Strange Temple

by John Lilley

  After a further hour’s driving Julie pressed the talk button on the convoy’s radio mike: ‘Stopping for the night as soon as we see a suitable spot.’

  Five kilometres later they reached a bend in the road that had some reasonably flat ground alongside.

  ‘OK, this will do. It’s as good a spot as any unless someone knows of a good café in the next 500 km,’ said Julie.

  The vehicles slowed and stopped in a line. Everyone jumped down from the cabs, welcoming the opportunity to stretch their legs and the temporary end of the bumpy ride. Tents and cooking facilities were soon erected. Most of the team had been doing this work for all their adult lives. For them, tents were their usual form of shelter; dorms were a distant luxury only sampled on occasional breaks back in Britain.

  ‘Well, we’re now about 10 km beyond the initial first phase planting in this area. How much further do you think the wind-blown grasses will extend?’ asked Gareth.

  ‘The spy-in-the-sky detected faint traces out as far as 200 km from the mountains. That would mean about 30 km further out than our current position,’ said Julie.

  ‘That’s not bad, 40 km planted for free,’ said Gareth.

  ‘Well, as you know it’s not as simple as that because unless we help it along it may just stay that way for a very long time,’ commented Julie. ‘The geological data suggests that the aquifer may be near the surface here, but it’s bounded by some thick impermeable layers. If we could help it break through, then the pressure may be sufficient to develop some oases.’

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ said Gareth. ‘I could open my own bar?’

  ‘Yes, that’s just the effect we want to achieve. It would accelerate the replanting process tremendously, for very little effort,’ continued Julie.

  ‘Great, I’ll order the spirits now,’ said Gareth. ‘No, seriously how are we going to do it?’

  ‘You mean to break through to the aquifer?’ said Julie.

  ‘Of course,’ confirmed Gareth.

  ‘Well, truck nineteen contains the drilling equipment, and twenty has the explosive,’ she explained to a now startled Gareth.

  ‘Holy cow, explosives,’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, Ian is our mining and explosives expert. He is the guy with the beard who trembles a lot,’ as she said it she realised that all the guys had beards, even Gareth. ‘…. OK the one with the Welsh accent,’ she continued.

  ‘Prynhawn da,’ a melodic voice said from behind her, it was Ian.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Ian as he shook Gareth’s hand.

  ‘The geologists in the team will be looking for the best spot for our man-made oases. The spies-in-the-sky are already investigating several candidate locations, all within 100 km of here. We’re looking for a place where the aquifer is within 30 metres of the surface. The drilling rig and explosives will make short work of the overburden rocks provided they’re not too hard,’ explained Ian.

  ‘Sounds exciting,’ said Gareth. ‘It will make a change from planting grasses.’

  ‘Well, I’d sooner be playing rugby back home, to be honest. This place is just too hot and dry for me, and I hate those bloody camp-beds, they’re useless for a big guy like me, but I’m sure you’ll all find it an interesting process,’ said Ian.

  The whistling of the camp kettle terminated the conversation, signalling the immediate availability of a good cup of tea. They all moved off towards the galley tent.

  Night time prompted much activity in the newly replanted desert. The creatures that had been hiding in the shade or beneath ground during the day began to emerge and fill the air with their calls. They were the natural opportunists that had moved in; usually creatures with a body weight under five kilogrammes which could eke out an existence in the new hot regions. All the larger creatures had been hunted to extinction for food by the few remaining humans in their final days after their crops had failed. The top of the food chain was currently the desert fox (Vulpes Velox), but it was a close run competition between the Fox and the Desert Monitor (Varanus Griseus). There were also some snakes that nobody wanted to meet.

  After their evening meal, the lack of a campfire due to the complete absence of wood in the area meant that most of the crew just sat under the truck awnings having a last drink before bedtime. Nobody had decided to dip into the convoy’s extensive film archives, but the radio was on and relayed the news from back in Britain via the network of high-altitude solar-powered drones.

