Jack Mcdevitt - Engines of god

by David Geary

  She promised herself that when time permitted, she'd come back for a closer look.

  Minutes later, the three towers came into view. They were massive, not mere pillars (as she had expected), but black stone fortresses rising about twenty meters above the waves. The tide rolled over the remnants of a fourth. They were circular, somewhat tapered, wide enough that twenty people could have sat comfortably atop each. A stiff wind blew snow off their crests.

  Hutch unmasked the external mikes, and listened to the rhythmic boom of the surf and the desolate moan of the wind off the sea. She eased close to one of the structures. Something screeched, leaped clear, and fluttered away. Lines of symbols and pictographs and geometric designs circled the towers. Most appeared to be abstractions, but she could see

  representations of birds and squidlike creatures and other beasts. In a niche just above the water, a pair of reptile legs were broken off at the knees. There must have been a shaft or stairway within. Her lights penetrated two embrasures and she caught a glimpse of stone walls. A Quraquat female with wings and a weapon, a sword probably, stood atop one crest. An arm was missing. The remaining hand shielded its eyes. She knew the Quraquat had not been winged creatures, smiled at the concept of a flying gator, and wondered whether all intelligences dreamt of angels.

  At the water line, the towers were worn smooth by the sea. Wide wakes trailed toward shore, as if the hoary sentinels were on the move.

  The floatpier lay a short distance beyond. It was U-shaped, and big enough to accommodate several vehicles. The Temple shuttle lay on the shoreward side. Alpha's lights skimmed across its blue-gold lines.

  She drifted in, and slipped into the water. Moonlight fell on the coastal peaks. She opened a channel to the Temple. "I'm down," she said.

  The shuttle rocked. "Welcome to the Temple of the Winds, Hutch. Frank's on his way."

  The outside temperature was 30° below, Celsius. She activated her Flickinger field, opened up, climbed out. The floatpier rolled with the tide, but it had good footing. It was wide, maybe three meters, equipped with thermal lines to keep ice from forming. And it had a handrail. The sea was choppy, and spray flew, but the field kept her dry.

  Alpha's lights cast a misty glow across the two shuttles and the pier. Beyond, the towers were murky shadows. Lines of waves broke against the shoreline.

  "Look out you don't fall in." Carson's voice came out of her earphones. But she didn't see him.

  "Where are you?"

  "Look to your left."

  Lights were rising out of the water. Carson sat inside a bubble housing. It surfaced near Alpha's prow, followed by a long gray hull. Steam drifted off the deck, and the sea washed over it. The submersible rolled, righted itself, and drew alongside the pier. The bubble opened. Carson paused, tuned his move, and strode onto the planks with a grace born

  of long experience. "Temple Limo Service," he said lightly. "Stops at 8000 b.c., Henry's Hotel, the Knothic Towers, the Yakatan Empire, and points south. What's your pleasure?" The engines gurgled, and the boat rocked.

  "The hotel sounds good." The vessel was low in the water.

  Its cargo hatch, located on the afterdeck, swung open. Barrel-shaped containers lined the interior. Carson removed one of the containers, lifting it with surprising ease, and muscled it onto the pier. "I've got six of these," he said. "Can we put them in Alpha! Thought I'd save a trip."

  "Sure." She watched him go back for a second barrel. Each of the containers was almost as big as he was. "Don't break anything," she said. They were big and awkward, but light. She starting moving them off the dock and into the shuttle's storage bay.

  "Most of it's foam," said Carson. "And artifacts."

  She felt cozy and safe, wrapped in the warm, dry cocoon of the energy field. The wind sucked at her, and mournful cries floated over the water. "Chipwillows," said Carson. "Oversized, ungainly carrion-eaters. They raid the beach every morning."

  "Birds?"

  "Not exactly. More like bats. They like to sing."

  "Sounds like something lost."

  "They make the sound by rubbing their wings together."

  She drank in the night. It was good, after all these weeks, to be out in the open.

  "What's it been like, Frank? Closing down, I mean?"

