Primeval Waters

by William Burke

  Batista mused, “I should have packed a whip for Santos. Once the generator’s across, we can start shuttling the more delicate components over to the Anomaly. We’ll need work lights running by sunset, and I want the generator assembled and the laser torch functional by mid-morning tomorrow. No one sleeps until the work is done.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Time is critical. We’ve left a trail of bodies and wreckage that even the Brazilian Navy could follow. Pirates and natives may steal, but governments just take what they want. I’ve lost too many boats and too much money to be robbed by bureaucrats.”

  Hans added, “Along with fifty men.”

  “Yes, that’s slowed us down a bit.”

  Hans just nodded, finding it increasingly difficult to ignore Batista’s malignant narcissism.

  Batista stared at the Anomaly protruding from the shallow water, and asked, “How long has it been buried?”

  “It could have been under there for hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of years. We’re only seeing about half of the entire sphere, but that section alone could produce enough energy to power the world indefinitely.”

  Batista muttered, “Unlimited power.”

  Hans wondered, Is he referring to the world or himself?

  Santos jogged over. “Sir?”

  Snapping out of his reverie, Batista said, “What is it?”

  “I’ve pulled the machine guns and mortar off the gunboat and established defensive positions along the rim of the lake. If the Indians come by land or water, we’ll be able to direct our full firepower on them.”

  “The Indians aren’t our only worry.”

  “Understood. I’ll establish a rally point near the mortars. If any big animals come at us the men will immediately fall back with their weapons. Even those snakes couldn’t withstand that much concentrated firepower.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Batista turned to Hans. “You’ve done excellent work. More than any other engineer could have accomplished.”

  “Thank you.” Hans stared out at the Anomaly in silence then asked, “Have you given any thought to what I said?”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  “What if there is an intelligence at work here? A living consciousness beyond our understanding?”

  “Well, if such a thing exists, I have a simple and elegant solution.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Kill it.”

  #

  Catalina struggled to mentally process Micah’s revelation.

  “So you’re telling me all these folks are aliens?”

  “Originally at least. I’m sure they bred with humans or human ancestors. All of us probably have a splash of alien in us.”

  She pondered the concept while eying the villagers. All were uniformly tall, with long limbs, elongated heads and dark skin that remained undamaged despite a lifetime under the Amazon sun. They were, hands down, the most beautiful people she’d ever seen.

  “Well, I can see how the interbreeding could happen. But why are they so, to be blunt, primitive?”

  “Over time their history and technology transformed into mythology. The shaman didn’t understand the concept of space travel, he called the object that came from the sky and created all life ‘the egg.’ To him, the berries they make medicine from were a gift from the ancient ones.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “If you were going to send explorers to a primitive world you’d probably create some kind of universal medicine to keep them alive. Ideally something organic and self-perpetuating. Lucky for us it still grows around these parts.”

  “This all sounds suspiciously like your TV show.”

  “Even a broken clock’s right twice a day. But it also explains the monsters.”

  “How so?”

  “This is going to get weird.”

  Catalina chuckled. “Get?”

  “Fair enough. The object is some kind of artificial intelligence that seeded the earth, probably after one of the mass extinction events. When threatened, it uses that capability to manifest protectors … like attack dogs.”

  “But why defend itself with prehistoric monsters?”

  “They’re only prehistoric to us. The Anomaly jump-started evolution then slept through the rest. Maybe, as far as it knows, those critters are still the latest model.”

  “So what’s going to happen when Batista tries to cut it apart?”

  Micah thought for a moment and asked, “Have you ever heard of Shiva?”

  “The Hindu god with lots of arms?”

  “That’s the one. To Hindus, Shiva is death, the destroyer of worlds, but is also the one who restarts the cycle of creation. According to these people’s mythology, if the egg breaks open, the destroyer will be released to begin the cycle of creation again.”

  “Can you explain that again, without talking like Yoda?”

  “The Anomaly will assume that another mass extinction has occurred and press restart, which will wipe the current world clean. Supposedly there’s a monster that kicks things off. After that… Well, just picture every prehistoric nightmare coming back, all at once, and overrunning the earth.”

  “That sounds … shitty.”

  “Apocalyptically shitty.”

  “So why’d the old man pick you as his Matrix movie chosen one? I don’t think they get your TV show out here.”

  “I guess the original aliens were telepathic and he retained that, which is probably why he was the shaman. He must have sensed that I was a believer who could help put things right.”

  “And how’re you planning to do that?”

  Micah shrugged. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  Catalina thought about that and said, “How about our hosts give us a canoe ride to the nearest phone? I’ll make a call and see if we can get the Brazilian Army or Delta Force to come in, guns blazing, and wipe Batista out.”

  “Once the military knows the Anomaly exists, they’ll try to do the same thing as Batista, maybe worse.”

  “Sad but true.”

  Micah pointed behind Catalina and said, “It looks like we’ll have to come up with a plan on the fly.”

  She turned and saw a dozen warriors coming toward them. Their faces were painted red and each carried bows and multiple quivers of arrows. Popeye gestured for Micah and Catalina to join them.

  Catalina said, “Looks like Delta Force is already here,” while giving Popeye the thumbs up.

