The Sha'lee Resurrection

by Paul G White

  But the excavation continued to move too slowly, although it had recently increased in pace due to the addition of another excavator and a large transporter to ferry away the spoil. The AI considered assisting the excavation team by employing one of her molecular disrupter cannons to ‘shave off’ the upper layers of rock and soil entombing the Comora, but as far as she was aware from the evidence gathered by her sensors, such technology would be far beyond the experience of the creatures toiling to disinter the ship, and would, in all probability, cause fear and alarm to spread amongst the Sha’lee’s potential saviours. And, additionally, in any number of scenarios modelled by the AI with her increased levels of awareness, some of the creatures might accidentally wander into the path of one of the cannons and cease to exist. And that would be a tragedy the AI would find difficult to live with, having had hard-wired into the very core of her being an overwhelming sense of the sanctity of intelligent life.

  After all their years of wandering between the stars since leaving Sha’lee’an, the Sha’lee had encountered no intelligent life – until now. On one world, they had discovered life, which had fallen well short of the Sha’lee criteria for sentience; the species was many millions of years of evolution away from abstract thought, and the planetary atmosphere was highly poisonous to the oxygen breathing Sha’lee. So they had moved on – to this world, and disaster.

  The AI retreated into herself in order to contemplate the situation and to model further scenarios where she might utilise the Comora’s anti-meteor weaponry, but it was no use; no plan of action materialised from her deliberations. So, to keep herself occupied, she listened to the radio transmissions filling the air around the ship and eavesdropped on the voices of those creatures within range of her sensors. She eavesdropped and forgot nothing, hoarding the data against some indefinable time when they might prove useful. She thought about her deficiencies in comparison with her creators. Although, in terms of logical thinking and the ability to manipulate data, she had been created vastly superior to her Sha’lee comrades, she lacked the one talent that would have enabled Captain Lessil and his crew to contact the creatures toiling to unearth the mighty ship: telepathy – the ability to communicate with images and words from mind to mind.

  Watching the two-legged creatures as they worked, the AI became aware that certain of the tools being carried might conceivably be weapons. Her rescuers were similar enough physically to the Sha’lee lying in cold sleep within the Comora, in that they had two arms and two legs, and an internal skeleton. And they had a brain encased in a bony shell atop their skeletons. So, the AI reasoned, hand weapons would probably need to be broadly similar in shape if not in function. This development, she considered potentially disastrous.

  Throughout the day, the AI saw many of what she now recognised as military personnel moving purposefully about the site within range of her sensors, and during the evening, as the light was fading she observed with interest as two heavy projectile weapons were embedded in emplacements either side of the open trench, with their muzzles facing the sky. This was a disturbing escalation. Having no knowledge of the firepower of the two weapons, the AI could draw no conclusions regarding why they were there. She modelled many alternative reasons, and the most common thread suggested that the Comora was in a potential battle zone. Such a notion was abhorrent to the AI, because the Sha’lee had eschewed war since the first stirrings of telepathic ability made it impossible to keep one’s intentions completely secret.

  She waited as night fell, filling the sky overhead with a multitude of stars. The activity continued throughout the night until the stars finally faded into a bright wash of blue. The AI sensed that the creatures were expectant, because many were frequently glancing at the skies over the low jungle vegetation. Well in advance of everyone else, the ship’s sensors picked up the steady whump-whump of the Hueys’ rotors. She searched in her archives and concluded that it must be some kind of primitive flying machine. Interesting! Nothing she had observed so far had suggested that the creatures had mastered flight.

  Two dark shapes rose over the low jungle and hovered some distance away. As they hung motionless, the staccato bark of a weapon sounded nearby, and the AI saw small fragments of material flake off the flying machines. Instantly, bright lights blossomed beneath the aircraft, and the AI sensed a rapid succession of high velocity impacts on the shield, each impact resulting in a haze of elemental particles. A primitive chemical-fuelled rocket roared into the sky and one of the aircraft flicked sideways in an evasive manoeuvre, releasing its own rockets in return. Those missiles were much heavier and carried a far greater inertia than the earlier projectiles; and analysis by the AI told her that the weapons carried explosive charges which had also been eliminated on contact with the shield. The AI calculated the potential damage if one such missile forced its way through the shield and decided that the danger to the Comora must be eliminated.