  He moved next to her and leaned on the handrail. "We do what we have to. It would have helped if we'd known six months ago we were going to get thrown out. We could have done things differently. But the word we kept getting was that the Academy was going to win. 'Don't worry,' they said."

  "It's a pity."

  "Yeah. It is that." The pier rode over a wave. The comber broke, rolled toward the beach, and lost its energy against the outgoing tide. "I'm ready to go home. But not like this." He looked discouraged. "We've put a lot of work in here. A fair amount of it will go for nothing."

  Something luminous swam past, approached the sub, and sank.

  "What will you do next? Where will you go now?"

  "They've offered me a division director's job at the Acad­emy. In Personnel."

  "Congratulations," she said softly.

  He looked embarrassed. "Most of the people here are dis­appointed in me."

  "Why?"

  "They think it's a sell-out."

  Hutch understood. Only the people who couldn't make it in the field, or who were less than serious professionals, went into administration. "How do you feel?"

  "I think you should do what you want. I'd like regular hours for a change. A clean, air-conditioned office. A chance to meet new people. Maybe watch the Sentinels on Sunday." He laughed. "That shouldn't be asking too much. After all these years."

  She wondered whether he had a family to go home to. "I wouldn't think so," she said.

  The western sky was starless. The Void. She looked into it for a few moments.

  He followed her gaze. "Spooky, isn't it?"

  Yes. Somehow, it looked more arresting from a planetary surface than it did from space. She had noticed the same phenomenon from Nok and Pinnacle, which also floated on the edge of the galactic arm. She could just pick out the dim smear of light from stars on the other side. "According to the Quraquat," Carson said, "that's Kwonda, the home of the blessed, the haven for all who have fought the good fight. On nights when the wind is still, you can hear them singing. Kwonda, by the way, means 'Distant Laughter.' "

  The pier rose and dipped. "That was a big one," said Hutch. "How old is the Temple of the Winds?"

  "The main temple, what we call the Upper Temple, was built somewhere around the thirteenth—" He stopped. "Difficult to translate time. Around 250 B.C., our calendar. Those"— he indicated the towers—"are not the Temple of the Winds. You know that, right?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "They're the Knothic Towers. Sacred ground, by the way. Built approximately 8000 B.C. They were used for worship, and were maintained as a historical site, one way and another, for seven thousand years."

  "So where's the Temple of the Winds?"

  He looked at the water. "Believe it or not," he said, "The Temple of the Winds is in the drink." He tied down the last of the containers. "And we should probably get moving. Where are your bags?"

  "Only one." She got it out of the Alpha, and allowed him to take it.

  "This area used to be a crossroad between empires," he said. "It must always have been of strategic importance. And we know settlements thrived here almost right up until the species died out. At the end," he continued, "the Quraquat had no idea why the Towers had been built, or what they'd meant."

  "That's very sad," she said. "To lose your heritage."

  "I would think so."

  "Are we sure the Quraquat are really extinct?"

  "Oh, yes. There was a long-running debate over that for several years. It seemed unlikely that we could have missed them by so short a time. Ergo, they had to be here somewhere. Watch your step." He planted a foot on the deck of the submarine as if that would steady it, and offered his arm. "There wa
s always at least one team looking for survivors. We got so many false alarms it got to be a joke. Quraquat seen here, seen there. Seen everywhere. But never any living natives." He shrugged. "They're gone."

  They lowered themselves into the cockpit and drew the bubble down. The interior lights dimmed. The sea rose around them. "The Towers are by no means the oldest structures here. This was a holy place long before they were built. There's a military chapel and outpost in the Lower Temple which predate them by millennia. We're excavating it now. In fact, the artifact that brought Richard Wald out here is from the Lower Temple. And there's a lot more that we haven't got close to yet. We know, for example, that there's an old electric power plant down there."

  "You're kidding."

  "That's what it looks like. It goes back somewhere in the range of nineteen thousand years. There's not much of it left, of course, and we don't get very good pictures. But I don't think there's any question."

  The water was dark. The sub's navigation lamps punched into the general gloom. Lines of yellow light appeared. "They

  connect the Temple with Seapoint," Carson explained. "The base."

