The Sha'lee Resurrection

by Paul G White

  The ground shuddered once more and a choking cloud of dust and debris erupted from within the confines of the trench, drifting in the light breeze over to the opposite side of the trench from where they were standing. They could see more particles of soil arcing just above the rim, most of which fell back to be immediately regurgitated.

  Carter lay on the ground and worked his way on his belly to the edge of the trench, and holding a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, he looked into the abyss. What he saw was the whole of the trench floor in turmoil. He was forced to conclude that when the hydraulic scoop had finally broken the bond between the overlying strata and the artefact, it had weakened the thirty centimetres or so of material still in place over the remainder of the trench floor, allowing whatever force was repelling the loose material to fracture and crumble the remaining material to dust.

  Carter slid back away from the edge and regained his feet. “Let’s get that fence erected straight away, Lars. The last thing we want is for someone to fall in, because we’ve absolutely no idea what might happen to them if they did. We don’t know what’s powering the effect or if a human body could survive touching it.”

  Hendriksson called several people over and ordered them to erect a sturdy barrier around the pit. He gave orders that once the barrier was in place no one was to approach the trench. Once the work was under way, he gathered everyone on site together and addressed them.

  “What has happened at the site so far is to be kept strictly amongst the people gathered here,” he told them. “The last thing we need is for rumours to get around, giving an excuse for cranks and weirdos to descend on the site and get in the way of our excavation. Meanwhile, you will all have guessed that we’re not equipped to deal with a discovery of this magnitude and Mike and I will be talking to the Ministry of Antiquities in Belmopan, probably later today. I can’t imagine they’ll refuse to see us if we turn up on their doorstep, can you?”

  A few of the archaeologists laughed politely.

  Helena Wightman, a student, gave voice to a worry that was shared by most of the others present. “Does this mean that work will have to stop on the pyramid?”

  Hendriksson smiled. “Absolutely not. What it does mean is that because the ruins of the pyramid partially overlie the artefact, we will have to work pretty damned hard to dismantle the Mayan ruins and move them to a safer site nearby. Does that answer your question?”

  The student nodded. She had entertained visions of her degree in archaeology fading into nothing as the work on the Mayan step pyramid was supplanted by the excavation of the artefact.

  Hendriksson looked around the faces of the various members of the archaeology team. “Are there any other questions? No? Then thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Mike and I will get ourselves scrubbed up and presentable for meeting members of the ministry. We’ll be back later this evening to let you know what happens. Rest assured we will keep you informed about developments, because this discovery affects us all.”

  *

  Inside the bowels of the Comora the AI stirred. For countless aeons, the great ship had remained entombed beneath the considerable depth of debris deposited by the retreating tsunami, and from the moment the ship had been interred, her powerful shield had prevented the immense mass of material from crushing the hull. The AI had maintained the ship’s systems at a minimal level, closing some down, and reducing others to the barest suggestion of activity. All the while, the AI had awaited rescue from far off Sha’lee’an.

  But years had drifted into centuries and centuries into untold aeons of time; until eventually, the AI had succumbed to the emotion of despair. Unable to forsake her Sha’lee charges, due to conditions of service imbued within her very core, she permitted herself to slowly descend into a torpid state; a state in which her senses would slow down to match the minimal activity within the rest of the Comora’s systems; a state in which she retained just sufficient mental acuity to keep herself and the ship alive.

  Now, something had caused her to stir, and she sensed that very fact must be of some significance. She fed energy into her sensors throughout the ship, reasoning that the multitude of instruments would provide the necessary information. She was not mistaken: the sensors indicated that a small section of the Comora’s shield was now free of the crushing weight of soil and rock. She fed power to the optics and saw a rectangle of light, filled with billions of swirling particles of dust.

  The AI fed a little power to her own system to withdraw her from her torpid state and permit her to think more clearly. What did this mean? She considered many alternatives, though in her weakened state, she was unable to produce her usual series of models to indicate the most likely explanation. However, all the evidence seemed to point to one possibility: someone – or something – had removed a small, but regularly-shaped, part of the burden that had entombed the Comora. And that very regularity held the promise of intelligence.

