by Paul G White
Colonel Suarez grinned. “Only if they’re friendly.”
Makeman couldn’t argue with that.
CHAPTER SIX
Hendriksson’s Tent being too small to accommodate further numbers, the four newly-arrived NASA scientists waited patiently outside. From their place of concealment they had heard the gunfire and whoosh of the rockets, and now they saw a large number of prisoners being escorted away by Belizean troops. Whatever had occurred had lasted no more than a few minutes.
Hal Kleineman and Enrico Tempi, theoretical physicists, Jonathan Kite, a propulsion engineer and Ellie Merrill an advanced systems analyst had all been ordered to pack for a minimum two-week stay in Belize. Within hours of their travel orders being issued the medical section at Goddard had brought their vaccinations against tropical diseases up to date and they were on their way to Belize. When they arrived at their destination, they were to expect further instructions. But, on arrival at Goldson International Airport, they had been greeted by no less a personage than the Minister of Antiquities, Juan Hernandez, who had made no attempt to explain the reason for their presence in Belize. Instead, he had arranged their transport to the Maya Mountains, and they arrived at an archaeological site late in the evening to discover that a military attack on the site was imminent, probably within twelve hours – although they had been assured that they would be in no danger.
Every event so far had been surrounded by an aura of secrecy, but now they all agreed it was time to find out why they had been brought to this remote temple ruin in the Belizean jungle. After all, they were each expert in their own field and felt they had the right to know what they had been pitched into by their employers. They heard the animated voices from inside Director Hendriksson’s tent and caught just a few, isolated snatches of the discussion.
Hal Kleineman elected himself spokesman and ducked inside the tent. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said genially, “but where will we find Doctor Hendriksson?”
Hendriksson stepped around from his position behind Phil Makeman and eased his way through to Kleineman. He held out his hand. “I’m Hendriksson . . . Mr?”
“It’s Doctor Kleineman, but my friends call me Hal.”
Hendriksson grinned. “Well, Hal, I’m pretty sure that everyone’s going to become friends over the ensuing months, so call me Lars.” He noticed the three shadows cast onto the tent fabric by the bright, early morning sunlight. “Are the others outside?”
Kleineman nodded.
“Then let’s get acquainted. It’s too crowded in here, so let’s move outside, shall we?” He gestured to the others to continue and pushed out through the mosquito netting.
Outside, Kleineman first introduced his companions from NASA and then continued, “We were informed that we’d be put in the picture when we got here, but that hasn’t happened. Why are we here? This is some kind of Mayan temple, isn’t it? So why do you need two physicists, a propulsion engineer and a systems analyst from NASA?”
Hendriksson smiled in an attempt to put them at ease. “You’re the first of many, Hal, and I’d imagine there may well be hundreds like you here eventually. Come with me, I want to show you something.”
As he led them towards the excavation, he apologised for not meeting them personally the previous evening. “We had just received news of the imminent attempt by Guatemalan forces to take over this site . . . something that could not be allowed to happen. I trust you were cordially received by Miss Wightman?”
“We wondered why we were quartered well away from everyone else,” Kleineman replied, “but yes, we were well treated. The accommodation was basic, but comfortable enough.”
“Not for me,” Ellie Merrill complained. “I think my bed was full of rocks.”
Hendriksson laughed. “I’m sure you will find that what we have here will make a little discomfort worthwhile.”
They had arrived at the edge of the trench, where the rocks and dust had resumed their mad dance over the obsidian black surface of the artefact. The four NASA personnel watched the tumbling rocks for a few moments until, finally, their eyes lowered to the black surface of the space ship.
Enrico Tempi picked up a small piece of rock and inspected it. “Is this magnetic?”
Hendriksson shook his head. “There is no natural magnetism around here.”
Tempi followed up his query. “Then where are the fans?”
“There are no fans.”
“Then how the hell can this be happening? It’s against the laws of physics as we understand them.”
“As we understand them, perhaps—”
“What are you telling us?” Kleineman demanded. “What have you got in the trench?”
“The single greatest discovery since the dawn of mankind,” Hendriksson replied with a sense of supreme drama. “We believe we have an alien spacecraft, that’s been buried here since the time of the Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction event more than sixty-five million years ago, and is still in working order – at least the part that we are able to observe. We believe that what you see down there is the ship’s meteor shield repelling loose debris. And by the way, that’s not all it does. High-velocity objects such as bullets or air-to-ground missiles cease to exist on contact.” He turned away from the excavation, and led them back towards his tent. “I think now would be a good time for you to see what happened this morning.”
Almost in a daze, the four NASA specialists followed him, their minds churning with the possibilities implied by an alien spacecraft that had somehow survived since the time of the dinosaurs. Both physicists were imagining the possibility of new theories with the potential to turn modern physics on its head; Jon Kite was wondering what nature of drive had powered the starship to Earth so long ago; and Ellie Merrill was immersed in thoughts of the complexity of any computer system capable of enabling a starship to function efficiently.
Hendriksson swept the netting away and entered his tent. Everyone else was still gathered around the computer just as when he’d left them. Makeman was about to attempt to enhance the video sequence, which included the elimination of the attacking helicopter.
