Aeson’s camera begins moving somewhat erratically again as he looks downward, then up, and his examination sweeps the immediate surroundings of the doors. He then turns around and we get to see three backup crew members waiting behind him.
“Sealed and reinforced. No visible locks,” Aeson says in a neutral tone that tells me immediately he’s not going to reveal anything just now—not in a public SPC transmission. And then he addresses the backup personnel. “Get me the cutting crew.”
Sometime later, we watch the cutting crew take down the reinforced doors after some serious effort with heavy-duty cutting tools. The opening is revealed at last, and Aeson proceeds inside, followed by Keruvat, Erita, Xelio, and a few others who all converged upon this interesting find. This includes Gordie, who’s tagging along with everyone.
“Look, there’s Gordie . . .” I whisper near Dad’s ear. He nods with a light smile, watching engrossed as the scene unfolds.
Once inside this habitat, Aeson enters a corridor that follows the perimeter of the sphere on one of its lower levels—since they entered at ground level. Indeed, the outer wall has greater curvature near the floor with more width along the ceiling, to confirm this.
Here, the similarity to the Vimana habitat becomes even more pronounced. Same circular corridor, same evenly spaced intervals between doors along the interior wall. And this time—writings on the wall panels near each door, in hieroglyphics and pictographs that I recognize as a form of ancient Classical Atlanteo. I can’t read any of it, but I’ve definitely seen them before. . . .
“Finally, a direct confirmation that this is one of our ancient ships,” Keruvat’s voice comes in. Aeson turns to look and we can see Keruvat examining the wall panels closely.
“Yes, this is ours,” Erita says, peering at another inscribed panel near a door and shining a high-powered flashlight beam from her wrist to better illuminate detail.
“Can you read any of it?” Oalla says from the workroom. “Bring it in closer so we can put it up on the screen.”
“Tefnut, you are now on primary view,” the female astra daimon next to Radanthet announces.
And the view changes to a closeup of the wall panel with a pictograph.
“Beautiful . . .” Dad mutters next to me. “Look at that . . . such an unusual cartouche.”
“We need some antiquities specialists here,” Radanthet says. “Do you have anyone on-site?”
Oalla glances at my Dad. “Ter Charles is an expert, however in Earth antiquities,” she remarks.
“That is indeed so,” Dad replies. “In this case, I can only offer generalities and comparisons to Earth details. But I’m happy to help by any means.”
But as I stare at the closeup on the screen, I suddenly recognize the pictograph. It’s a vertical oval resembling a peapod with four circles inside, and a fifth circle connected on the top. I remember being told its meaning—“Vimana.”
Holy crap! This is not just a habitat similar to the ones inside Vimana.
This Habitat is from Vimana.
As the realization strikes me, I hear Aeson’s voice come in: “This is Phoebos. Poseidon Command Imperial Quarters, you need to notify the Imperator and the Venerable Shirahtet Kuruam immediately. Relay to them that we have found something, and send this image directly to both.”
Half an hour later, First Priest Shirahtet himself arrives in our workroom. The daimon and officers give him respectful courtesy salutes.
The First Priest acknowledges everyone present and gives a particularly meaningful nod to my father and me. “I am here merely to observe the findings, on behalf of the Imperial Sovereign. Proceed with your work.” And he takes a seat nearby.
Meanwhile, the scene on the surface of the Ghost Moon continues to show the interior of the Vimana Habitat that somehow ended up inside this other ancient ship hundreds of miles away.
I recall, when we went down to the lower levels of the Grail Monument ark-ship weeks ago, we could only descend halfway, stopping at the bottom of the Blue Habitat. Beyond it, there was structural damage and the rest of the ship was inaccessible—namely, the Green and Yellow Habitats.
Well, no wonder. . . . That’s because the bottom levels are no longer there.
Or, at least one of the Habitats is definitely displaced. So, which is it—the Yellow or the Green?