  As if encountering an asteroid in space, she opened the Comora’s hull over a cannon port and fired a momentary beam of destruction in the direction of the airborne machine. At two-hundred metres from the Comora, the cone-shaped destructive beam contacted the Huey, and the helicopter and its two crewmembers vanished as if they had never existed. The solid matter of the Huey and its human crew, along with all the atmospheric gases caught in the projected beam up to a distance of more than a hundred kilometres were reduced to elemental particles, their atomic bonds destroyed by the disruptor beam. Air sighed into the space formerly occupied by the helicopter, and witnesses below saw a haze of static as the sub-microscopic remains dissipated in the clear air.

  The ship’s sensors told the AI that nothing remained of the Comora’s assailant save two small pieces flying at high speed in opposite directions. The AI immediately closed the port and turned her thoughts to the enormity of what she had done; unless the aircraft had been remotely controlled she had just destroyed a living, sentient creature – perhaps more than one. She modelled Captain Lessil’s actions in such an emergency and in only a small percentage of the alternatives had the captain opened fire.

  *

  The Guatemalan assault troopers were uncertain; they had still encountered no signs of opposition on the ground, but the disappearance of the Huey in such a mysterious and emphatic manner and the ignominious retreat of the second gunship, had unnerved them. A few troopers warily resumed their ascent, but most either maintained their positions or began to retreat.

  A voice called out in Spanish from behind their line of advance, “Drop your weapons and surrender. You are surrounded by superior forces and weapons. It should not be necessary for any of you to die.”

  The Guatemalan troops peered behind them through the straggly jungle and saw nothing. A young corporal of no more than twenty years, who was furthest down the slope, loosed a burst of fire from his automatic weapon in the general direction of the voice.

  As the gunfire continued to echo over the treetops, a second voice whispered quietly to the soldier from no more than three metres away, “Drop your weapon or die.”

  The rifle clattered into the underbrush and the NCO raised his hands above his head. Several of his comrades scanned the bushes nervously and saw nothing, wondering why he had thrown down his weapon.

  The whispered voice commanded, “Tell your comrades to surrender. They haven’t got a chance and it would be a pity to kill them. Tell them they won’t be harmed if they do as they’re told.”

  The young corporal repeated the order, adding, “We have been outflanked. Throw down your rifles and live to see your families again.”

  “Good words,” came the comment from the bushes. Still the corporal hadn’t caught even a glimpse of his captor.

  More semi-automatic rifles hit the rock-strewn jungle floor, until eventually every rifle was on the ground. Once the last soldier had disarmed himself, more than a hundred fully-armed and camouflaged soldiers melted out of concealment in the undergrowth.

  Jim Scott retrieved Corporal Raoul Gomez
’s weapon from where it had fallen and motioned with the barrel for the Guatemalan to precede him up the slope towards the compound. Gomez’s eyes were wide; he had not imagined that even one person could have remained hidden so well, let alone more than a hundred. For the first time he examined his captor closely; beneath the camouflage, at close quarters, he saw skin too pale to be native to Belize. Neither did he recognise the uniform.

  “Are you mercenaries?” he queried.

  “Just helping some friends,” Scott replied in passable Spanish. “Now move!” Once again he motioned upslope and Gomez finally complied.

  Scott touched a small mike beside his chin and announced crisply, “We’re on the way, Major. No problems so far.”

  “We’ve been following your progress, Scotty. The welcoming party is already in place. Just bring them straight up.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The straggle of prisoners, who had been captured with barely a shot fired, breasted the earthwork and were faced with two machine guns and more than twenty semi-automatic weapons. They finally stood, a dispirited bunch, whose every move had been predicted and who suspected that they now faced internment for at least several months.