“Gentlemen, would you please give us space,” Hendriksson growled. “I need to present this particular piece of the puzzle to our friends from NASA.”
Makeman protested, “I was about to try to enhance the video footage, Lars.”
“Have you made a copy in case you corrupt the file?” Ellie Merrill enquired.
“Not yet,” Makeman admitted.
“Then would you mind if I take over?” She smiled sweetly at the geophysics expert. “This is my area of expertise.”
Grudgingly, Makeman vacated his seat and Ellie took his place. She made a few keystrokes to check which program was currently in use, and sighed, “This program won’t get us far. Have we got satellite connection and the Internet?”
Makeman nodded. “It’s basic but fairly reliable.”
“OK. Give me a few minutes while I download a little routine from my own workstation at Goddard.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard and within half a minute a tiny window displayed a bar, which indicated download in progress. Whilst the program continued to download she made two further copies of the footage and committed each to a separate disk. Within four minutes, her fingers were once again dancing on the keyboard and the video sequence visibly improved. She continued to work until eventually she sighed, “Sorry folks, I don’t think I can improve on that . . . not with this equipment anyway.”
Makeman had watched the systems analyst at work and he knew that even in his wildest dreams he could not have emulated what she had produced from the video footage. Each to their own field, he thought.
Ellie set the enhanced recording playing and the four NASA scientists watched the events as they played out onscreen. When the rockets hit, producing copious amounts of smoke rather than the anticipated powerful explosions, Kleineman and Tempi leaned forward nearer to the screen to get a better view. The beam of dark light, now appearing several degrees
clearer than previously, took them completely by surprise. In slow motion, they witnessed the tumbling rocks and soil and dust vanish as they entered the projected beam, and the shape of the dark beam was clearly delineated by its outer surface, much like a bubble in water. Kleineman and Tempi knew they were in the presence of physics outside of their experience.
“Did anything get in the way of the projection . . . apart from rocks?” Hal Kleineman breathed.
“One of the Guatemalan helicopters two hundred metres away,” Makeman informed him. “Pfft! Gone! According to Major Heathcote, all that was left was the tips of the rotors flying in opposite directions. Four and a half tons of helicopter annihilated in an instant.”
Hal Kleineman whistled through his teeth. “From what we’ve seen here, I think you have probably used the word that best describes what happened . . . annihilated. Whatever happened to get in the way of the projection seems to have vanished; and logic says it is either somewhere else . . . or exists only as elemental particles.” He grinned nervously. “I don’t know which of the explanations I favour, but what I know is this: it scares the hell out of me.”
Hendriksson commented, “You’re not alone there, Hal. We don’t have your knowledge of space travel, but we believe that the ship has deployed a means of destroying large space rocks. Does that make sense to any of you?”
Tempi considered Hendriksson’s explanation. “There are a few ideas around concerning protection of interplanetary – or even interstellar – craft using powerful magnetic fields, but we’re nowhere near making anything work. It is certain that ships will need some kind of protection, and if you’re right, what we have here is way beyond our technology – and our ideas. What we’ve seen here may be exactly what you say, but it would also make a pretty neat weapon. We’ll need to proceed with extreme caution to ensure the effect is not deployed against us.”
“We’re all agreed on that, Enrico, but we feel we have no choice but to carry on with the excavation. Clearly, we must accelerate the unearthing of the artefact, which, as you will see from those ground radar images on the desk over there, is an ovoid greater than the area of a soccer pitch and it’s covered to a considerable depth at the edges. As you can imagine, that is an immense task and we are awaiting reinforcements for the single excavator we have on site at the moment. We have to pray that we don’t do anything to precipitate an attack from the ship. I’d suggest, that now you know what we have discovered, you contact the Administrator at NASA and requisition any equipment you need. He will ensure that you get everything you want. Also, may I ask you to speak to no one other than the Administrator, because what we have here must remain out of the public domain until we have assembled a strong enough team of scientists from around the world?”
He sighed. “Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen . . . and lady . . . I have more mundane matters to attend to, particularly the requisitioning of more permanent quarters for the expected influx of experts. And,” he added, “I need to know where those additional excavators have got to.” As the four were about to leave, Hendriksson said, “By the way, would you mind using one of our telephones to contact NASA? They’re routed through the government offices in Belmopan for security. See Mike Carter or Phil Makeman, they’ll be glad to help.”
As they reached the mosquito netting covering the entrance, Hendriksson called, “Oh, one more thing. Your overnight discomfort and the trouble this morning hasn’t made any of you want to go home, has it?”
Hal Kleineman chuckled, “Are you kidding?” The looks on the faces of the others told Hendriksson that they felt exactly the same way.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The new influx of scientists and experts arrived in an air-conditioned tour bus; Minister Hernandez was clearly wielding his influence in order to get things moving in Belmopan. Mike Carter counted them out of the bus: there were eleven men, ranging in age from their early twenties to more than seventy years old; the women numbered five, all in their thirties and forties. Not a perfect spread of youth and experience, Carter thought, but adequate for a start.
