The second was even more unbelievable. Ptolemy wrote of Alexander departing from his private audience with the Oracle of the Siwa Temple of Amun-Ra, and how the experience changed him and his plans for Alexandria, the city he would build into a font of learning.
“My friend,” the mighty king said unto me, “I have been entrusted with the secrets of the world, the secrets of science and history, all of it. I have seen it in that temple as if I had been there myself. The gods once fought across our world, and sundered it in twain in ages past. One day, they shall return. And we men must be ready for them, lest our very lives be lost in the coming battles.”
The king, the son of the gods himself, placed his hands upon my shoulders and then said unto me: “My city is the key. When it is finished, it will fall to you, my most trusted ally, to gather the greatest minds in the world there so that, when the time comes, we may defeat the very gods themselves!”
There, in that moment, I confess I fell to doubting the words of this great king, to my eternal shame. I said unto him: “It is not enough to make the Mediterranean ours? For the world is large, and we would spend our lives, and our children’s lives, and their children’s lives besides, in trying to conquer it all.”
Yet Alexander, the great son of Zeus, took pity upon me and said unto me: “None of it is truly ours unless we can unite the very world in opposition to the gods. They hewed Atlantis from the rest of the world, covering the world in water. They hewed the heavens from us. And they will hew us from our lives and send us all to Hades itself should they renew their war. So we must build for the dark time to come. My city is but the first step in our long quest.”
Finch handed the narrative back to Berthollet, still going over the words in his mind.
“This would confirm some of my theories regarding Xan and Martian involvement in human affairs in the ancient past,” Finch said slowly, almost absently. “But you do realize, monsieur, we truly have no idea what is there. Alexander may truly have seen the secrets of the universe, or he simply was drugged and made to see visions.”
Berthollet nodded. “And yet the temple was, as you say, kept apart from all of Egypt, kept hidden from all but those who were chosen.”
“And how are we chosen, then?” Finch asked. “Our most singular accomplishment has been to discern a map laid down in a mosaic. And there is no guarantee that anything Alexander may have seen even remains there some two thousand years later.”
Berthollet paused, as if assessing Finch for a moment. “You will simply have to trust me, sir, for I feel that our expedition will not be for naught.” And with that, the Frenchman turned back toward the other savants, leaving Finch’s mind reeling.
The secrets of the world. Alchemists had scoured Egypt for centuries, seeking the roots of mystic science, said to be found enscribed upon the Emerald Tablet and The Book of the Dead. Yet few had ever tried to make for the Temple of Amun-Ra, for the location remained closely guarded by the Bedouin tribes, and the journey was hazardous.
Yet . . . perhaps one or both of these mythical relics were indeed there.
The trick, Finch surmised, would be to ensure he got his hands on them before Berthollet.
CHAPTER 10
June 19, 2134
In a matter of twenty seconds, the surface of Enceladus had been transformed from a quiet, star-lit satellite to the epicenter of the strangest blizzard any human ever experienced—and one that shook Shaila to her core. It looked exactly like her vision, and while she knew in her head that ice crystals and snow wouldn’t bother their ops one bit, her heart’s drumbeat in her chest and ears said something else entirely. The four astronauts were hunkered alongside the lander, placing the vehicle between themselves and the swirl of ice and snow—yes, snow—that had come roaring toward them like a wall. Shaila knew that there was no wind, but rather it was Enceladus’ own rotation, combined with the direction of the tiger stripes’ eruption, that made the event seem so oddly reminiscent of Earthly winter storms.
“Durand, report,” she said curtly, doing her best to keep the edge from her voice. Stephane had the entire voyage out to study Saturn’s moons, and Shaila was very certain the planetologist had done his homework—they had practically shared quarters together the entire time.
“Impressive display of cryovolcanism,” Stephane replied over the comm. “Output and seismic readings are in line with past eruptions. At the upper end of the scale, yes, but she is not setting any records.”
“So what do we do?” Hall demanded. Of everyone in the landing party, she had the least experience with unforeseen difficulties during an EVA, and the look on her face, given a slight yellow glow from her visor HUD, was not one of calm.
