The Sha'lee Resurrection

by Paul G White

  Craithie slid around the side of his tent and into the shadows at the outskirts of the tented village, taking great care to avoid guy ropes. The last thing he needed was to make anyone aware that he was prowling around. Stealthily, he made his way around the edge of the trees, cursing the fact that the floodlights had temporarily destroyed his night vision. More slowly than he would have liked, he headed for the cars behind the military tents, and eventually he was surrounded by dark shapes.

  He tried the door of the car nearest to the road; it opened silently. He slid inside and felt for the ignition keys. His fingers encountered them in the car’s ignition. The idiots, he thought, anyone could steal one of the cars and escape if they were so inclined. He turned the key slowly, but before the second stage of the ignition sequence engaged, he swiftly reversed the motion. No sense in making everyone aware that he was stealing a car – at least not until he was on the roadway virtually out of hearing. Then, no one would know the vehicle was gone until it was too late, and by that time, he would be well on the way home and away from this Satan’s den. He disengaged the handbrake and in his highly nervous state, the squeak that it made seemed to send echoes all around the site.

  Using his considerable weight and low centre of gravity, Craithie urged the car into motion and steered it towards the road. It moved easily down the slight incline and in twenty metres he was on the roadway, walking the car along at a steady pace. Two-hundred metres further along the narrow dirt roadway, he halted and applied the handbrake. He was gasping for breath and he heaved great lungsful of air. The oxygen levels were high in the proximity of the trees and the air smelled fresh and invigorating though tinged with indefinable jungle odours.

  With an unaccustomed grin on his face, Craithie turned the ignition key and fired up the motor. The one litre engine ticked over unfussily as he dipped the clutch and slipped the gear lever into first. He looked upward through his windscreen at the ribbon of star-filled sky between the treetops and navigated another hundred metres. Finally, he felt it safe to use his headlights. The twin beams speared into the night ahead of the vehicle, and illuminated the squat shapes of two Husky light armoured cars, filling the width of the narrow road. Each was surmounted by a manned heavy machine gun aimed directly at him.

  Craithie cursed fluently for several minutes as Sergeant Jim Scott and his small squad of élite soldiers fired up their headlights and eased the Huskies slowly along the dusty road towards him. Scott’s Husky moved slightly ahead of the second armoured vehicle, whilst still preventing the passage of anything wider than a bicycle. Craithie knew he was completely trapped.

  Jim Scott described a circling motion with his hand and, in response, Craithie lowered his window. He looked up at where the SAS sergeant was standing atop the husky, and found he was staring directly into the barrel of a point five inch machine gun, which was lowered to its maximum declination.

  “Turn around in the roadway and drive slowly back to the car park,” Scott called down to him. “And please don’t do anything silly, because the major doesn’t like having to fill forms in.”

  Already unnerved by having two heavy machine guns trained on him, Craithie stammered, “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “I mean he’d have a lot of explaining to do if we happened to loose live rounds at anyone, especially a civilian.”

  A voice from the second Husky commented, “Don’t worry, Sarge, we could always leave what was left of him to the jaguars and no one would know.”

  Craithie had heard enough. Terrified, he slammed the gear lever into reverse, swung the wheel and with a roar from the over-revving engine, crunched into the shrubs and trees lining the road. Somehow, he managed to force the lever into first and hauled the car around through the edge of the forest on the opposite side of the road. Then, with a cloud of dust kicking up in the headlights of the two Huskies from a broken branch lodged in his wheel arch, he hurtled back towards the archaeological site at the best pace the car could muster.

  Jim Scott grinned at his men. “I don’t think he’ll try it again, do you?”

  His question drew chuckles from the hardened soldiers.

  CHAPTER NINE

  In the ensuing seven days, an enormous amount of work was done to provide semi-permanent living accommodation to replace the tented village, and the population of the site had grown to several hundred, mostly scientist who were renowned experts in their respective fields. Each one had responded to a vague, but mysteriously intriguing, invitation to a project in the Maya mountains of Belize, which they were assured would prove well worth their intellectual involvement. A ‘grapevine’ had sprung up on the Internet amongst those who had been invited, and speculation regarding what they could expect in the tiny Central American country was rampant: but none of the many differing speculative threads came even vaguely close to the truth which was revealed at the site. Those invitees, who had for one reason or another, turned down the invitation, were soon to discover what their unwillingness or inability to accept had cost them.