“. . . Now taking environmental and atmospheric readings,” Xelio’s voice says as he walks the corridor with the others, staring at a handheld gadget. “Trace amounts of breathable air still present on board. Picking up oxygen, nitrogen, methane, sulfur hexafluoride . . . hm-m-m, also, an unusual sonic reading from inside this ship.”
“Shamash, put the sound on our comms and relay it directly to Poseidon Command Imperial Quarters,” Aeson says at once. His helmet camera’s perspective is once again the primary view on our screen.
“Affirmative,” Xel responds. “Switching on. And—transmitting audio signal now.”
And in the next moment the workroom is filled with a familiar, bone-jarring, profound, awful hum.
I gasp involuntarily, while Shirahtet squirms in his seat. Even Oalla frowns with comprehension, because she knows enough to recognize what this is.
It is the sound of the ancient ark-ship transmitting its alien signal to the stars.
As the humming sound fills the room, daimon and officers exchange glances. Until someone says, “Wait, that noise sounds terribly familiar—I’ve heard it downtown at the Stadion.”
“That’s right,” another daimon says. “It started after that quake during the Games. Some kind of technical resonance glitch. I believe it’s supposed to be coming from the Atlantis Grail Monument—”
As the daimon speaks, I look at Shirahtet who picks up my pointed stare then starts tapping something on his wrist comm. He’s probably contacting the Imperator.
It occurs to me, if this Habitat on the Ghost Moon is actively transmitting right now—after all our efforts with the Plural Logos Voice Chorus during the astroctadra moon alignment—the main portion of the Vimana ark-ship on Poseidon and the Ra Disk over at New Deshret must both be activated too.
What the hell is the matter with that relentless transmission? I think. And just how many dratted pieces of that ark-ship are there, scattered all over the planet and beyond?
My worried frown is noticeable, because Dad looks at me with concern.
“I’ll explain later, Dad,” I whisper.
“All right, enough of that nasty noise,” Oalla says, and does something to cut the audio transmission.
“What exactly is that nasty noise?” Radanthet asks with some amusement, glancing around at those of us who appear upset.
“Right now, it is not something to be concerned about,” Shirahtet says, breaking the pause of silence.
“Resetting long-range comms,” Oalla says in a firm tone. “Phoebos, this is Poseidon Command, you are back on line in conference mode.”
Another pause. Then, a crackle, and Aeson’s voice returns. “Very well. Now continuing the exploratory examination of the ship.”
Aeson walks along the curving perimeter corridor and takes a turn through another door marked with the Vimana cartouche toward the central hub. Three crew members continue as his backup. The others separate, walking in different directions and doing separate surveying tasks with their test equipment.
Keruvat and Xelio start opening doors along the corridor, most of which are not locked, and periodically we get their perspective visuals on screen.
The rooms they reveal are mostly stark, some with basic shipboard furnishings such as tables, chairs, desks. Most of the furniture pieces are immovable installations—permanently fixed into the floor and walls, or wall panel foldouts. The rooms resemble sterile office spaces.
Then Ker and Xel start finding more residential quarters. Bed bunks, cots, shelving. . . . Boxes with personal items. Most of the organics crumble into dust at the lightest touch. A few scrolls remain, better preserved in long metal tube holders, a
nd are marked for retrieval by antiquities museum crews, but their written contents resemble routine inventory lists and don’t look otherwise promising.
Besides those well-preserved catalog scrolls, the metal and stone, and artificial alloys are the only things that can be handled. There’s a predominance of eating utensils and plates, storage containers and a few decorative items. This is when it gets a little more interesting. . . .
“Send cataloging personnel to cover this area,” Keruvat says. “This is Sobek, marking these quarters for museum archival.”
And yet, as they canvass the rooms methodically, finding few items of interest, it becomes apparent that whoever was here last, removed most of what used to be here. These are all discards and leftovers, items that were already old back then, left behind by their ancient owners a very long time ago. . . .
“In short, this habitat is mostly stripped of anything useful,” Keruvat says with a minor edge of disappointment. “Whoever abandoned this ship, left only junk behind.”
“And no identifying items,” Xelio adds. “No written personnel logs or records, no names or ranks. Even the plaques on the walls seem to be mostly sterile room numbers and deck designations.”