  In the back of the command truck, Julie and Ian were busy ranking the targets for the drilling.

  ‘We’re aiming to create three oases this trip,’ said Julie.

  ‘Well, we’ll see what we can do,’ said Ian. ‘There are limits to what we can achieve with the resources we have. The ideal site would be where the aquifer is near the surface, and the capping layer is well fractured already. Those drill bits will get blunted pretty quickly on anything approaching granite densities.’

  ‘OK, well there are twelve sites to choose from,’ said Julie, ‘What would be your top three?’

  ‘Seven, Ten and Three, in that order, favourite first,’ said Ian immediately.

  ‘So what about Site Five?’ enquired Julie ‘It allegedly has the lowest depth to the aquifer, less than 20 metres.’

  ‘The bits would burn out in five metres going through that Greywacke,’ countered Ian. ‘I’ve tackled that stuff before. Perfect for making tombstones, they’ll last forever, but like iron to a drill bit. No, I’m going for the friable overburdens. Don’t forget about the explosives. They will have a much greater chance of producing multiple fractures in the softer rocks. Once the water is given a chance, it will erode the rock along the fissures. Unfortunately, in the Greywacke that would take a very long time.’

  ‘I’m not going to argue, Three, Seven and Ten it is, but Five is so close to Seven I’d still like to pay it a visit, mainly because it has the most unusual aerial photo of the lot, don’t you think it looks...,’

  ‘…like a skull,’ Ian finished her sentence.

  ‘Hey, I’m glad someone else could see that,’ said Julie.

  ‘OK, we’ll add Site Five to the list. It’s going to be a busy day, I’m going to turn in, see you in the morning.’

  ‘Yeah, see you tomorrow Ian.’

  Julie studied the aerial pictures of Site Five for a few minutes more. What was causing those strange shadows?

  Thursday started by feeling damp and relatively cold; which was a good thing. There was heavy dew on the canvas of the tents, a predictable result from the success of the replanting. As long as there was some vegetation there to take advantage of it and lock it up in the soil, the process would, with a lot of careful management, become a positive feedback cycle that would reverse the desertification. The talking and beer drinking had continued long after Julie had gone to bed. There was just no telling with some people, especially the 20-somethings which made up most of the party. Well, they were suffering from it now, and Ian was making the most of it. He wandered around the green-gilled campers with a greasy bacon sandwich in his hand, asking selected individuals if they would like him to make them one.

  Joking over, the camp was struck, and the convoy rumbled on. It was only five kilometres to the point where they had to leave the road. So just when the nigh-owls had got comfy and were thinking that they could recover easily, their little world was shaken apart, quite literally. The 6-wheel drive vehicles were made for this kind of terrain. However, their suspension made no compromises to the orientation of the cabs that pitched and rolled by 20-30 degrees. Within one kilometre even the most hardened “I’m OK, I can take it.” night-time reveller was taking advantage of the full harness anchored to every seat.

  ‘I don’t know what is groaning more, the youngsters or the suspension?’ announced Ian, to roars of laughter from the older member of the crew.

  The going became a lot smoother as they entered an old dried up riverbed. The concern here was avoiding any soft sand; digging out a 20 tonne
6-wheeler was not a trivial task. At 10:30 Julie made the call for a break. Sun tarps were quickly rigged between the vehicles, and the kettles went on. Even at that time of day, the temperature was over 45oc. They planned to be at Site Seven by midday, where they would take a longer break of 2-3 hours to stay out of the worst of the intense heat.

  Site Seven didn’t look anything special. If you didn’t know what to look for it would have appeared like a slight depression with a small ridge to its northern edge. Ian had a healthy swig from his canteen, raised his hat and mopped his sweating bald scalp. He’d placed the sixth of the survey charges and was retreating to the control gazebo where Julie was powering up the geotechnic computers.

  ‘All done,’ he said as he approached the welcome shade.

  ‘You or the charges?’