  He turned toward the track, and within minutes, they had arrived over a complex of domes and spheres. They were brightly illuminated, but many of the windows were dark. Seapoint looked inactive.

  Carson took them beneath a shell-shaped structure, and undersea doors opened. They ascended, and surfaced in a lighted bay.

  Janet Allegri was waiting with fresh coffee. Hutch disem­barked. Carson handed her overnight down and Hutch slung it over one shoulder. She noticed that the walls were lined with containers similar to the ones they'd unloaded. "Is this the cargo?" she asked.

  "This is some of it," said Janet, passing them cups. "Now, if you like, I'll show you to your quarters."

  "I'd appreciate that." Turning to Carson, she said, "Thanks for the ride, Frank."

  Carson nodded. "Anytime." And, with a meaningful glance, he added, "You'll want to get a good night's sleep."

  Janet and Hutch exited into a short passageway, mounted a flight of stairs, and emerged in a plant-filled chamber fur­nished with chairs and tables. The lights were dim. Two large windows looked out into the sea, and there was a glow in an artificial fireplace. A half-finished jigsaw puzzle occupied one of the tables. "The community room," Janet said. "If you come here in the morning, we'll introduce you around, and see that you get breakfast."

  "You have people working now, right?"

  "Yes," Janet said. "We've been operating round the clock since we were ordered off. We used to run a fairly leisurely show. No more."

  "What specifically are you looking for?"

  "Casumel Linear C," Janet replied. "We want to read the inscription." Her liquid eyes watched Hutch. "There's a mili­tary post buried beneath the Lower Temple. The race that operated the post spoke Linear C."

  "Frank told us about that. You're hoping to find a Rosetta stone."

  Several passageways opened off the community room. They exited through one into a tube. The walls were transparent, and the visual effect, enhanced by strategically placed outside

  lighting, and luminous fish, was striking. Seapoint was a lovely place, although it had a claustrophobic aspect.

  "A Rosetta stone is probably too much to ask for," Janet said. "Some more samples might be enough."

  "How much success are you having?"

  "Some. We've found a couple of inscriptions. What we really need to do is penetrate the lower sections. But there are engineering problems. We have to cut under the Upper Temple. It's shaky, and it wouldn't take much to bring every­thing down. So it's slow going. Moreover, the sea bottom is filled with silt. The tides throw it back into the excavations as quickly as we can remove it." She looked tired. "The answers are here, Hutch. But we won't have the time to get at them."

  They crossed into a dome. Janet opened a door, turned on the lights, and revealed a pleasant, and reasonably spacious, apartment. "VIP quarters," she said. "Breakfast is at seven. If you want to sleep late, that's fine. The duty officer's available on the link."

  "Thank you."

  "There's a dispenser in the community room if you get hungry. Is there anything you need?"

  "I think I'm fine."

  "Okay. My first name activates my private channel. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything." She hesitated in the doorway. "We're glad to have you aboard, Hutch. This place has become something of a strain. I think we need some new people." She smiled. "Good night."

  Hutch closed the door behind her, and tossed her bag onto a divan. Curtains covered one wall. She opened them and looked into the living sea. Small fish, startled by the sudden movement, darted away. A pseudo-turtle swam slowly past; and a diaphanous creature with large disc eyes, drawn by the light, poked at the plastene. "Hello," she said, knocking at the barrier. There was a control for outside illumination. She reduced the intensity, but did not turn it off.

  She unpacked and showered and took a book to bed, but was too tired to read.

  There were a host of sounds at Seapoint. In the dark, the walls creaked and groaned, things bumped against the hull, electrical systems came on and went off throughout the night. It occurred to Hutch, as she drifted off, that this entire

  complex would shortly become part of the wreckage at the Temple of the Winds.

  She woke shortly after six, feeling uneasy. The windows and the sea were illuminated by wide shafts of sunlight.