“We can’t know that for certain,” Erita retorts. “Not until the experts arrive and examine everything, including those tube scrolls.”
“True, but—”
In that moment Aeson’s voice cuts in. “This is Phoebos. Put me up on primary screen. I’m on the bottom of the central hub, Khe Deck One, Level One, of what appears to be Yellow Habitat. We have a significant find.”
“Phoebos, you are now on primary view.” The female astra daimon switches the screen to Aeson’s perspective.
The screen changes from Keruvat’s camera view of nondescript quarters to Aeson’s view of a surprisingly brightly lit, large, circular chamber shaped like a bowl.
I recall the central hub of the Vimana with its grand vertical shaft running down the middle of the entire ship and eight passages branching off like radii on every level. Here, the eight passages are also present. However, the shaft itself terminates in a bowl which is the bottom of the ship, a permanently sealed exterior hatch.
Occupying the center of the bowl is a flat hover-platform. It’s an ancient freight elevator similar to the one we took to descend and ascend the levels of the Vimana. A long, colorful, metallic object rests in state on the platform, as if upon a dais.
It is a sarcophagus.
There is an audible gasp heard around the workroom. The daimon stare. Shirahtet leans forward in his seat with an eager stance.
“Holy moly . . .” my Dad says, leaning forward also.
A strange slow beat begins in my temples. Slow at first, it picks up speed. . . .
“Phoebos, please approach so that we can see better!” Oalla exclaims.
In reply, Aeson nears the platform and slowly turns his head, so that his camera sweeps the unbelievable view before us.
The sarcophagus is a long, elegant shape of bright polished gold, encrusted with lapis lazuli, blue glass, agate, jade, carnelian, obsidian, and other precious and semi-precious stones and glass inlay.
It is very much Ancient Egyptian in style—or rather, Ancient Egyptians apparently used Atlantean style burial containers for their dead.
The general shape is of a reposing human body, with a Khepresh headdress, but instead of large Egyptian stripes the design is an intricate mandala, or a sunburst.
The golden death mask is sculpted into a youthful, androgynous, beautiful face. It could be Nefertiti or Tutankhamen. And yet, it is decidedly not. Different, alien—Atlantean.
There are multiple pictographs and hieroglyphs decorating the perimeter and the curving slopes of the sarcophagus top. Lotus blossoms in neat rows encrust the surface of the sarcophagus like reptile scales, covering its entire length in intricate glass inlay.
The hands of the depicted figure are folded in classic style over the chest, with a shepherd’s crook and royal flail crossed underneath the golden sculpted fingers. A wide golden collar decorates the figure’s neck, and in the center of the collar is a now-familiar astroctadra star formed of glass and lapis and amber.
Or maybe those deepest, darkest colored stones are Pegasus Blood.
Another such astroctadra star descends in an unusual manner from the mask’s chin—in place where an Egyptian pharaoh’s braided false beard would normally be.
And yet a third astroctadra rises from the forehead in place of the Uraeus serpent.
There are multiple cartouches depicted, so the person buried will be likely easy to identify.
“Whoever this is, the ancient individual buried here appears to be royal, or otherwise important,” Aeson says, responding to the unspoken thoughts filling my mind.
“Allow me—this is Shirahtet, the First Priest of Kassiopei,” Shirahtet says in that moment. “My Imperial Lord Aeson, if you can hear me, please move in closer so that I can see the name inscribed in the central plaque.”
Aeson’s camera shifts and he draws even closer, leaning over the sarcophagus.
The long oval name cartouche fills the screen.
“This is Phoebos. Venerable Shirahtet, glad to have your expertise here. Please confirm that what I’m seeing is correct even though it makes no historical sense—is the first portion of the Name as inscribed the same as the Dynastic symbol for ‘Kassiopei?’”
“My Imperial Lord, it is indeed,” Shirahtet answers. “The Ra starburst followed by that mark below and the four notches—”
“So—then it is Kassiopei.” Aeson sounds incredulous. “But how? Who is this person? Isn’t it true that all my ancient ancestors are entombed on Atlantis, and primarily at Poseidon?”