Shaila watched the flakes and hail swirl over her head. Despite the shelter of the lander, their EVA suits were already covered with a light dusting of white. “I suggest we wait it out. Dr. Durand?”
“Agreed. It isn’t harmful, but we won’t be able to see well,” Stephane said. “Should wrap up any moment now.”
“Was the eruption in reaction to the lander?” Conti asked. “Did we trigger something?”
Stephane’s eyes darted around the interior of his visor as his fingers traipsed across the keypad on his wrist. “I was wondering that too. Ice thickness is good here. Landing data shows very little in the way of impact—Shaila was actually very gentle about it.”
“Actually?” Shaila retorted.
Stephane spared her a quick grin before continuing. “These eruptions, they’re not regular. It is not like Old Faithful on Earth. If we had been able to set up our instruments, we may have gotten more of a warning. So I think that—”
His voice trailed off as the stars and Saturn suddenly returned to the sky. They could see the cloud of snow drifting further off, away from the landers. Some of it would return to the surface of Enceladus, to be recycled back into the planet’s underground oceans. Some of it would escape the moon entirely and ultimately be pulled into Saturn’s orbit, fortifying the rings with fresh particles.
Shaila motioned for the others to stay put as she walked around the lander to face south toward the tiger stripes. Once again, there were stars and a much smaller sun off in the distance; the only change was that the surface was covered in a fresh coating of powdery snow.
“OK, show’s over. Everybody up and back to work. Hall, Conti—help Durand get his gear set up so we can have more warning next time. Then you can get your own online. I’ll start rigging the lander for fuel exchange.”
The four astronauts set about their duties quickly—a few more quickly than intended, given the low gravity. Even more so than the Moon or Mars, Enceladus’ weak gravity amplified simple motions beyond belief. A single step could propel the unwary at least three meters, while a full jump could send them dozens of meters ahead—or straight up. Soon, everyone figured out that the slow hop-shuffle that they learned in basic training, the same one Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin developed on the fly one hundred and sixty-five years earlier, would suffice.
A half-hour later, Shaila had finished rigging input hoses into the lander, which required a fair amount of power to keep going. The input hose was heated along its length, as was the interior of the cargo space, so that the water could enter and be transferred to the lander without freezing. Each lander was powered by a small, efficient fusion reactor, which meant they had electricity to spare, which made the refueling op possible in the first place.
“We’re rigged,” Shaila said as she shuffled over to Conti and Hall, who were working on water-quality testing; they had used a laser drill to bore into the moon’s crust, in an area where the ice was only a few hundred meters thick. “How’s the water?”
Conti looked up, a frown on her face as data danced across the inside of her visor. “Quite a few complex organic chemicals in here,” she said. “Almost as many as you’d find on Earth. Didn’t expect that. Even a few that look like broken-up strands of proteins.”
“You saying there’s life here
?” Shaila asked, taken aback.
“No, I’m not seeing an actual life form . . . yet,” Conti replied. “But the way things are going, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re down there. Probably closer to the core—otherwise, they’ll get sucked up and blown out the tiger stripes.”
“You think they’re smart enough for that?”
“No, Commander, proteins aren’t smart, but nature has a way of making it work,” the doctor replied. “Chances are, if there’s life down there, it’s pretty simple—microscopic at best, single-cells at worst. And they’ll breed closer to the heat. They float off, they’ll die, freeze and get broken down to the molecular level by the time they reach the crust.”
Shaila nodded. “So we’ll do the DDP, then?”
Conti stood up and smiled. “I’ll come back with the next refueling op and let it loose.”
The Deep-Dive Probe was a device the size of a small refrigerator, fueled by nuclear batteries and packing enough sensor equipment to rig an entire ship. Powered by small fins and a propeller in back, it was designed to swim in whatever liquids they came across—petrocarbons on Titan and water on Enceladus, in particular. The probe would plant an antenna on the surface of the moon and another at the refueling hole bored by the laser drill. That would allow Armstrong to keep tabs on the little submarine as it dove deep in search of . . . life.