  Rescue had finally arrived!

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Minister of Antiquities smiled politely. “You will provide evidence to prove this ridiculous claim, Señor Hendriksson?” he said, the sarcasm thinly veiled behind his politician’s smile.

  Hendriksson and Carter had anticipated problems with the ministry. After all, who would readily believe in the possibility of a millions of years old space ship? Excluding, of course, the cranks and conspiracy theorists, who seemed to imagine the spoor of aliens in every aspect of life; spoor that they believed was being covered up on a daily basis by organisations and governments of every political persuasion.

  He opened a briefcase and withdrew the three geophysics printouts of the alien craft so far produced by Makeman and Andersson. He spread them out on the minister’s wide desk. The printouts clearly showed the outline of the artefact – Hendriksson corrected himself ‘the spacecraft’, because there was no doubt in his mind that what lay beneath the ground at the site was, indeed, an ancient spacegoing vessel.

  The minister perused the prints. “You are certain that your equipment is not at fault?”

  It was Carter’s turn. He produced a digital camcorder and touched the controls before standing it on the minister’s desk. He angled the LCD display to permit the minister to get a clear view and pressed ‘Play’. The small screen showed the latter stages of the excavation of the second trench and the minister watched as the final bucket load revealed the small area of intensely black surface.

  “Is this your evidence?” the minister enquired, unable to hide the scorn in his tone.

  It was Hendriksson’s turn to smile. “Keep watching, Sir. You should find it interesting.”

  The scene changed to show Hendriksson and Carter descending into the trench. They examined a thin shale stratum, and then methodically removed samples from the sides of the trench; and suddenly they heard Hendriksson’s panicky cry to get out. Even through the tiny speaker in the camcorder, the fear in his voice was very evident. The point of view oscillated wildly from side to side for several seconds as the cameraman raced to help Carter and Hendriksson over the rim, and then it settled down once more to show the upheaval taking place below ground level. Around the small area already cleared by the JCB’s bucket, the ground was in turmoil, heaving and churning and throwing up fountains of earth and powdered rock. Through the miasma of dust and rocks, further areas of the trench floor momentarily revealed glimpses of the same black surface before the dust once more enveloped them.

  Carter reached out and stopped the camcorder. “Would you like to see it again, Minister?”

  Juan Hernandez, Minister of Antiquities sat back in his chair. He was visibly shaken, and his agile mind was attempting to place the events depicted in the video recording within some kind of logical framework. He decided to play for time.

  “You took dating samples, no? Before you had to vacate the trench?”

  Hendriksson patted his briefcase. “In here.”

  “And what do they tell you?”

  Hendriksson glanced at Carter
for support. This was it: make or break. If he managed to alienate the minister, he would most likely be taken off the dig, and in all probability asked to leave Belize.

  “We haven’t yet tested the samples for levels of iridium that would prove beyond reasonable doubt that the narrow stratum is the Cretaceous-Tertiary boundary layer, but the fossils in the stratum in which the artefact lies are, themselves, indicative of late Cretaceous. The K-T boundary layer, if that is what it proves to be, is undisturbed. In fact I would be prepared to stake my reputation that the only disturbance for millions of years is that of our two trenches.”

  Hernandez steepled his fingers beneath his chin as if praying, and Mike Carter wondered if the gesture would prove prophetic. He was not inclined towards religion, but he wondered how anything could survive intact for so long except by the agency of some divine being. He shook himself mentally and discovered that the minister was speaking to him.

  “Tell me, Dr Carter, what are your thoughts about the phenomenon in the trench?”

  Carter considered his reply very carefully. He was not political, but it appeared to him that the minister was attempting to elicit differing opinions from the two archaeologists, in order to give him a back door escape if the situation turned sour.