  The procession of warriors marched toward the rainforest.

  Micah jogged over to Faye, who was playing with some children.

  “Baby, I have to go.”

  Faye asked, “Can I come?”

  “No, I want you to stay here where you’ll be safe. But I’ll be back soon.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  The lead warrior whistled impatiently.

  Micah kissed Faye’s forehead and said, “I gotta go, but I’ll be back, I swear.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The warriors continued marching through the rainforest. At sunset they came to a wide stream where a young warrior waited with three canoes. Popeye gestured for Micah and Catalina to climb into the middle one.

  Catalina started to get in then let out a startled, “Oh shit!”

  The canoe’s prows were decorated with the decapitated heads of Queen Caveira’s pirates.

  Giving one head a closer look, Micah said, “I think I knew that guy.”

  Catalina took her seat. “Let’s hope they’re not there as snacks.”

  “Nah, these guys know they’re going up against a superior force, so they’re doing everything they can to frighten the enemy. Kind of like when pilots paint flying tigers on their fighter planes.”

  “Except the fighter planes don’t usually have maggots crawling on them.”

  Micah settled down on the canoe’s crude bench. “Hey, don’t knock maggots. You know they can eat the infections out of open wounds and if you’re ever lo
st in the jungle, they can be an excellent source of protein.”

  “You don’t get invited to many dinner parties, do you?”

  “Not more than once.”

  The canoes cast off, the warriors paddling with smooth, expert strokes.

  Micah said, “I’m glad Faye didn’t have to see those heads. She’s already had enough nightmares for three lifetimes.”

  Catalina squeezed his hand. “Relax, I’m sure she’s perfectly safe back there with the alien headhunters.”

  Micah’s expression turned grim.

  Catalina laughed. “I’m kidding, they won’t hurt her. With all this weirdness, the village is really the safest place, at least until we stop Batista.”

  “And if we don’t, there won’t be any safe place on Earth.”

  Night fell, reducing the visibility to virtually zero. One of the warriors began pounding out a varied rhythm on a drum.

  Micah said, “That’s amazing. The drummer has the route memorized. He’s warning them about rocks and turns.”

  The warriors guided their canoes through a winding maze of pitch-black channels without slowing down.

  Catalina leaned back. “Well, they seem to know where they’re going.”

  Micah felt himself sweating more than usual. He dipped his finger into the water then pulled it away and said, “The water’s hot, like steaming cup of tea hot.”

  “Why?”

  “There are thermal streams all around the Amazon, nobody really knows why.”

  Popeye turned to Catalina, half whistling something she couldn’t understand. In frustration, he grabbed one of the vines lashed to the inside of the canoe.

  Micah asked, “What’s he trying to tell us?”

  Catalina followed his lead, saying, “I’m guessing it’s hang on.”

  The canoes turned into another tributary, and shot forward, the drummer beating a tempo worthy of a Ramones song. With his guidance, the warriors expertly steered the canoes through the steaming rapids.

  Micah yelled over the deafening current, “I think we just hit the jet stream!”

  Catalina shouted, “I went white water rafting once, but it’s got nothing on this,” and clung on to the strap with a white-knuckle grip.

  “Don’t be nervous, we’re just going down boiling hot rapids, at night, with no lights, in a bark canoe held together with vines!”

  “Thanks, before you said that I was getting worried!”

  Eventually Catalina grew confident of the warriors’ skills. Leaning closer to Micah, she said, “It must feel good, knowing that all your crazy theories were right after all.”

  “I guess. I just keep wondering where they originally came from.”

  Catalina said, “Well, you have fun thinking about that,” and lay back.

  “You’re going to sleep in this current?”

  “Army training. Never stand up when you can sit, never sit when you can lie down and never be awake when you can be asleep.” And with that she curled up at the end of the canoe.

  Micah tried to sleep, but the day’s revelations kept racing through his head. Catalina, on the other hand, snored away peacefully; a feat Micah chalked up to physical exhaustion. The sweltering heat and rhythmic swaying eventually lulled him to sleep.

  The warriors continued shooting the boiling rapids for seven hours without rest.

  #

  Something jostled Micah awake. He sat up, amazed to discover it was dawn, wondering, How long did I nod off for?

  The canoes had slipped out of the rapids, into a slower, unheated tributary. Between the warriors’ efforts and the fast, boiling current, Micah estimated they’d traversed at least fifty miles.

  Over the next hour the narrow tributary swelled into a marshy floodplain, blanketed in a thick layer of fog. The canoes paddled past black-bellied ducks drifting peacefully, while parrots in the partially submerged trees called out warnings to other birds.

  A smaller, two-man canoe rendezvoused with the group. They excitedly shared their findings while showing off a pair of oars they’d stolen from an inflatable dinghy.

  Micah thought, It looks like they had guys out doing reconnaissance.

  The sound of shrieking laughter echoed across the marsh, followed by a second, even more maniacal round.

  Catalina bolted awake, and whispered, “Is there a maniac loose out here?”

  Micah said, “Relax, that’s just a laughing falcon up in the trees. It’ll go on like that for around five min—” He abruptly went silent.

