The Sha'lee Resurrection
Page 20
Margaret halted after a few paces and Carter stopped to see what was wrong. “Mike?”
“Yes, Margaret?”
“I’m truly sorry for what I’ve put you through. I realise that our relationship might never recover, but I want you to know that I wanted it to work out between us.”
Carter turned away, unwilling to comment; this encapsulated all the reasons why he had refused Hendriksson’s offer to read the reports. “Thanks.”
When they reached the office, they found Makeman and Kleineman already seated.
Hendriksson said, “Please take a seat, Margaret . . . Mike.” He riffled through a couple of printed emails and regarded Margaret Blythe. “I have here fairly detailed reports on your life up until you joined the team here on the site. I feel that you are entitled to know that I made a request of the Belizean government and, through diplomatic channels, they enlisted the help of both UK and US secret services to check into your background. I make no apologies for that, Margaret, because the very worst that could happen is for security here to be compromised and individuals or organisations wishing harm to our guests infiltrate the site.”
Margaret Blythe made a weak attempt at a smile. “I understand, Director Hendriksson. If Doctor Craithie could get even one of his fanatics into the site, the Sha’lee would be in grave danger.”
Before Hendriksson could reply, Carter interrupted, “For goodness sake, Lars, What do the reports say? Is Margaret being allowed to stay, or do we have to arrange for an escort?”
For the first time Hendriksson smiled. “Patience, Mike. Margaret is staying . . . if she still wishes to. Her story checks out in every detail.”
Carter, Makeman and Kleineman gave whoops of joy and Margaret Blythe immediately burst into tears. Carter embraced her until her sobbing finally ceased. Then he kissed her and Makeman clapped and whooped again.
Hendriksson, in an unaccustomed display of levity, said, “I’m sorry to have to break up the celebrations, but we have an awakening to complete now that the team is back to full strength. If Miss Blythe would like to slip into clothing a little more suitable, then we’ll assemble at the ramp in half an hour.”
Elated, Carter and Margaret Blythe hurried over to her hut. Carter waited impatiently outside, and less than two minutes later, a radiant exobiologist was framed in the doorway.
Carter consulted his watch and stepped hesitantly onto the tiny veranda. Then he glanced once again at his watch, shook his head and retreated.
Margaret wore a puzzled expression. “Is something wrong, Mike?”
Carter shook his head. “No . . . yes. I was wondering if we might—” He shook his head again. “No, it would be too embarrassing if it made us late. Makeman would never let me forget it . . . ever!”
“Michael Carter!” Margaret beamed. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”
Holding hands and laughing the couple made their way back to Hendriksson’s office.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The resuscitation units and emergency surgery facility were in position below the outer rim of the Comora. A power supply had been connected from the site generators and all the equipment had been checked many times, so that in the event they were needed, they would be ready in an instant. More than thirty scientists and medical staff waited eagerly at the foot of the ramp leading into the belly of the vast ship. Following the forty-eight hour postponement of the first awakening, everyone had waited with growing impatience for the operation to begin.
Hendriksson arrived, accompanied by Mike Carter, Phil Makeman, Hal Kleineman, Margaret Blythe, Ellie Merrill and Jenna Henderson. The group was completed by the august presence of Juan Hernandez, Minister of Antiquities. The minister had expressed the desire to be present and, to the site director, his wish was tantamount to a command. All the newcomers donned biohazard suits to match those of the scientists and medical personnel. Nothing could be left to chance, and everyone was acutely aware that any alien virus might prove disastrous for the people of Earth.
The sweet voice of the ship’s AI filled the air. “Good morning, Doctors Hendriksson and Carter, I am pleased to welcome you and your teams of medics and scientists aboard the Comora.” Hela hesitated for a moment as if looking around the gathering and added, “It is very good to see you once again, Minister Hernandez.”
A little taken aback, Hernandez replied, “Thank you. It’s good to be here.”
Having experienced no previous contact with the ship, most of those present wore expressions of puzzlement and a small number mouthed the question, “Who was that?”
Immediately, Hela spoke again, “Please ascend the ramp everyone and enter the central elevator.”
Hendriksson and his companions led the way up the ramp and the others followed, constantly flicking glances around to try to take in everything around them. Most were disappointed, because there was very little to be seen, with the exception of the two vertical tubes and the six-metre metallic cuboid. The front surface of the cuboid vanished soundlessly, evoking gasps of surprise. Carter stepped inside and motioned everyone to follow. When the last person had entered, the cube reformed and, just as quickly opened up once again.
They were now in a vast warehouse, more than half-filled with neatly-stacked crates. Over to one side was an array of broken and splintered plastic. The contents of the containers, comprising machines of varying complexity and size, were lined up in precise rows. Some were badly damaged, some less so, and a few appeared to be intact. In the intervening period since first contact with the AI and discovery that eighteen of the crew were still alive and in cryogenic hibernation, Hendriksson had offered the services of a team to clean up the chaotic results of the ship’s tumultuous experience in the fury of the extinction event. Hela had welcomed the offer, and had instructed the team leader, Palo Lopez in the control of one of the few Sha’lee forklift analogues still in working order. Within minutes, it was clear to the AI that Lopez was naturally gifted when it came to controlling such machinery, and in a matter of days, the hold had been transformed. All the machinery had remained untouched by time, because the AI had evacuated and stored the air from the warehouse in order to give her Sha’lee charges a better chance of survival.
