had never been pleasant.
The next tank had held the Surveyor, one of the scientists in the crew. The Surveyor had caught the Mechanic in a lie once, when they were at camp. The Mechanic claimed that he had double-checked the safety of their drinking water. The Surveyor, who had been secretly watching the Mechanic, claimed that he had not. And the Surveyor had been right. The reprimand still rankled. That had been the final straw in a long list of grievances against the man. The Mechanic had cherished fantasies of revenge for years.
He had not killed the Surveyor right away, however. Instead, he had relished the knowledge that he could end the man’s life at any time, on any whim. Finally, on his twentieth wake, one hundred years had passed, and he surmised that rescue would never come. He had taken a long drink of wine from the cave’s stores and switched off the Surveyor’s tank. If only he had been able to see inside as the man died! But the sense of vindication was still pleasurable.
After that, he had set his sleep interval to two hundred years to put as much distance as possible between himself and the legacy of the survey team outside. But every time he woke, it seemed easier to go back to sleep than to venture out into the world above. And he had certainly never felt the urge to wake the other sleepers. So here he was now, five thousand years later.
The next two tanks were empty and had never been occupied. They had been intended for two members of the survey crew who had disappeared before the sleepers left for the cave.
The fifth tank was the Mechanic’s own. The sixth belonged to the First Mate. It was working perfectly, as it had all these years, and inside of it was the First Mate, one of the senior ship officers on their mission. The Mate was not an engineer, but he had known the ship inside and out.
“I think you could build an Eschless Funnel if you had to,” the Mechanic said quietly. “And you could certainly explain the principles of one.” He let a hand slide along the tank top. “That makes you a threat to my monopoly, friend. I have nothing else against you. I’m sorry.”
He moved his hand to the control panel, punched in his override code, and turned the tank off. The tank began to beep, asking him to verify his command. There were several levels of safeguards, and the Mechanic patiently navigated them all. Within minutes, the life-systems of the tank had ceased to function, and Mate was dying. It would take a few hours, at the slow metabolic rate within the tank, but the Mate would soon be dead.
The final tanks belonged to the Engineer and the Doctor. Husband and wife sleeping side by side though millennia.
The Mechanic stood by tank eight. The Doctor, the Engineer’s pretty wife. His faithful wife. The woman he loved and who loved him. The Mechanic put both hands on the surface of her tank and breathed deeply. He had loved the Doctor himself, had been smitten with her when he first saw her back on Herrod as they prepared the ship. She had never known this, had never paid enough attention to the Mechanic to notice, perhaps. She was pleasant to him, friendly to him, occasionally showed him some sympathy, but the Mechanic knew that she had never once, not ever, thought of him romantically.
She was not a danger to his monopoly, for she did not understand the physics of the Eschless Funnel. He did not have to kill her. But what would it be like for her to wake from her deep sleep and find that her beloved husband was no longer beside her? That would be wonderful.
He moved to the Engineer’s tank. The Engineer was a brilliant man, as the Mechanic had been reminded many times daily over the course of knowing him. The Engineer had designed the ship. The Engineer understood the Eschless Funnel as well as Eschless himself had once understood it. Perhaps even better.
“And like the Mate, sir, that means you must go.” He laughed quietly. “You’ve ordered me about for years. This decision is really too easy.”
He moved his hands to the tank’s control panel. Then he stopped himself.
Quietly, he thought, And is it too easy for you? He thought for a moment of what it would be like to have the upper hand on the Engineer. Something worse than murder began to form in the Mechanic’s mind.
I have the upper hand right now, his more cautious side pointed out. The smart thing is to kill him.
But what would it really be like to see him helpless? he wondered. Surely that would be worse than death to him. And the Doctor—the Engineer would see her and know her, and know that he could no longer take care of her…
Killing is safer.
But not as satisfying! I haven’t had much satisfaction in my life.
He debated silently for a moment, then found that he was convinced. Just do it right, his cautious side conceded. Make sure he’s crippled permanently.
He reached for the control panel and entered his override code. He quickly starved the tank of oxygen. Silently, he counted the seconds. They slid by and became minutes: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, twenty, thirty… Thirty minutes without oxygen. The tank was sounding an alarm. The body within was dying.
The Mechanic slowly turned the oxygen back on, and the alarm quieted, then eventually extinguished. Three flashing lights continued on the panel, indicating that the life within was alive, but grievously damaged. The Engineer would never again be able to understand the complicated, delicate equations that described faster-than-light travel. He would be lucky if
he remembered his name.
He checked the readout on the Mate’s tank and found the man dead. His body would be slowly dissolved, and then the contents of the tank would drain, to be recycled and used for the remaining tanks.
The Mechanic turned away from the tanks and gathered his things.
CHAPTER 15
2605 BC
Year 2 of Kinley Earth Survey
If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.
—Voltaire
It was Emergence, the season when the Nile floods receded and the dark, rich earth emerged from beneath the waters, fertile and ready for planting. At the survey camp, the desert was hot, but there was a breeze and even a faint hint of water in the air. Rainfall was rare, but not unheard-of at this date, and there was a chance for moisture from the heavens.
The Captain stood at the edge of camp with the Archaeologist and Doctor, who were filling a small case with medical supplies for him. Some way off, the Mechanic stood waiting by two litters and their litter bearers. A few servants from camp also waited patiently.
After the earthquake and the loss of the Champion, they had sent the tiny, unmanned courier ship home explaining their situation and asking for modified plans for the next ship coming to Earth, which had originally been scheduled to arrive four years after the Champion. This courier would take three months to arrive at Herrod, and a return message would take another three months. They had at least two more months of waiting before they heard from home. There was nothing to do but continue with their work.
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