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“Nothing different here,” she said more to herself than to her small audience. In addition to Cameron and Lobo, two SEALs also watched her work the system.

She ran her software against the main body of tonight's captured virus.

“It's all the same as before,” she said, shaking her head. “Only seven percent can be disassembled. The same
damned
seven percent that I've been looking at for the past five days!”

She did a sanity check anyway, pulling up each of the disassembled sections, finding the daily counter, which triggered the activation of the virus at the exact same time every day, with a daily adjustment to compensate for the decreasing duration of each event as the virus counted down to the end of the millennium. She reviewed the section managing the duration of the daily freezes and watched in disappointment as the routine that defined the event to take place at one
A.M.
GMT on January first remained undecoded.

She brushed back her damp hair. Humidity levels had reached eighty-two percent. Susan began to get concerned about the reliability of her system in such a moist environment. If the humidity reached the inner workings of her laptop, it could short circuit something, killing her work.

She chose to keep going until it reached eighty-five percent. Then she would shut everything off and wait until the morning sun burned off the haze.

Lobo and the other SEALs lost interest and walked away. Cameron remained by her side.

“Got to hurry,” she said, going on to explain the incompatibility of high humidity and electronics while she continued tapping keys.

Susan compared the undecoded routine from tonight's virus with that of the previous days, finding that it had not changed. All ones and zeroes were in the exact same location. She performed a multiple DIFF between tonight's virus with that from the previous nights, finding that once again, 260 bytes did not match with any of the previous viruses.

“Odd,” said Cameron, leaning forward. “So within the virus released each night there are 260 independent bytes?”

“I think I forgot to mention that. Why?”

“Well, the Maya had two calendars. I told you about the Long Count calendar, which is based on solar movement, like our Gregorian calendar. But there's also a religious Calendar, which had thirteen 20-day months, or 260 days.”

Susan sat sideways to him. “That is odd. Do you think there's a clue somewhere in there that might help us decode it?”

“How many of these independent binary segments do you have?”

“The events started on the eleventh, but my cocoons didn't go into effect until the twelfth, which means I have five, including tonight's.”

They spent a few minutes reviewing the strings on the screen, but nothing seemed obvious. Then Susan noticed the humidity level rising to eighty-five percent.

“That's as much as I want to push the hardware,” she said, powering down the system.

He helped her put away the high-tech gear in waterproof hard cases, leaving out only the solar-cell electric generator to begin charging the batteries at first light.

They sat side by side looking at the stars. By then all the SEALs were sleeping, save for the two on guard duty. They stood in between the small temple and the courtyard, covering both entrances to the site from a safe distance.

Moonlight continued to glow, casting a gentle shine on the polished limestone. The resonance of the site echoed the distant howling of monkeys and the chirping of birds in a rain forest serenade that changed pitch according to the gentle breeze blowing down from the mountains to the south.

“Sounds beautiful,” she said.

“The Maya used their skills to build objects not just of architectural beauty, but also of harmony with the land. This place abounds with harmony. It flows with a hidden, yet powerful energy that emanates from the very stone used to build it, from the arrangement of buildings around a cenote, simple but with amazing resonance to capture the natural sounds of their jungle, to make it a
part
of the jungle. In our societies we want to delineate between civilization and the wild. We have concrete and we have grass, skyscrapers and parks, parking lots and meadows. We always like to polarize, to divide, to set up boundaries. The Maya believed otherwise, carrying their fenceless concept to other senses, like these natural sounds bouncing off the limestone that also came from the same jungle, like the sweet smell of the orchids growing out of those magnificent ceibas, like the way light bounces off the structures, reflecting it to the surrounding vegetation, providing unity to their world.”

Susan remained quiet, wondering about a man who could see so much, who could articulate such thought-provoking words, just as he had done the night she'd met him, letting her inside his mind so naturally, without dominance, in the same manner with which he had been looking at her in the past two days, never obvious, never intrusive, yet always courteous, respectful, oftentimes out of his peripheral vision, even as he regarded the stars beyond the circular opening in the trees.

She interlaced her fingers while hugging her knees, glancing at her fingernails, suddenly wishing they were better cared for, perhaps with just a little polish. Susan narrowed her eyes at the thought. Until now the shape of her fingernails had not mattered.

Cameron pulled out the pack of Camels and leaned it in her direction. “One is not going to kill you.”

Susan regarded him strangely. “How did you know I—”

“The way you looked at me when I used one for the ticks. The way you handled it when I gave it to you to burn the ticks off of your other leg after you got uncomfortable.”

She pulled one and held it between her index and middle fingers, the filter brushing against her lips. Cameron produced a lighter and extended it toward her while lighting it with a single flick of his thumb, holding the flame steadily in front of her. She leaned forward, her fingers brushing the side of his hand, drawing with forgotten pleasure. Then she watched him light one for himself, automatically cupping the cigarette with one hand while holding the lighter in the other, the pulsating flame showering his rugged features with yellow light. He did this with the same fluidity that she had observed earlier, when he had studied the glyphs, or when he had saved that soldier from a horrible death. Who was this man, who made her feel so secure, so comfortable? Who would risk his life to save another's without hesitation one instant, and the next would notice little things, like the expression on her face when he had pulled out the pack of Camels the day before, or the way her fingers handled the cigarette?

“It's been a very long time,” she said, filling her lungs, holding it, slowly releasing it.

“I know.”