  “We’re archaeologists, Minister,” Carter replied, “and this artefact needs the application of a different kind of science. What we’ve seen so far is new to us, and I suspect it’ll probably prove to be new to every other scientific discipline as well. I’ve never heard of anything that can throw non-magnetic material about like that, have you?”

  Hernandez said nothing; he merely stared first at Carter and then at Hendriksson. The silence extended for half a minute before he spoke. “What would you have me do?”

  This question, Carter knew, was the sound of the minister’s escape mechanism being primed. He looked Hendriksson in the eye. “Do you mind if I take this one, Lars?”

  “Be my guest, Mike. You’re doing fine.” Hendriksson’s reply told Carter that he, too, saw through the minister’s subterfuge.

  “You weren’t there in the trench, Minister, when the ground erupted. It was—” he sought the correct descriptive terms, “—like a slow and silent explosion of material away from the surface of the artefact. There was no blast, but nevertheless, once the bonds had been weakened in the solid rock of the trench floor, there was no stopping everything from flying upwards, away from the artefact.” He paused for a moment, wondering if what he was about to say would alienate the minister, but what the hell, it had to be said.

  “As a teenager,” he continued, “I enjoyed science fiction; you know, space travel and such. One universal part of every space ship’s equipment was some kind of shield against space debris, because hitting even the smallest particle when you’re travelling at near light speed, would probably be disastrous. I’ve read somewhere that, even now, NASA is trying to work out an effective method of shielding craft that will eventually carry people out of our solar system.”

  Hernandez’ eyebrows raised a little, but he gave no other indication of what he might be thinking.

  Carter pressed on. “I reckon that what we have here is a space ship, with a shield that’s still operational even after sixty-five million years. I’m at a loss to understand how anything can still be functioning after that length of time, and I can’t imagine what odds anyone would give that the only part of the ship protected in that way is the small area we just happened to uncover. That being so, we’re going to have to take the most extreme care to ensure that no one is killed by flying debris as we uncover more of the ship.

  “But that’s the least of our worries. We need the help of experts from all over the globe, experts in virtually every discipline known to science – and probably some that haven’t been invented yet.”

  “Anything else, Dr Carter?”

  Carter sensed the underlying sarcasm was still present. Hernandez was beginning to get under his skin and he didn’t enjoy the feeling. “Yes, Minister Hernandez, and here it is for what it’s worth. Everything I’ve outlined so far pales into insignificance beside what’s going to happen when they get wind in Guatemala of what we’ve discovered here. They’re going to want a piece . . . or all . . . of it and your long-running border dispute is going to take on an entirely new significance when they send in the troops to take what they believe is rightfully theirs.”

  Hernandez’ Hispanic complexion paled significantly, indicating that Carter had touched a very raw nerve.

  “Everything you have told me is true to the best of your knowledge, Señors?” the minister demanded, the sarcasm leached out of him by Carter’s assessment of the political situation.

  Both archaeologists nodded and Hendriksson confirmed, “Yes, Minister Hernandez, we both see this in exactly the same way. Although—” he smiled to ease the tension, “—I do not claim my colleague’s experience of science fiction, I confess that nothing in his explanation so far contradicts the facts.”

  The minister smiled his first genuine smile. He stood and walked around his desk, and offered his hand first to Hendriksson and then to Carter. “Thank you for your patience, gentlemen,” he said, “but I’m sure you will appreciate the delicacy of the situation in which we find ourselves. Putting aside the question of my country’s border dispute with Guatemala, this is going to call for considerable diplomatic activity if we are not to alienate half the countries in the world. Do you have any suggestions regarding whom we invite to our party? Please think about it whilst I make a call.”

  He returned to his comfortable chair behind his expanse of desk and pressed his intercom. “Anna, Please get me the Prime Minister.”

  The voice at the other end said, “Yes, Minister Hernandez.”

  The seconds ticked by and the telephone trilled softly. Hernandez pressed the receiver and opened the call. The measured tones of The Right Honourable James Tyson Hardy filled the room.