Pretty heady stuff, Shaila thought. Are we really going to find the first evidence of life outside Earth? At least, on our side of the fence?
“So what’s all this o-chem gunk going to do to our fuel quality?” Shaila asked, directing her question at Hall.
“Not a lot,” Hall replied, tinkering with her own sensors. “I’m worried more about the salinity levels here—they’re pretty high. I’m thinking we might want to do filtration on the surface here instead of on board. Otherwise, we’ll have to make a lot more trips in order to refuel.”
Burning salt water in the engines wasn’t the end of the world, but there was an increased chance of buildup in the nozzles as the super-heated water—and salt—burst through them. A few parts-per-million of organic chemicals wouldn’t do much, but high salinity could create a huge maintenance headache. If too much salt built up, critical systems could be corrupted. Thankfully, the emergency refuel ops package on board included filtration devices to render Enceladus’ water perfect for fuel—and drinking. But they were on board; portability to the surface was an open question.
“All right. Let’s load up while we’re here, see how much filtration we’ll need to do. We’ll flag Houston and see if they have ideas on rigging filtration down here,” Shaila said. “Can I get in there to drop the hose?”
A few minutes later, the lander’s cargo hold began to fill with water. Shaila wished she could see the water, but there weren’t any windows into the cargo area. She hoped they didn’t suck up a space microbe or something—it would be just her luck to discover life on another world, only to torch it out the back end of the ship.
“Durand, report,” Shaila said. “We’ll be filled up in a few here. Where are you?”
Stephane’s voice came in clearly over the comm. “I’m closer to the tiger stripes. No seismic activity for now, so I’m taking a closer look. Amazing to see the water bubble up and freeze. It’s like watching cold lava.”
Shaila smiled; he was a geek through and through, despite everything. “All right, but start heading back. We’re going to launch at 14:30, give or take.”
By the time the cargo hold was full, Conti and Hall had wrapped up their experiments, and Stephane could be seen bounding toward the lander in 10-meter strides. Probably didn’t want to get into trouble with the EVA commander, Shaila smirked to herself. Stephane at least had the forethought to start skidding to a stop while at least 100 meters from the lander, though he still grabbed onto the edge of a wing to fully arrest his movement. “I cannot wait to come back!” he panted as he righted himself. “The stripes, you have to come with me to see them, Shay!”
Shaila shook her head at him, amused. “Just get in the car,” she quipped. “Let’s not be late for dinner. I’m famished.”
Stephane gave her a wink and picked his way through the snow to the lander’s ladder, climbing up to the top to join Conti and Hall, who were already making their way inside. Shaila gave the lander a final visual inspection before joining them, sealing the airlock behind her.
“All right, strap in,” Shaila said. “Let’s get this place warmed up.” She flipped a switch on her board. “Lander One to Armstrong, we’re ready for liftoff, over.”
“Roger that, Lander One,” Becker replied. “We’ll roll out the welcome mat. You’re cleared for liftoff.”
Shaila gave her vertical thrusters a tap, followed by a hint of power from the forward engines, and watched the moon slowly fall away. Given how easily the snow on the surface kicked up, not to mention the low gravity, she wanted to ensure the lander was well away from their ongoing experiments before hitting the gas. It took about a minute for the lander to float about a half kilometer away from their landing area. That’s when Shaila kicked in her vertical thrusters a bit more, nosing the craft upward and giving the main engines a sustained burn.
“Escape velocity achieved,” she reported. “We’ll see you in about forty minutes, Armstrong.”
Shaila ran through her checklist one more time, out loud—it helped her concentrate. “Seals good, internal temperature steady at 20 degrees Celsius, atmospheric pressure holding.” She turned to the rest of the team. “I say we’re in good shape if you want to take those helmets off.”
“Thank God,” Stephane said, quickly reaching for his helmet latches. “I hate this thing!” He pulled it off and ran a gauntleted hand across his face. “And the visor, it gives me a headache. I wonder—bleh!”