She turned to him. He had not said how long has it been? Or, why did you quit? He had said
I know.
He was reading her once more, understanding just by the way she acted that it had been a very long time since she had smoked. “Why do I get the feeling that I can't really keep secrets from you?”

“I hope you don't find that intrusive.”

She continued to regard him with intrigue. “I don't find anything you do intrusive.”

3

Ishiguro Nakamura disassembled a six-inch telescope on a large boulder breaking the dense vegetation, where they had decided to spend the night. Jackie had set up her instruments next to him, including a microwave receiver that scanned the same frequencies as their radio telescope back at Cerro Tolo, but lacking an astronomical range. According to their calculations, once they got beneath the celestial beam, they would not need anything but the receiver to pick up the transmission.

The petite Japanese-American woman unplugged her battery-operated equipment and carefully stored them in waterproof containers before stowing them away in their oversize backpacks, disappointment hardening her soft features.

“We'll be there tomorrow night,” Ishiguro said reassuringly.

Jackie continued to frown, admonishing eyes turning to Kuoshi Honichi, peacefully snoring inside his sleeping bag. The corporate liaison had twisted his ankle just a half hour after leaving the riverbank, slowing down their progress to a crawl as the muscular Porfirio had to help him walk while Jackie navigated and Ishiguro hauled both Kuoshi's and his own backpacks. Ishiguro had wanted the guides to take him back to the boat, but the obstinate junior executive would not hear of it, demanding that if he didn't come along, the mission would have to be canceled.

“Why is he here anyway?” she said, crossing her arms and pouting.

Ishiguro wrapped his arms around her. She continued to hug herself but did rest her head on his shoulder. “There's no reason for him being here,” she added. “And I don't understand why you let him stay. We usually don't let him get away with this crap back in Chile.”

“He's armed,” Ishiguro whispered. “That's why I didn't just order the guides to take him back to the boat.”

Jackie made a face, glancing back at the short, lanky, and nerdy specimen of a man. “
Armed?
Are you serious?”

“A pistol. I first spotted it on him in the boat, and again when we had to wade through the mangrove after leaving the boat.”

She tilted her head. “I guess it is not a bad idea out here. Who knows what we will encounter. I'm just surprised that he has one. He just doesn't fit the type.”

“I get the feeling that our corporate liaison may be something more than just a plain corporate liaison.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “He's a royal pain in the ass. The little bastard can't even pull his own fucking weight.”

“Now, now,” Ishiguro said, rubbing a hand against her back. “That language is unbecoming of an eminent astronomer like yourself, discoverer of the first confirmed message from outer space.”

“Right.”

“I just hope you still remember me when you're rich and famous.”

“Stop it.”

“You'll look great on the cover of
Newsweek
and
Scientific American.
”

“Watch it, mister.”

“Maybe you'll let me hang around and clean up the lab after you.”

“I'm warning—”

He kissed her. Jackie resisted for a few seconds. Then her soft lips parted, welcoming him. A moment later they gazed at the stars. Moonlight glowed around them, standing at the top of the large limestone boulder that protruded from the jungle like a gleaming island in a sea of hunter green.

“What a magnificent sight,” he said, observing the stars of the Northern Hemisphere, quite a different view from the cosmos visible at the south end of the continent. Together they made out the Big and Little Dippers, Perseus, Cassiopeia, the lonely Castor, almost directly above them, and the Deneb of the Swan, just barely grazing the horizon.

“From the Andes to the Petén,” he said.

“So vastly different,” she added. “Yet, the stars glow just as beautiful.”

“And someone from one of those stars is trying to make contact with us. Amazing.”

“I wonder what kind of message it is.”

“My dear Jackie, I get the feeling that we'll find that out very,
very
soon.”

4

Susan Garnett woke up to the strange sounds echoing between the stone structures. Sloe-eyed, half asleep, she unzipped her sleeping bag and sat up, wondering if she was dreaming. Everyone around her slept, including the two SEALs supposedly on guard—something that Susan found quite odd.

Strange.

She went to reach for Cameron, sleeping just a couple of feet away, but decided against it, not certain why, just that she shouldn't. Instead, she stood and put on her sneakers.

Subtle voices bounced off the limestone, the baritone pitch reminding her of an opera singer. For a moment Susan could have sworn that it was calling her name, but it could have been the breeze sweeping down from the mountains. The voice seemed to come from far ahead, but she couldn't tell for certain.

Moonlight continued to glow, spreading its half-light across the ethereal-looking architecture. But something else gleamed at the site. It came from the temple, beyond the vine-laced columns and corbel vaults, past the limestone terrace, within the heart of the ornately decorated edifice. Susan stood, the voices carrying a hypnotic force that made her begin to walk. And as she did the voices became more distant, increasingly vague, but urging her to move faster, to come closer.

She did, in a half trance, walking around the edge of the cenote, listening now to voices emanating from the waterhole, like an enchanted chorus, rising out of the dark waters and going straight to the heavens.

She reached the twenty intricately carved steps and began to climb them, slowly, with unexpected serenity, reaching the stone columns, walking beneath the triangular arches, stopping in the middle of the terrace, staring at the back-lit silhouettes of three figures wearing loincloths and large feathery headdresses. They didn't speak, yet Susan knew what they wanted, what they thought, and she followed them inside, past the same indented limestone slab that Cameron had noticed earlier, now pushed aside, exposing the cavernous interior of the Mayan temple.