  *

  OnTheNetNews

  27th June 2028 Correspondent: Nik Szella

  ANCIENT SPACESHIP DISCOVERED IN BELIZE

  It was revealed at 13.15 Eastern Time today, that a Spaceship has been discovered beneath the remains of an early Mayan temple. The reports indicated that the spaceship’s systems may still be ‘alive’.

  PGWNewspapers

  PublicGovernmentWorldNewsCorporation

  27th June 2028 Correspondent James Whay

  SPACESHIP EXCAVATED BY ARCHAEOLOGISTS

  At a press conference today in Belmopan, the capital of Belize, it was announced that a space ship had been discovered buried beneath the ruins of an early Mayan pyramid. This announcement may go some way towards explaining the rumours circulating on the Internet concerning the mysterious ‘disappearance’ of a number of scientists and experts from many unrelated fields.

  *

  Throughout the world, the media reported the announcement in many ways; from factual, unembellished accounts of the words of Juan Hernandez, Minister of Antiquities of the Republic of Belize, to the hysterical rantings of xenophobic prophets of doom. Every level of intelligence was catered for in an avalanche of fact, and of opinion and of sheer, unbridled madness. And throughout the world, the major religions would be forced into reviewing their positions, because the ‘possibility’ that the Earth might on one indeterminate day in the future be visited by aliens from another world was now obsolete in the light of the discovery. The aliens were actually here, on Earth; not in person, but in the guise of their space ship, which had survived interment for a vast span of time. No one imagined that there would be anything remaining of the creators of the space craft, but from this point onward, it would be impossible to proclaim the uniqueness of life on Earth. If this ship had travelled here from a distant world, no one could deny the possibility of intelligent life elsewhere in the cosmos. Mankind’s position in the universe had undergone a radical and permanent realignment.

  *

  John Craithie sat sullenly in the rear seat of Director Hendriksson’s car. Mike Carter was driving him to the Goldson International Airport northwest of Belize City in lieu of the site director, who was engaged elsewhere. Carter had given up trying to get Craithie to open up and discuss the possibility of staying on the site, for despite his intransigence with regard to his religious beliefs, the dour Scot would bring a sharp mind and useful skills to the project if he allowed himself to become part of it. But Craithie remained impervious to reason, and finally, Carter had decided that the sooner he dropped him off at the airport, the better it would be for his peace of mind.

  Now the announcement had been made to the world by Minister Hernandez regarding the discovery, any mischief that Craithie might do had faded into inconsequentiality. Although, Carter thought, entirely aside from Craithie’s antipathy to the project, it was now certain that hundreds – perhaps thousands – of people, from sightseers to those with their own particular axes
to grind, would descend on the site over the coming months. He decided to remind Hendriksson of the possibility, because one thing was certain: in the hurly-burly of the coming weeks, his boss was going to need all the help he could get.

  The car rumbled along the Northern Highway out of Belize City, and over the low bridge spanning the Belize River. Carter drove along in silence as the road immediately turned northwest and followed the northern bank of the river. A few more kilometres to go and he would be saying his goodbyes to the taciturn Scot, who, Carter thought ruefully, must surely have some redeeming aspects to his personality. It was just that ever since their first meeting, Carter had witnessed no evidence of such traits. Craithie had been unremittingly rude to everyone and scathing in his opinions of all those currently working at the site, especially – Carter smiled at the thought that he had so completely, yet so unintentionally got under Craithie’s skin – one Mike Carter.

  Minutes later, Carter made the left turn off the highway onto International Airport Road, and headed for the check-in building of the Philip S.W. Goldson International Airport. He brought the car to a halt and turned to ask Craithie if he needed help with his luggage, but the other was already half out of the door and presenting his broad back to Carter. Without a word, the Scot strode around to the back of the car and popped the hatchback. He grasped his luggage, slammed down the hatch, and without a backward glance, headed for the metal and glass doors of the check-in area, ignoring everyone around him, especially Carter.