“Please follow the lights,” the AI instructed.
A series of bright yellow lights pulsed sequentially, urging them forward forty metres between stacks of crates. The lights then turned at right angles to their left. At the end of the second alleyway an orange light pulsated beside a metalloid tube. As they approached, the face of the tube flickered and vanished.
“Please enter. We are almost there.”
This time, the side wall of the transporter dissolved and a flickering orange light beckoned them towards a wide opening in a gently curved wall. The air sighing through the opening into the corridor carried a hint of chill, and inside, the temperature was little more than five degrees Celsius. Most of the humans wore simple, lightweight garments beneath their biohazard suits, and they experienced a sharp contrast between the cold sleep area and the balmy subtropical climate of Belize. A few shivered involuntarily, but all thoughts of personal discomfort vanished once they saw the rows of long ellipsoid capsules, covering the whole floor of the vast room.
Makeman asked, “Is it me, or is it warmer than when we were last here?”
Hela answered, “Yes, Philip Makeman, it is a little warmer. I have increased the temperature as we are now entering the first stage of extraction from cryogenic sleep.”
“Thanks,” Makeman replied.
Carter said, “Hela?”
“Yes, Michael Carter?”
“Before we begin, would it be possible for us to look inside one of the empty sleep units, so that you can explain how everything works? We’ll then be better prepared once we begin the resuscitation.”
“Your reasoning is impeccable, Michael Carter.”
“And Hela, please call me Mike. All my friends do.”
Two rows along, the top half of one of
the ellipsoids sighed open and slowly assumed a vertical position. Everyone moved forward to inspect the open unit. The lower half of the ellipsoid was almost filled with a translucent, gel-like material, through which faint lights gleamed below, producing the vague shadows of pipes and other artefacts within. In the upper surface of the gel, they saw an impression of a small, strangely humanoid shape.
Margaret Blythe, couldn’t keep the wonder out of her voice as she said, “This unit’s made for a biped.”
One of the doctors commented, “But not proportioned the same as us. Also, it would be pretty small, so it might be for a child.”
Hendriksson broke into the conversation. “It’s unsafe to speculate with so little information. Hela, are you there?”
“I am here, Director Hendriksson.”
“Can you give us a little information on the sleep units and the Sha’lee? For instance, in simple terms, how do the units work? And was this particular unit made to accommodate a child?”
“Certainly, Director Hendriksson. Basically, each unit cushions its occupant in a mild antigravity field, so that their skin is not in contact with any part of the sleep unit. Drugs induce sleep and then the occupant is frozen to a temperature at which all life processes virtually cease. I monitor all units for any signs of abnormality in the sleeper or malfunction in the machinery, of which, fortunately, there were very few. Even so, two of my comrades did not survive cold sleep due to failure of their sleep environments. This unit was made for an adult male Sha’lee.”
“So the Sha’lee are smaller than we are?”
“Yes. My sensors tell me that most of the male humans around the excavation of the Comora are larger than most of your females, but that there is considerable variation within my observed limits. Am I correct?”
“Yes. A few women are larger than average, and some men are smaller.”
The AI hesitated momentarily as if gathering her thoughts. “Then as you do not have the capacity to scan living beings as I do, I must inform you that all female Sha’lee are taller, heavier and stronger than all the males. There is little variation within either gender. That has been so for countless generations, and I believe it may have been a positive survival trait far back in our history.”
Several people started discussing the information, and speculating on the reasons why such a racial trait would be dominant, but Hendriksson once more broke up the discussion.
“As I mentioned a few minutes ago, everyone, speculation at this point would be a waste of our valuable time. We are here to provide whatever assistance Hela might need to raise the first of her Sha’lee comrades from cold sleep. Let us stay focused ladies and gentlemen, thank you.”
Hela’s sweet tenor voice filled the air around them as she announced, “I am ready to begin the process. Is everyone else ready?”
A chorus of, “Ready,” came from the medical staff.
“Then may the gods of Sha’lee’an be with all my comrades. The awakening has begun.”
Phil Makeman, as usual, found it impossible not to comment. “If Craithie had been present to hear an artificial intelligence invoke the help of the Sha’lee gods, he’d have had fits. In fact, I wish he had heard it, because it just might have given him a better understanding of his place in the universe. If even their AI has an appreciation of spiritual matters, the Sha’lee must be pretty special people.”
Makeman jumped nervously when Hela said, “Thank you, Philip Makeman. My comrades are special, as you will soon come to know.”
Makeman grinned and told the AI, “You’re welcome.”
Dr Abel Hertzog, a leading cardiovascular surgeon from Bethesda Naval Hospital, said, “Hela, how long will we have to wait before the sleep unit opens?”
Hela had been given very little information beforehand about the group of doctors and scientists. She said, “Please tell me who you are and what is your science.”