  As the British and Belizean troops reached the top of the rubble barricade Major Heathcote grinned at Colonel Suarez. “They’re all yours now, Colonel. What will you do with them?”

  Suarez shook his head. “I don’t know.” He was still marvelling at the efficiency of the operation, and the manner in which his own raw troops had performed like veterans alongside the elite British soldiers. “I suppose it’s up to Belmopan. This whole affair now reverts back to the politicians and I suspect they’ll want to earn a few brownie points by returning these men to their own people as soon as possible.”

  “I don’t get involved in politics,” Heathcote grinned, “but I have to agree that you have a point.” He became more serious. “Although, brownie points or not, when word gets back to the Guatemalan military about the way their Huey vanished, I reckon they’ll think twice about any further attempts to take over the site. I’m a trained observer and I’ve got pretty good eyesight, and I’m still trying to work out what I saw a few minutes ago.” His eyes took on a distant, preoccupied look for a few moments before he added, “Can I leave you to deal with the prisoners, Colonel?”

  Suarez nodded. “Problems?”

  “No, Sir. I’ve just had a thought about that Huey. The excavation team has had video cameras sited at the edge of the trench and it’s possible they recorded what happened.”

  The colonel nodded again. “You’ll let me know what you find out?”

  “I’ll keep you fully informed, Colonel, but if the cameras back up what I think I saw, I’m not sure I’ll be able to explain it.”

  “In that case, I’ll detail my junior officers to sort out the mechanics of detaining the prisoners and I’ll join you in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll see you in Hendriksson’s quarters then, Sir.” Heathcote strode over towards the trench, leaving Colonel Suarez to consult his junior officers.

  There were two video cameras in position, one on each side of the wide trench; Hendriksson’s instructions to constantly video the interior of the trench had been followed assiduously and both camcorders were still recording. Major Heathcote reviewed his memory of the events and decided that the nearer camera was in the best position to have recorded the happenings of a few minutes ago. He retrieved the camera from its tripod and set off for the site director’s tent; if necessary, he intended to review the contents of the second camera later.

  Following the short episode of gunfire Hendriksson, Carter and Makeman had left their protective shelters and returned to the director’s tent. The four newly-arrived scientists followed a little way behind, uncertain what was expected of them. Heathcote ducked through the entrance carrying the camcorder and Makeman immediately enquired where he’d picked it up. Heathcote said nothing, but flipped the hinged cover on the side of the camcorder and removed the memory card. He held it up for everyone to see.

  “You’ll need to insert another one of these if you’re going to continue recording the artefact and the trench,” he told them. To Hendriksson, he said, “Colonel Suarez and I need to examine what’s on here. Do you have a laptop with a reader?”

  With a nod of his head, Hendriksson indicated a laptop on his desk. There was a hard edge to his tone as he replied, “Just you and Colonel Suarez? I was under the impression I was in charge of the site . . . and the artefact.”

  Heathcote grinned to ease the tension. “I think that some of what’s on here will come under the umbrella of ‘the Military’, but you’ll have to know about it sooner, rather than later anyway. Whatever happens you need to know what the artefact did a little while ago.”

  “What did it do?” Carter demanded.

  Heathcote held up the memory card once again, saying, “It’s all on here . . . I hope.” He handed the card to Hendriksson who inserted the thin wafer into a slot in the edge of the laptop. Everyone gathered round and the director arose and offered his seat to Phil Makeman.

  “You’re more proficient with this technology, Phil. I’ll leave it up to you.”

  Makeman hit a series of keys and after a few moments, the trench appeared onscreen, complete with whirling rocks and debris. Nothing appeared out of place – or more unusual than normal.

  “What are we looking for?” Makeman asked Major Heathcote.

  “Can you locate the period from five-thirty onwards?”