  ‘Very funny, I need a shower and a trough of cold beer. On second thoughts just a bath of cold beer will do.’

  ‘What a way to go,’ said Julie.

  ‘I’m not so sure? I’d have to keep getting out for a pee. Give me a five-minute break, and you can press the button.’

  He got a smile.

  ‘Sorry Ian, but these machines are going to take longer than that. Want a tea?’ said Julie.

  ‘Just some more water please,’ said Ian as he took off his saturated shirt and then sat in a canvas chair while he took off his boots and socks. ‘Ooh, that’s better.’

  The charges made a rather disappointing thump when Julie triggered them by radio, but the computers knew otherwise. Ian scaled up the display on the large monitor and applied a couple of carefully selected filters. Using the pen-pad, he drew several lines across the display, and let the software crunch the calculations for him. The charge densities of the explosives they had available were already in the database. The view on the monitor changed to a standard Ordinance Survey overhead view. The map showed the ridge ahead of them, the survey gazebo and the trucks. Three red circles were illuminated on the gently contoured display. They were about 20 metres apart, and the nearest was only 50 metres from where they were currently sitting. Seconds later the drill depths were revealed: 41, 43 and 45 metres respectively.

  ‘Not bad, it seems to think we’re in with a chance,’ said Ian changing the display to a false-colour 3D schematic. ‘It looks like the river which used to flow here has already done most of the work for us.’

  ‘Yeah, and possibly a minor quake. Look at the fractures in that purple layer,’ said Julie.

  ‘Oh, that’s just the old sandstone in this area. It doesn’t take much to do that to it. I’m a bit more concerned about that thin green layer underneath it. That is what is keeping the water underground. I think it’s a hard metamorphic, possibly greenspan with a hardness 6, but fortunately only two metres thick. We can shove some coolant down the hole when we get that far,’ said Ian.

  ‘So it’s all go for Seven then?’ enquired Julie getting excited.

  ‘I should say so. Let the troops know before they get too comfy and start drinking again. If we can get the rig up before dark, we can drill through the night. The charges will, of course, need to be triggered simultaneously. I want at least six metres of backfill on top of them as well,’ said Ian.

  ‘Sir, yes sir,’ mocked Julie as she saluted and ran to tell the team the good news.

  Two days later, from the shade of a tarp between the two lead trucks, Ian surveyed the shimmering landscape through high magnification binoculars. They’d backed off one kilometre from the drillings, and the concrete backfill had now had 24 hours to reach its 90% strength. All he could see from this distance to indicate something had changed were the radio masts and the spoil heaps next to the three holes.

  They’d had a lottery to decide who should press the switch. Sandra had won and was stood next to Ian under the tarp.

  ‘OK Sandra, there is no wildlife near the holes, well nothing big enough to see, go for it when you’re ready,’ said Ian.

  Sandra wound up the charge on the detonator.

  ‘Three, Two One,’ she said and pressed the contact.

  One kilometre away, three massive columns of earth erupted from the stillness of the desert floor. The sound and shock waves had hit them before the cloud had reached 30 metres. It nearly ripped the tarp from its mounts on the trucks. Sandra and a few others were literally blown off their feet. At that moment the flames had reached the surface and expanded rapidly to a white ball of fire some 80 metres across. It was so bright that even those with shades on were made to squint. Then the heat hit them, even hotter than the midday sun.

  Julie shrieked and struggled to get her balance back. She felt that they were much too close. A second later she knew they were as the pyrotechnics began to fall on them. Nothing bigger than a coffee cup but deadly at the speed they were travelling. Everyone instinctively jumped closer to the trucks, beneath them if they could. Twenty seconds later the commotion of the blast had stopped. People were looking up and coming out to see what the damage was. The tarps had a few holes, and the trucks had some impressive dents in them. There wasn’t much to see of the blast scene for a good ten minutes. It was as if a mini-sandstorm has materialised between the drillings and the trucks. Over the next few minutes, it was slowly dispersed by the light desert winds.