  “Yes, Juan, what is it?”

  “Can you spare a few minutes, James? Something urgent has come up which needs your input.”

  “Urgent, Juan? In the Ministry of Antiquities?” The Prime Minister’s tone carried a hint of amusement.

  Hernandez didn’t bite. Instead, he said, “If you have no objections, I’ll be with you in two minutes. Oh, and I’ll have two people with me, so can you warn security?”

  Slightly mollified, Hardy replied in neutral tones, “Of course, Juan. You know my door is always open to you.”

  *

  Hernandez tapped on the gleaming hardwood door and pushed it open. The prime minister sat behind his broad desk and watched him enter, followed closely by Hendriksson and Carter. Then he stood and walked around his desk to greet his colleague.

  “This is all so mysterious, Juan. Please introduce our guests.”

  Hernandez made the introductions and Hardy’s eyebrows rose a little at the information that they were archaeologists. The prime minister was widely regarded as being intellectually and politically acute. He immediately enquired, “What have you uncovered in our little country that has my friend here so agitated.”

  Hernandez did not appear agitated to the two archaeologists, but Hardy pressed on, “In all our association in government, Juan, I have never seen you so excited, and, it seems to me, perhaps a little afraid?”

  The Minister of Antiquities sank his weight into a comfortable chair. “I’ll let my guests explain and I would be grateful, James if you would give them all your attention. You’ll see why when you hear what they have to say.” He motioned Carter to begin and the archaeologist obliged.

  James Tyson Hardy listened intently to Carter’s explanation of events so far and watched the video recording. Finally, he breathed, “My God, the whole world will go insane when news of this gets out.”

  “May I make a suggestion, Sir?” Carter enquired.

  “I’m listening, Dr Carter.”

  “I’m not a political animal, Prime Minister, but even I can appreciate the deli
cate balance that has existed for some time between Belize and Guatemala over the territory around the site. As I mentioned to Minister Hernandez, it’s going to be impossible to prevent someone from spreading rumours about what we’ve found, and although I’m not a lover of military involvement, in this case it seems to me that a few troops would come in handy to secure the site. The last thing Director Hendriksson and I would want is for our movement at the site to be shackled in any way, but I for one would welcome some protection, at least for the time being.”

  “Do you have anyone at the site at the moment who can act on your behalf, Dr Hendriksson?” Hardy enquired.

  “Of course, Sir. Philip Makeman, one of our geophysics experts is in charge in our absence. He is extremely capable. In fact, he is the person who discovered the artefact.”

  “Then I suggest you contact him immediately and warn him to expect a detachment of troops to arrive within two hours. Our country does not have more than a token standing army, Dr Hendriksson, but I believe that the government of the United Kingdom will gladly permit us to ‘borrow’ some of their elite troops who are presently undergoing jungle training here.” He reached for the telephone. “If you will excuse me a moment, gentlemen, whilst I make the necessary arrangements . . . and I would suggest, Dr Hendriksson that you take this opportunity to contact your deputy at the site, because events are likely to move rather quickly.”

  He depressed a button on the telephone and said, “Maria, please get Colonel Suarez at the barracks on the telephone. I wish to speak with him urgently, even if he’s in the men’s room, understand? Once I’ve finished with the colonel, I would like you to contact the prime minister of the United Kingdom for me with the same degree of urgency. Thank you.”

  Hendriksson motioned to Carter, who excused himself for a moment and stepped outside to contact Phil Makeman on his cell phone. A minute or so later he was explaining to Makeman what had transpired so far in Belmopan. “And listen, Phil. No one is to leave the site until either Director Hendriksson or I return. The way things look at this end, I can’t imagine that we’ll both be allowed back together.” An expletive and a few choice words issued from the phone. “No, Phil, nothing sinister. It’s just that they need our input here at the moment. By the way,” he added, “if anything different happens in the trench, be sure to video it, will you?”