  “Sure.” Makeman’s fingers drummed a quiet tattoo on the keyboard and the time indicator moved on to 05:29:23. The seconds ticked on towards 05:30:00 and Makeman realised he was holding his breath. The indicator continued past the time specified by Major Heathcote, while the full-screen image maintained the scene of tumbling pebbles and dust.

  “Is there sound on this laptop?” Heathcote enquired.

  “Typical laptop quality, but yes, there’s sound,” Makeman replied.

  “Can you enhance it a little?”

  Makeman’s fingers once again flew over the keyboard and he said, “It won’t go any higher, I’m afraid.” All anyone could hear was a slight background hiss.

  Colonel Suarez chose that moment to enter the tent and most of those present jumped nervously, such was their concentration on the screen. “Have I missed anything?”

  “We’re just about there,” Heathcote told him. “Any moment now, Colonel.”

  Suarez took station with a view of the screen and Makeman commented, “We could use a fifty inch plasma screen here.”

  The ensuing nervous laughter was interrupted by the bark of the two Hueys’ miniguns, and they saw small, airborne rocks disappear as a murderous hail of bullets shattered them into tiny fragments. They heard a double roaring sound as two anti-aircraft missiles sped into the sky, followed quickly by two air-to-ground strikes from one of the attack helicopters. The trench instantly filled with smoke from the rocket motors of the missiles, but strangely, there was no ensuing thunder of high explosive detonations.

  The camcorder had not even vibrated during the impacts, although it was only a few metres from the extreme violence; the images remained rock steady on the screen, suggesting that the missiles had not detonated. Suddenly, the image shimmered and then steadied once again. Through the smoke they saw a dark, cylindrical tunnel angle skyward from below ground level, cutting through the airborne rocks and debris of the trench. The interior of the tunnel was entirely devoid of movement, suggesting it was completely empty of any form of matter. In the half-second of the tunnel’s existence, any rock falling into it vanished as if it had never existed.

  “Can you run the last few seconds again, but slower?” Heathcote asked Makeman.

  “What was that? What happened?” Hendriksson breathed.

  “As far as we can tell, that shaft of darkness was what destroyed one of the Hueys,” Heathcote replied. “All that remained was the tips of its rotors. I suspect that if the ’copter ha
d been a few metres further away, there would have been nothing left at all.”

  “At least we now know that the ship is armed,” Colonel Suarez broke in.

  “That’s a typical military assumption,” Makeman growled, “because it says nothing of the sort. Look, if you’re going to travel through space, you’d better realise that it’s not exactly empty, especially within a solar system. If you’ve got some kind of meteor shield it will only work up to a certain size, and I reckon you’d also need to have the means of destroying something much bigger than a micrometeorite. What’s happened here is that the ship has reacted as if it were under threat from a meteor shower. You know, the ship might have interpreted the bullets as small meteorites, and if whoever is on board has the ability to see what’s outside, they could have seen the helicopter as a space rock too big for the shield to handle.” He stared defiantly at the colonel. “Let’s not assume every alien life form is going to be bloodthirsty simply because our history is littered with wars.”

  Colonel Suarez stiffened a little under Makeman’s verbal attack, but quickly recovered his composure and replied, “As you so vehemently insist, Mr Makeman, we cannot assume without proof that whoever is in the ship is our enemy. But you must concede that the opposite also applies: namely that we cannot assume they are friendly – until they prove it to us. Do you agree?”

  Makeman nodded. He was thinking back to a theory propounded a few years previously that any space visitors were almost certain to be here with one intention only: to take over the planet. “Yes, but let’s not jump to any conclusions about that, shall we? Anyway, Colonel, we already seem to have decided that there is something still alive in the ship when nothing up to this point has hinted at such a possibility. As far as I can see, what’s happened so far is no more than automatic systems doing what they were designed to do. I must admit, though, that whoever or whatever designed and built machinery that is still functioning after being buried under God knows what tonnage of rock for sixty-five million years, would be well worth meeting. Wouldn’t you agree?”