  Carter threw the Scot a mock salute and muttered, “And a hearty goodbye to you too, Mr Craithie. Thank goodness I won’t be seeing you anytime soon.” And with that gesture, he swung the car away from the kerb and headed towards the exit, feeling as if he had just completed some kind of penance for sins unspecified. He shook himself mentally; there was no point in allowing Craithie’s sour and uncompromising attitude to affect him any longer, so he inserted one of Hendriksson’s precious Abba CDs into the player and settled down to a relaxed drive back to the site – and, he thought wryly, to sanity.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Maya Mountains 20th July 2028

  Carter and Hendriksson stood in the bright sunshine, watching the three excavators removing soil and rock from around the spacecraft. The ruins of the Mayan temple had been carefully photographed with a 3-D camera and each stone block numbered on a detailed plan, before it had been dismantled piece by piece for reassembly less than a kilometre away. Hendriksson had been happy to leave that task in the capable hands of Helena Wightman, who although still a student, had shown considerable flair in regard to the preservation of the temple ruins. From her very first involvement, she had proved her dedication to the original purpose of the archaeological team, and with minimal supervision from Hendriksson and Carter, she had ensured the removal had gone like clockwork.

  The excavation of the ship now covered a roughly circular area more than four-hundred metres in diameter, with the intensely black surface of the ship at its centre. The whole of the upper surface was now completely clear of its burden of rock. The action of the shield, combined with the smooth slope of the hull, had forced debris to slide outwards towards the rim as the bonds holding the layers of rock in place were broken by the buckets of the excavators from above and the action of the ship’s shield from below. The edge of the huge vessel was clearly visible and a survey had shown that the Comora was tilted towards its stern by approximately eleven degrees and from port to starboard by five degrees. With the exception of three huge elliptical bulges towards the stern, there was no sign of any blemish in the otherwise smooth, obsidian surface.

  Hal Kleineman strolled up beside the two archaeologists, accompanied by Jonathan Kite, the propulsion engineer. “What’s the plan from here, Lars,” he enquired, “now that you’ve uncovered the whole of the perimeter of the ship? Have you worked out how to excavate the rest of the ship without the risk of getting people killed?”

  “I’ll let Mike explain, Hal, but we’re not so arrogant that we’d believe we’ve got it all worked out. Let Mike give you his thoughts and then we’d be happy to hear what you have to say, ok?” He grinned at the NASA physicist. “I am correct in believing you have a few thoughts on the matter?”

  Kleineman nodded and returned the grin. He and Hendriksson had become firm friends over the past weeks. “Ok, let’s hear it, Mike.”

  “Everyone accepts that, as archaeologists, we have experience in digging up all manner of things that have been buried for some time,” Carter began, “and at the same time, everyone realises we have never come across anything like this before. In fact no one has.”

  Kleineman said, “That probably qualifies as the understatement of the year.”

  “We are now pretty sure,” Carter continued, “that the point we’ve reached is the ‘waist’ of the ship, sort of like two shallow dishes placed with their open sides together. All our readings tell us that’s what we have. But what our readings don’t tell us is where the landing gear is positioned, and what we can’t afford to do is damage any part of the ship that might be holding up God knows what tonnage.”

  Kleineman nodded again. “Go on, Mike.”

  “Well, we have something like fifteen metres of the ship at its highest point above the waistline, so it’s a good bet there’s at least another fifteen metres to go to clear the underside and arrive at the pre-extinction event ground level. And that’s not counting the landing gear, which is likely to add to that figure. The question is: what form is the landing gear likely to take with a vessel this size?”

  Jon Kite joined the discussion. “I trained as an aeronautics engineer on large military planes before I found my calling in rocket propulsion, and I tell you, Mike, whatever kind of landing gear was holding the ship up when the tsunami hit, it would have been toast after the ship was rolled about by the waves. In fact, if I’d been captain, or whatever aliens have in charge of their ships, I’d have ordered the landing gear to be retracted before the waves struck.”