“That is the case indeed, My Imperial Lord.” Shirahtet pauses, standing up as if to breathe, or maybe in order to peer closer at the already zoomed-in image on the great screen.
“Are you able to read the full name?” Aeson asks.
Shirahtet takes a deep breath before speaking. “I am able to read not only the name but the entire designation. The name, as it is written, is Arlenari Kassiopei, daughter of Churu and Merneit, sister of Oron and Narmeradat, wife of Enhuvarat, and mother of none.”
There is a very long pause.
And then Aeson says, “Who the shebet is Arlenari Kassiopei?”
“My Imperial Lord, I—don’t know,” Shirahtet responds. “And for that matter, who is Oron?”
“You don’t know? You, who know everything about us, don’t know? Very well. Time to call my Imperial Father—do it now.”
Chapter 81
The next hour is a frantic cascade of events. Shirahtet steps outside in a hurry to call the Imperator. Meanwhile Aeson paces around the sarcophagus, slowly examining every inch, and his camera dutifully transmits the amazing detail to our main screen here in the workroom.
The daimon and other SPC staff here in the command center prepare to relay the feeds to appropriate individuals and antiquities experts directly—once they receive the official instructions and permission to proceed. That, of course, is pending the Imperator’s and the IEC’s joint decisions in conjunction with several foreign heads of state. Only then will the global public be notified about the find via the media who are already on alert for big news due to ongoing catastrophic weather.
Other mission members and SPC Fleet crew soon join Aeson in the sarcophagus chamber. Ker, Erita, Xelio and others start running non-intrusive tests, while those of us here on Atlantis watch with rapt attention. On the expert advice of my father, Oalla asks Aeson to do specific closeups of the sarcophagus detail, especially certain frequently repeating cartouches and patterns.
“Anything that is repeated is a good indicator of significance,” Dad says, pointing out areas of particular interest. “For example, that one enclosed in a double oval frame with the wave pattern and spirals on both ends—notice how it is heavier, with thicker lines, etched deeper into the gold surface. Could it be another royal
name? I would love to know what those hieroglyphs mean.”
When Shirahtet returns, Dad and all of us get the chance to find out—since Shirahtet has the in-depth knowledge of the ancient forms of writing.
But first, Shirahtet addresses Aeson, to relay the Imperator’s message. “My Imperial Lord,” the First Priest says with a serious, intense expression that is even more so than his usual, perpetually sobering demeanor. “It is the Imperial Sovereign’s strong wish that this sarcophagus be loaded onto your most secure freight transport and delivered here to Poseidon—immediately.”
On the surface of the Ghost Moon, Aeson takes several long moments before replying. “Is that wise?” he asks. “Moving this relic that’s potentially vital in importance, and very likely fragile, might damage it. Why not continue to examine it here on the surface under its native conditions and lower gravity? When the experts arrive, they can follow proper methodology—”
“May I regretfully remind My Imperial Lord that we are faced with an existential threat and don’t have much time for proper methodology,” Shirahtet says.
Aeson’s voice acquires a note of frustration. “This burial object might not survive being lifted onto another platform—much less the recent turbulent conditions of reentry through the Atlantis atmosphere, especially once the Atlantean gravity kicks in.”
“That may indeed be so, but it is a risk we are willing to take.”
“Fine. But I insist that we wait at least two hours until the experts arrive before attempting to move anything,” Aeson says firmly. “I have requested Specialist Cvutu’s presence here and she has been dispatched.”
Here in the workroom, Shirahtet pauses. “Very well, My Imperial Lord. We will wait long enough for Antiquities Specialist Igara Cvutu to arrive on site. But then the sarcophagus will be loaded and delivered here—that is, to the Imperial Poseidon Museum—for further processing.”
The way he phrases it, I highly suspect that Shirahtet intends for the sarcophagus to be taken to the ark-ship research facility downtown and not to any museum, but this is for the benefit of the public.
Survive Page 87