A little taken aback, Hertzog replied with a slight edge to his tone, “I am Doctor Abel Hertzog, and I’m a cardiovascular surgeon. That means I deal with problems with the circulation of blood around the heart and the body.”
“Thank you, Doctor Abel Hertzog. I apologise if I have offended you, but I need to be able to recognise and know the science of everyone who is present. That way, I will know whom to select if an emergency arises.”
A little contrite, Hertzog told the AI, “Sorry, Hela, I should have worked out the reason for your question. And by the way, I like my friends to call me Abe.”
“I am happy to be numbered amongst your friends, Abe. I must now ask you a question. How do you measure time?”
Makeman grinned to himself. This should be good!
Hertzog took a few seconds to consider his explanation before saying, “Our day is divided into twenty-four hours; each hour is divided into sixty minutes and each minute is made up of sixty seconds.” He consulted his watch, which had both a digital and analogue display. “For simplicity, I’ll describe the twenty-four hour digital system. We say the hour followed by the minutes.” He removed his watch and held it up. “Can you see this?”
“Yes, it is quite clear on my sensors.”
“The time is now 10:37, does that help?”
Hela paused for a heartbeat. “I have learned your human decimal system vocally from Hal Kleineman, but my education is lacking in certain respects. How do you notate numbers?”
Hertzog dipped into a pocket of his biohazard suit and withdrew a mobile phone, which he had been forbidden to carry, in case they encountered hazardous material. Unabashed, he tapped the keys, 1, 2, 3, 4, through 10 and 11 up to 20.”
“Please confirm the number immediately before ten to the second power.”
The doctor tapped in 99, and Hela said, “Thank you. I now have the knowledge I require to inform you of the time of the opening. It will occur at 13:47, with an uncertainty factor of three minutes.”
The episode had lasted perhaps two minutes and in that time, the AI had learned how to read the time. Many of the scientists shook their heads in disbelief. This simple display of intelligence by Hela was beyond their expectations, and held a distinct promise of the advanced nature of other Sha’lee science.
Abe Hertzog returned the phone to his pocket and asked Hela which of the units would be opened first. A soft buzzer sounded behind him and a pencil beam of bright blue light speared from the ceiling and illuminated a small oval panel on one of the nearby units. The light cut off, but the panel continued to glow.
“In your system, this is unit number eight, in ours it is ay-shee.” the AI informed everyone, almost singing the alien word.
Hal Kleineman stepped up to the panel to take a closer look. “This is your numerical notation?”
“It is.”
Kleineman held out his hand to Dr Hertzog. “Has that fancy phone of yours got a good camera?”
The surgeon handed it over. “Acceptable. Why?”
“We’re going to have to familiarise ourselves with both sets of notation. I’d just like to record this one as a starting point.”
“That will not be necessary, Hal Kleineman. I have already produced a series of tables of human and Sha’lee numbers, along with pronunciation guides. They will be available when you leave the Comora. Will that be helpful?”
Kleineman grinned and handed the phone back to Abel Hertzog. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”
Having no experience of the rhetorical question in her contact with the humans up until this point, Hela took the question literally and replied, “Because you have little experience of my capabilities, Hal Kleineman.”
Hal laughed out loud and one or two of the others joined in.
The AI said, “I am detecting amusement amongst you. Have I misinterpreted your question?”
“Not really, Hela,” Hal replied. “It’s just that my question didn’t need an answer. It was more of a comment, really. Anyway, now that you’re on first name terms with others of us, I’d be happier if you’d call me Hal.”
There were nods of agreement around the party, and one by one they announced their names, adding, “Call me Bill,” or however they wished to be addressed.
When the introductions were all over, Phil Makeman announced, “Hal’s made a good point about recording events in here. We hadn’t even considered bringing in a cameraman to video it. Are the camcorders still in your office, Lars, because if so, I’d like to go and get them?”
Someone said, “Now why didn’t I think of that?” and Ellie Merrill giggled when she realised it was the AI who had spoken. Clearly Hela understood the concept of the rhetorical question.
“You’re saying you are already recording everything?”
“Yes, everything. I will provide a hologram for humans to study along with a projector. Will that be sufficient?”
Someone said, “We’re used to two-dimensional images. Can you do that too?”
“I believe so.”
It was at that point that everyone realised that the AI was engaging in a joke of her own. Ellie Merrill wondered how many centuries – perhaps millennia – separated Sha’lee science from that of their rescuers. Doubtless Hela could provide the record in whatever form it was requested, and Ellie was relishing the prospect of working with the AI and learning about their advanced computer science. She had to acknowledge, however, that the two-person team, comprising herself and Jasper Tyson, would be hard pressed to cope with the avalanche of new knowledge they could expect to encounter over the ensuing months. She needed more personnel and hardware on her team and resolved to speak to Director Hendriksson at the first opportunity.
As the time slowly crawled along to 13:30, the levels of expectancy amongst the humans became almost a living force. Even their interactions with the AI revealed that she was getting nervous too. She had kept her charges alive for what amounted to a geological age, and now that the time of the first awakening was imminent, she was unable to disguise the tension in her voice.