  “But if you’re wrong about that, and they didn’t have time to stow the wheels or legs or whatever they used, what form are they likely to take, bearing in mind the configuration of the ship.”

  Kite considered Carter’s question for a moment, and then he picked up a sharp piece of rock and used it to scrape an egg-shaped outline in the dust. “Just so we don’t make too many assumptions, we’re not even sure that what we’re looking at here is the topside or the underside of the ship.”

  Carter stared at Kite and then at Hendriksson. “We hadn’t even considered that possibility.”

  “Either way,” Kite continued, “If the vessel is topside up, then we should expect to find more than three legs, probably five or seven positioned fairly evenly to spread the weight. Although, we’ve no idea what materials the ship’s made of, or what the gross tonnage is likely to be, it’s certain the landing gear will be pretty heavily engineered.”

  Carter stroked his chin, producing a rasping sound from the two-day growth of stubble. “Ok, but from the overall shape of the vessel, where in your opinion is it likely they’d position any landing gear?”

  Now on the spot, Kite bent over and inscribed five carefully spaced crosses within the oval. “That would be my best guess,” he told them, “but we all know that’s all it is . . . a guess. Don’t hold me to it.”

  “Don’t worry,” Hendriksson assured him, “we won’t. We’re just glad of any expert input at the moment. Will you transfer these crosses to a paper outline of the ship so we’ll have something to give the excavator drivers when we begin that stage of the excavation?”

  “Kite grinned, “No problem.”

  “In that case, we’re ready to move into the second phase of the dig. I’ll give the drivers their new instructions.” Carter strode down the slope to where Palo Lopez was scooping bucket loads of dirt and rocks into a dumper truck. He caught the young Puerto Rican’s eye and Lopez halted the bucket in mid-scoop.”

  “Si, Señor Carter? You want
something?”

  “Yes, Palo, I’d like you to take everything off to a depth of around fifteen metres below the rim all around the perimeter of the ship. We might need you to take it a little deeper if you don’t hit the pre-extinction ground level at fifteen metres. Don’t undercut the ship; that will come later. Make this area flat for around twenty metres all around the ship and then slope it as gently as you can up to the edge of the excavation to allow the dumpers to climb out with full loads. Does that make sense?”

  “Si, Señor Carter. I’ll tell the others.” He smiled, displaying his white teeth. “It’s a big job, Señor, we may need some help.”

  “I agree, Palo. I’ll talk to the director and we’ll see what we can do. Remember, though, no undercutting until this stage of the excavation is complete. We don’t know what we’re likely to find beneath the ship.”

  Carter knew he could rely on Lopez to follow his instructions to the letter. It remained to be seen what the excavation would reveal when the geophysics and ground radar could be brought to bear on the underside of the ship. The present stage could proceed at the best pace possible given the availability of heavy plant, but once they began undercutting the huge vessel, he was pretty certain they would encounter unforeseen snags. How the team dealt with the problems of undermining the vast bulk of the ship would determine the level of damage sustained by the vessel when it was no longer supported by the enveloping rock strata. He decided to approach Hendriksson, with a view to requesting Minister Hernandez to provide mining engineers. So far, no reasonable request had been refused and he could imagine there would be no difficulties with this particular one. He walked off to rejoin Hendriksson.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Maya Mountains 9th August 2028

  The five yellow excavators stood in a neat line on the rim of a vast bowl-shaped depression, their engines silent and their cabs temporarily empty. At the centre of the excavation the Comora sat atop an eighteen metre high platform of rock and compacted shale; and all around the circumference of the vast egg-shaped vessel a flat, twenty metre wide area had been excavated down to the ground level of the time of the Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction. From there, the ground sloped upwards to the rim of the bowl. The surface had been rolled and compacted by the continuous passage of heavy tracked vehicles, and a road roller had been introduced to add a hard, even crust to the shale-covered ground so that it could better handle the traffic into and out of the deep depression.