  ‘OK, two kilometres for the next one,’ conceded Ian. ‘That was just 6 Kg of the stuff. What is 12 Kg or 30 Kg going to do? Perhaps three kilometres would be better?’

  ‘Very funny,’ said Julie. ‘I think we both underestimated what C9 can do.’

  Without waiting to get into the trucks, the whole party slowly walked towards the blast points. From 200 metres out there was definitely some damage visible. The blast had thrown up a three-metre high berm around the three blast holes which had merged into one 50-metre wide, irregularly shaped crater. The crew climbed the berm and looked down into the hole. It was just a jumble of steaming rocks.

  ‘Is that really steam?’ queried Julie.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ said Ian excitedly his eye widening. ‘Oh shit, get back everyone.’

  They all turned and ran but felt the tremors begin as they did so. Something beneath them was not pleased. Then there was a swooshing sound, but they were all too scared after the explosions to look back and kept on running. Seconds later they were surprised to find themselves in a rainstorm. The drops were warm and heavily laden with bright orange minerals. Everyone stopped running and turned towards the crater. Within seconds the orange fluid had completely soaked them.

  Loud whoops of joy went up as they ran back to the crater. Looking like the Mud Men from a low budget sci-fi film they once again stood on the crater’s rim. The shower subsided as the vents were quickly enlarged by the flow of the water. There was no stopping it now, the crater was rapidly filling with the bright orange liquid. The crew were still dancing when the berm was breached by the water, and once again they were forced to run away from the crater. They all jogged slowly back to the trucks, where beneath the ripped tarps the cold beers flowed once more and on into the evening.

  With the main event of the day over, life in the camp became more mundane. There were numerous tests to be done over the next couple of days to determine the effect of the blast and the quality of the water which was still emerging. These tests involved every specialist in the camp. After extensive seismic studies Ian had determined that he could probably have got away with less explosive, but there would have been more risk of failure if he had. They had plenty of explosives so the plan would be to back-off a bit further next time. The oasis was growing in size each day, but its rate of growth was slowing. Once they had a better idea of the final extent of the oasis, the last task on their list was to plant 100 palm trees. Several automated monitors were also being set so that their results would continue to be relayed to the team via the spies-in-the-sky. One the third day after the blast Julie made a judgement call that all current remaining tasks would be completed by the end of the day and camp would be struck the following morning. They needed to
move on to the next site to stay on schedule. The new oasis had now cleared enough to allow a swim without turning orange in the process. So on their last evening there they had an impromptu beach barbeque and pool party.

  The route to Site Ten went past Site Five, which was the strange skull-like hole in the desert that Ian and Julie wanted to take a look at. This was another reason for getting going. By midday, they could see Site Five on the horizon. The edges of the “skull” consisted of embankments some three metres high. They could see nothing below these embankments until they were standing on top of them. The site which greeted them when they did was quite surprising. What they were looking at was effectively a small wadi some 12 metres deep, but what was strange was that the floor of the shallow canyon was covered in vegetation. This consisted of a mixture of desert specimens like quiver trees (Aloe Dichotoma), birds-nest cacti (Mammillaria Camptotricha) and Welwitschia (Welwitschia Mirabilis), none of which were native to the area, but also some plants and bushes which would normally have been associated with much wetter climates. Julie was sure she could see some maize (Zea Mays). It was not possible to see all of the wadi’s floor due to the strange shape of its walls. What they needed was a way down, so they split up and walked in opposite directions around the wadi’s rim.

  After walking for half an hour, Julie radioed Ian’s group: ‘I can’t believe there is no easy way down, there’s just nothing on this side.’

  ‘Same here,’ said Ian. ‘Oh, hold on what have we here?’

  One of his colleagues had discovered a wooden stake in the ground on the edge of the wadi, a wooden stake with the remnants of some rope still attached.

  ‘Someone got here before us, but it looks like it was a long time ago and even they had to use ropes to get down,’ said Ian.