Shaila turned to see Stephane’s face contorted in disgust, his tongue out. “What?”
“I taste something horrible!” he said. “Gross and salty and—”
Conti sat up straight. “Oh, shit! The water! It melted! We’re covered in it!”
Shaila looked down and, sure enough, saw damp areas on the outer layer of her suit, and a puddle of moisture around her chair. “And . . . is that a problem, Doctor?” she asked nervously.
Conti looked flustered. “I don’t know, Commander. I mean, I didn’t see anything particularly dangerous in the samples we took, but the computer is still working on some of the more complex chemicals.”
Stephane started to look panicked. “So did I just poison myself or something?”
“No, you didn’t,” Shaila said sternly, as if she could order it to be so. “He didn’t, right, Conti?”
“Probably not. There certainly wasn’t anything in those samples that would require quarantine, and the lander’s sensors would’ve picked up anything wrong by now,” the doctor said. “Meantime, I’m having the ship computer run a full diagnostic on Stephane to be sure.”
Shaila nodded. Each EVA suit was wired with medical sensors that would probably detect anything immediately wrong. “All right. Stephane, get your helmet back on and seal up. I think that’ll have to be standard procedure until we figure out a better option.”
Stephane swore in French as he reached for his helmet again, but quickly snatched up a pouch of energy drink and downed it before he put it on. “What an awful taste,” he said as he sealed up again. “I hope I will not grow another limb or something from that.”
Shaila fixed him a quick grin as she adjusted course for Armstrong. “Oh, I don’t know. That might be useful.”
October 12, 1798
“Sighting! Three points to starboard! Unidentified!”
Captain Weatherby broke off his conversation with the Countess St. Germain and her son and raced toward the railing, glass in hand. “About bloody time,” he groused, peering off into the Void, just to the right of Saturn and her glorious rings.
There it was. A small, white Ovoid—the egg-shaped ships used by the Xan, given such a name by the Adm
iralty because, Weatherby assumed, calling them “Eggs” seemed quite disrespectful to the powerful Xan civilization. The Ovoids moved with no discernible means of propulsion or attack, yet were capable of impressive speed and, Weatherby was sure, even more impressive destruction.
“I imagine we have some time yet,” Barnes said from Weatherby’s side. “They seem quite far off.”
Weatherby snapped his glass shut. “Fifteen minutes at most, I should say.”
Frowning, Barnes peered through his own glass. “That fast, sir?”
“Indeed.”
Weatherby turned back toward where Anne and Philip were standing. “Do they know we’re coming, do you think?” the boy asked.
Young Philip’s words hung heavy over the quarterdeck of the Fortitude as the officers all fixed the Xan vessel. They had passed Titan’s path several hours ago, but only now had espied the usual Xan customs vessel. Usually, the Xan were much quicker to intercept Earth vessels—especially ones unexpected and uninvited.
Since time immemorial, the Xan found the company of others besides their own kind somehow abhorrent. They had escaped human contact until Sir Francis Drake’s fabled expedition to the Jovian moon Callisto during Elizabeth’s reign. Callisto was a kind of colony for the creatures now known as Xan; they made their primary homes upon the very rings of Saturn. Upon meeting Drake, the Xan warned against any further contact, and barred humanity from voyaging to Saturn itself.
That is, until the early 1780s.
Following the events surrounding HMS Daedalus, upon which Weatherby served as a very young second lieutenant and Anne took passage, the Xan had sent their first ambassadors to the courts of men. These fully robed, masked creatures, nearly nine feet tall, must have seen something of promise, for they began to allow the nations of Earth (and offworld colonies) to send ambassadors directly to Great Xanath, which is what these creatures called their homeworld.
Since then, perhaps a dozen ships each year had traveled back and forth to Saturn with the express written permission of a Xan ambassador. Another hundred or so tried to do so without such allowance; most were turned away with naught but stern words. A few more aggressive interlopers ended up giving those stern words their menace through their unfortunate example, for their ships were simply never seen nor heard of again.
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