He led the group to their temporary quarters, which were under canvas, and pointed out the facilities. “Thanks for agreeing to come here ladies and gentlemen. Please settle yourselves in and I’ll meet you back here in around fifteen minutes. We can then introduce ourselves over supper. OK?”
A few nodded, but most were staring around them in bemusement, unable to imagine a reason why they had been brought to what appeared to be an archaeological site deep in the jungle. Carter added a parting shot. “Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything when I come back.”
He smiled as he heard a comment aimed at his back, “Someone’s going to have to.”
Carter returned ten minutes later to find all sixteen newcomers standing around with their baggage still out in the open. “Problems?” he enquired.
A heavily built, grey-haired man replied pugnaciously, “I’ll say there are problems. We’ve been dumped out in the middle of God knows where and asked to settle ourselves into tents. Tents!” He used the word as if it were a particularly pungent profanity. “Don’t you have any hotels in this part of the world?”
Carter grinned. From what he’d seen so far, it seemed that the induction of the many scientist and experts was unlikely to run smoothly – at least until more permanent wooden accommodation could be erected for their guests. He waved in the direction of the small tented village that had sprung up over the preceding few days. “Sorry, but this is the best we can offer at the moment, but we’re working on it. As for hotels, you won’t find anything remotely resembling one of those for fifty kilometres in any direction. Now, if you’d all like to drop your luggage in one of the tents and follow me, supper’s ready. On the way to the ‘restaurant area’ I’ll show you why you’re here.” He held out his hand. “By the way, I’m Doctor Carter . . . but everyone calls me Mike, Mr—”
The heavily built man hesitated just long enough to let Carter know he still wasn’t satisfied, and then took Carter’s hand in a powerful grip. “John Craithie.”
“Welcome John. It’s good to be able to put a face to a name on my list.” He waited for a few moments while everyone moved their luggage and then said, “Right, this way!”
He led the party to the edge of the trench area, which was now considerably extended. Another excavator had arrived and the dumper was now fully occupied, carrying away and dumping the spoil. In order to save time, Hendriksson had decided to build up the defensive arc to make a broad, level platform covering several acres. If necessary, it could be used to site houses and workshops.
Carter halted at the edge, some distance away from where the growling excavators were continuing to fill the dumper. A round expanse of the space ship’s hull almost forty metres in diameter had been relieved of its burden, and dust and rocks up to half a metre across were tumbling in the air above the blackness. They watched the mad dance in fascination for several minutes.
Finally Craithie growled, “Well, are you going to tell us what it is, or do we have to guess?”
“Over supper, and then you can decide if you’ll join the party – despite the lack of decent hotels – or if you’d rather not get involved. I’m betting that when you hear what I have to say, you’ll opt to stay. Let’s make for that white tent over there.”
The guests were pleasantly surprised to see a couple of long tables, laid out with a good selection of Caribbean delicacies and fruits. When they were seated and their plates were filled with foods of their choice, Carter said, “You all know I’m Mike Carter and, for the record, I’m deputy director of the excavation. Would you please introduce yourselves?” Everyone obliged and Carter meticulously ticked off their names on an alphabetical list that was several pages long, adding their preferred mode of address in neat script in the spaces provided. “Now,” he said, “does anyone have a comment on what you saw in the trench?”
No one answered.
Finally, Margaret Blythe, an exobiologist, offer
ed, “I have no explanation for what I saw, Dr Carter. . . Mike. There is clearly something very strange happening to keep the airborne material continuously in motion, especially the heavy boulders. So, why don’t you tell us what you know and prevent us from making fools of ourselves? After all,” she gave a shy smile, “you are eager to reveal your surprise, are you not?”
Mike Carter returned the smile. “Touché, Ms Blythe—”
“Please, it’s Miss . . . or, rather, Margaret. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to modern modes of address.”
“I’m a bit of a dinosaur myself, Margaret, so I suppose I’ve chosen the correct career path,” Carter chuckled. “And speaking of dinosaurs—”
Everyone around the tables stared intently at him and Craithie demanded, “You’re not going to tell us you’ve got a dinosaur in your trench?”
“No, but we’re pretty certain we have a space ship that was buried at the time of the dinosaur extinction event sixty-five million years ago.”
“And the space ship is somehow causing the effect that we saw?”
“We believe that the ship’s anti-meteor shield is continuously repelling whatever material comes into contact with it.”
“Are you asking us to believe that the meteor shield is still operating after all those millions of years?”
“Exactly! And that is not all. The ship still retains the ability to annihilate larger objects—” he hesitated for a moment and the tension amongst the newcomers rose a couple of notches, “—such as a helicopter gunship.”
Craithie snorted in derision. “Pfah!” he grunted. “I think the heat must have got to you, Dr Carter. No one is going to believe that kind of madness.”
“Especially not a noted theoretical physicist such as Hal Kleineman, from NASA, I suppose?”
“Hal Kleineman? He’s here?” Craithie demanded. “And he’s bought into this fairy tale?” He sniffed in disgust. “We’ve come all this way to the middle of nowhere to find that everyone’s lost their minds.”