  Time to get to work. She dressed rapidly, as if she were running behind schedule, and went to the community room. Despite Janet's assurances, it was empty. She ate a leisurely breakfast and, when she'd finished, opened a channel to the duty officer. Janet was still on duty. "Don't you ever sleep?" Hutch asked.

  "Good morning, Hutch. I get plenty of sleep; I just don't get to my room much. How was your night?"

  "Fine. Real good. What do you have for me?"

  "Nothing for the moment. You are going to be busy, because we have a lot of artifacts to move up, as well as people. Frank will be helping with the Temple shuttle, by the way. But we haven't quite got things organized yet. I'd say your morning's free. We'll call you when we need you."

  It would be nice to see the Knothic Towers in the sun­light.

  "Okay," she said. She thought about asking whether the sub was available, but decided against any action that would brand her early on as a nuisance. Instead, she retrieved her harness, and found an exit pool. She checked her air supply. It was ample. She looped her commlink around her throat, and activated the field. Then she slipped into the water, opened the outer doors, and swam out of the dome.

  Thirty minutes later, she surfaced a half-kilometer from the floatpier. It was a glorious morning. The sun blazed over silver peaks, broad white beaches, and blue sea. Long break­ers rumbled against black rocks. Creatures that bore a close resemblance to pelicans patrolled the surface, occasionally dipping into the water for a squirming meal.

  And the Towers: they rose out of the boiling sea in mag­nificent defiance. The last stronghold. They were as black by day as they had been by night.

  Hutch was a good swimmer, and she set off toward the floatpier with a steady stroke. The tide was running against her, but not so swiftly that she couldn't make headway. She settled into her rhythm. The pelicans wheeled and flapped. Pity it was so cold; she'd have liked to dispense with the energy field. A swim during which you stayed perfectly dry lacked a little something.

  Minutes later, she climbed out onto the planks with a sense of exhilaration, and took a deep breath from her bottled air.

  The field clung to her, soft and warm.

  The sea was calm. She sat down on the pier.

  The lower sections of the Towers were polished by the constant wave action. Like the Temple, they too had been on dry land in the recent past, sacred markers at a crossroads on highways connecting empires. A place for travelers to stop and contemplate the majesty and kindness of the gods. Atop the nearest, she saw movement.
Something with white feathers stretched and fluttered.

  Hutch had consulted maps before coming out, and knew where to look for the old imperial road, which was now only a steep defile northbound through the mountains that lined the shore.

  The strategic value of the intersection had been guarded by a fort, as well as by the gods. By a succession of forts, actually, over the millennia. The forts now lay beneath the Temple. And the Temple lay beneath the sea.

  She wondered what might have prompted a meeting between the relatively dormant Quraquat and the star travelers?

  On the beach, something caught her eye. Movement. Some­thing like a man.

  It walked upright toward the water's edge. Two more fol­lowed. They were hard to see clearly against the sand, and only when they passed in front of a cluster of rocks could she make out their white fur and sloped, horned heads. Well down the beach, another of the creatures stooped over a tidal pool.

  She couldn't see their eyes, but they had large floppy ears, and the one by the tidal pool carried a stick. Others were descending from the pass which had once been the northern road. Several were half-grown.

  They fanned out along the beach, the adults keeping the young firmly in tow. Three or four took up stations well apart, and looked out to sea. Then, as if someone had given a signal, the cubs charged across the sand, whooping and cackling and pursuing each other. Some stopped to poke at objects lying on the beach; others bolted into the waves.

  Behind her, Alpha rose on the tide, and the Temple shuttle nosed gently into the pier.

  The creatures on the beach seemed to be having a pretty good time. Hutch became gradually aware of a thin piping sound, a high-pitched trill almost lost in the brisk wind and the roar of the morning. It was birdlike, and she looked overhead for its source but saw only bright sky and a few snowflakes.

  One of the animals stood quietly by the water's edge. It seemed to be looking directly at her. Hutch stared back. When finally she grew uncomfortable under its gaze, she drew her knees up tight. It raised both forelimbs in what was unmistakably a greeting.

  The warmth of the gesture startled her, as if she'd met an acquaintance in a distant place. She waved back.