  A huge shape, obscured by fog, loomed in the water up ahead. The warriors saw it too, slowing down until they were barely drifting forward. Micah strained to make out the object.

  He whispered, “Whatever it is, it’s not moving.”

  Catalina asked, “Do giant snakes sleep on the water?”

  They drew closer until Micah could finally make it out. “It’s a boat. A big one.”

  A two-hundred-foot double-decker cargo barge lay half submerged in the water. Its upper deck was partially collapsed, and the flat, front deck had been torn apart. The wreck was wedged among some trees.

  Micah said, “It looks exactly like the Valentina.”

  “And in almost as bad a shape. Think there’s anybody aboard?”

  The warriors steered their canoes alongside it, some reaching out to tap the metal hull.

  A loud thud emanated from below deck, as if answering their knocks. Three warriors shot to their feet, bows held at the ready.

  A massive yellow-headed bird hopped up onto the deck rails. Two identical ones flew up from the lower deck, roosting next to it. The warriors lowered their bows.

  Micah said, “Those are yellow-headed vultures, a sure sign that nobody’s aboard. At least nobody alive.”

  Catalina fished a sodden life preserver out of the tree branches. The name Opala was stenciled across it.

  She said, “It was Batista’s boat alright,” and tossed it back in the water. “I bet his maritime insurance is gonna go through the roof.”

  Micah just shook his head.

  “Hey, I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

  The falcon let out another Bedlam-worthy round of laughter.

  Catalina muttered, “At least somebody’s got a sense of humor.”

  Micah said, “I think we’re getting close.” He gestured to the warriors, who had resumed paddling.

  Catalina swatted at the black flies swarming around the severed heads on the bow. “Good, ’cause these pirates are gettin’ pretty ripe.”

  #

  Hans gazed out at the Anomaly gleaming like a jewel in the morning sun. Despite being physically exhausted, his mind was racing. He reminded himself that, first and foremost, he was an engineer and couldn’t allow enthusiasm to overwhelm his discipline.

  Starting at the generator on shore, he and Batista retraced the network of cables running along the causeway out to the Anomaly, double-checking every link in the technical chain. It offered Hans another opportunity to bask in the complexity of what he’d constructed; few engineers had the vision and expertise to conceive such an intricate plan, and a mere handful could have executed it in this godforsaken jungle.

  Kneeling down to check an electrical connection, he said, “Sir, I’m convinced there’s some form of intelligence connected to this Anomaly. What’s hidden inside could be history’s greatest discovery. Slicing it up like scrap metal would be a sin.”

  Batista replied, “A very profitable sin.”

  They continued their final checks, coming to the wide log hewn working platform abutting the Anomaly. Batista eyed the array of electronic equipment jammed onto the platform, mentally calculating his expenses.

  He asked, “You’re sure all these electronics aren’t going to set the Anomaly off? Don’t they emit some kind of fields?”

  “That’s why I’ve kept the generator at a safe distance. It’s feeding these two super capacitors, both housed in Faraday cages to dampen any fields emitted.” Hans opened up a fiberglass ca
se with “Fragile” stenciled across it in large letters. Inside, nestled in protective eggshell foam, was a four-foot chrome tube with attached pistol grips.

  “This 6kilowatt laser torch will slice through anything in seconds, even this.”

  Batista looked skeptical. “Won’t the laser’s heat cause it to … react?”

  “I’ve taken measures to prevent that.” Hans gestured to a pair of steaming, four-hundred-liter cryogenic Dewar flasks. “I’ll continuously bathe the cutting area with liquid helium. At a temperature of minus four hundred and fifty degrees, it approximates the environment of deep space while negating the heat produced during cutting.”

  Batista held his hand close to the frigid steam hovering around the Dewar flask and said, “Kind of a local anesthetic?”

  “Precisely. It should, theoretically, allow me to create a breach without tripping its defenses.”

  “And if, theoretically, you’re wrong?”

  “Then don’t stand too close.” Hans stood up, looking at Batista with pleading eyes. “If we just cut out a small piece, we’ll be able to see what’s inside. If I’m wrong, and it’s merely a hollow shell, we can start slicing it up like a Christmas ham with no loss in time or money.”

  “And you’re absolutely certain there’s more to this thing than meets the eye?”

  “More certain than I’ve ever been about anything.”

  Batista stared silently at the Anomaly for a solid minute before saying, “Fine. I’ll let you cut a hole first and make your observations. But I want it large enough for a man to crawl inside.”

  Hans’s face lit up. “Sir, may I be the first to—”

  Batista was already walking back toward the shore, shouting, “I doubt anyone else will be volunteering. Now get on with it!”

  Hans yelled, “You won’t regret this, sir!”

  Then, with trembling hands, he began donning his silver firefighting suit, thinking, The greatest discovery in the history of science, and I’ll be the first inside. After steadying himself, he inserted a set of ear buds and scanned through his music library. Beethoven was his personal favorite but inappropriate for something this monumental. He considered Tchaikovsky then settled on something else. Only Wagner had the majesty for such an event. He selected Parsifal and pressed play, letting the operatic quest for the Holy Grail fill his senses.