The Menagerie 2 (Eden) (3 page)

“We just want to get to work,” said Alyssa.

“Tomorrow,” O’Connell answered. “Tomorrow we head down to a platform situated on a marine terrace beside the structure. I would suggest that you get some sleep. After tonight there’ll be little rest since we’re within a budgeted time frame.” He tipped his head in valediction. “Ms. Moore, Mr. Savage, do have a good evening. And please see the ensign regarding your accommodations for the night. I’m afraid they’ll be quite spartan, seeing this is a naval ship and all.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Savage. “And thank you again, O’Connell.”

“My pleasure.” After giving a second nod, the DOD official turned and descended the stairway, leaving John and Alyssa to themselves.

On the horizon the sky turned various shades of different colors, going from orange to red to mauve, finally evolving to complete and total darkness. Above them a canopy of stars glittered like a cache of diamonds spread over black velvet. Below them, glowing eerily from beneath the water’s surface, were numerous banks of lights.

#

John and Alyssa
leaned against the ship’s railing and noted the tinsel-and-glass glitter of the peninsula’s surface which reached out of the star-lit sky in the distance, the sky and the water blending into a gorgeous horizon of pinprick lights and gentle swells.

Alyssa drew closer to John, who corralled her with a sweep of his arm. “There’s no way I’m going to sleep tonight,” she told him. “There’s just no way.”

“Like a little kid on Christmas Eve, huh?”

“Think about it,” she said, looking down at the muted lights beneath the water’s surface. “Down there is a remnant of what scientists believe to be the bolide that collided with Earth nearly sixty-five million years ago when, in fact, it’s nothing of the sort, but something celestially created. Can you even begin to imagine the level of intelligence of this race? Or even comprehend their capability to manufacture such a craft nearly six miles across?” She looked at him. “O’Connell said this race was perhaps above us on the evolutionary scale as we are to the amoeba.”

“And he’s probably right,” he said. “Remember when a team of scientists got excited over the discovery of a block of ice on Mercury? A block of ice. When all along a race of beings existed sixty-five million years before us, and perhaps a race sixty-five million years before them, and there’ll most likely be another race sixty-five million years from now—after us.”

Just then they followed the tail of a star crossing the sky. Instead of making a wish, Alyssa considered other aspects. “Who’s to say that right now, as we stand here, that a meteorite carrying an inert species of microbe just landed in some planet’s ocean. And then its life was jumpstarted the moment lightning struck the surface of the water?”

Savage said nothing.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and looked downward, into the lights. There are writings down there, she considered, ancient script similar to the ones discovered in Eden. So was there a correlation between the two? Did Eden share ties with this vessel? Even when the distance of time separated them by nearly sixty-five million years?

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough
, she thought.

Not fast enough at all
.

CHAPTER FOUR

The sleeping quarters, at best, and as O’Connell stated, were very spartan. It was a small area with two bunks, a desk that divided the area between the bunks, a closet, and lavatory. Alyssa lay there with her eyes staring up into darkness, listening to John’s slow and even rhythm as he slept on the adjacent bunk.
I’m glad someone can sleep
.

When morning arrived, Alyssa was in the lav getting ready while John slowly sat up and planted the bottoms of his feet against the cold-plated floor, then rubbed the morning itch out of his eyes with the heels of his hands. His hair was in a wild tangle and a bearded growth was beginning to emerge.

“Morning, sunshine,” Alyssa said, returning toiletries to her bag.

“Did you sleep?” he asked.

“Not at all.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

She shook her head.
Why do men always say that they don’t sleep when they do?

Almost a half hour later they were in the mess hall, which was an area of limited space with stainless steel benches and tables riveted to the deck. John Savage was having a difficult time waking up, his eyes red and raw with laced stitching as Alyssa’s remained cue-ball white, even with no sleep. Caught between Savage’s hands was a cup of piping hot coffee, the scent of the brew rich and bold.

When the clock reached the top of the hour, O’Connell entered the mess wearing military issue and G.I. boots, not exactly the attire of a DOD official. In his hand was a coffee cup that read: The World’s Greatest Dad. After taking a sip from the cup, he placed it on top of a stainless steel table. “Morning,” he said. “Before we get going I need to brief you on a few things.” He then raised his leg and placed his foot on one of the seats, so that his leg now stood out at a right angle. Leaning forward, he rested an elbow across his knee. “Approximately three weeks ago—not quite three weeks—an earthquake hit this region, as you know, which gave rise to what was believed to be a remnant of the bolide that impacted with Earth nearly sixty-five million years ago. However, it’s not a bolide at all. But the remains of a much larger ship that struck the planet that caused the final extinction event. Right now there are some mild aftershocks that continue to take place from time to time. But they’re nothing to worry about. Now beneath us is an underwater platform. A staging site,” he said, gesturing a hand to the floor. “And to get there we’ll be taking a sub. From there we’ll be making our way inside the ship via a walkway linked to the ship.”    

“An Umbilical Tube,” commented Savage, stating this as mere fact.

O’Connell nodded. “The platform below us has been set up approximately thirty feet from the ship’s remnant. Now this collared walkway runs from the platform to the ship’s hull. But because of the aftershocks, the station below us is buttressed by shock-absorbent supports to reduce instability. Therefore, the walkway is quite secure.” O’Connell stood. “I know I said this before, but what I’m about to say to you needs repeating, since this comes from the highest political seat in Washington.”  He hesitated before shifting his line of sight from Alyssa’s eyes to Savage’s, almost sensing and reading their insights, their need to feed their questioning fascination. “Down below,” he began, “inside that ship, you will see things that are to be kept confidential under the strictest measures. I know I’ve said this before. But national security is optimum here. I just need you two to be very clear on that. And both of you are, correct?”

“Of course,” said Alyssa. Savage, however, only gave a simple nod before bringing the coffee to his lips. If he understood anything at all, it was that the American government was simply adding another mystery to its trove of secrets purposely kept from the public’s eye—just another day at work.

O’Connell looked at his wristwatch. “The sub leaves in twenty minutes,” he said. “Please be at the launching site on time.” Picking up his coffee cup, O’Connell headed toward the aft of the ship, making sure that the sub was prepped to go.

#

The USS Bainbridge

Zero Hour

Nearly twenty-five
minutes later, Alyssa and Savage were on board an Explorer Class submarine along with O’Connell and the craft’s pilot. With practiced maneuvering, the deck’s crane slowly hoisted the vehicle off the deck and directed it over the sea, where it was lowered until the hull bobbed like a cork on the water’s surface. After final communication was exchanged between the pilot and the onboard ship’s tech, air was released from the trim tanks, allowing the sub to descend.

Once the propellers were in progress, the sub angled downward to a level of 1900 feet where it leveled off.

At this depth the water was cold and dark and blue, with the exception of distant cones of light emitting from light banks located on top of the platform.

The pilot reached for a set of switches and flipped the toggles, kicking on the sub’s powerful lights. Conical beams of white luminosity alit on a hull that was rough in texture, the vessel’s side covered with groping clusters of sedimentary rock and earth that had accumulated over sixty-four million years. Yet beneath the hardened surface remained visible patches of the ship’s exterior, the hull’s skin bearing flashes of an unknown metal having a mirror polish to it.

The remnant was massive, the mini-sub dwarfed by its immense size, and glided within feet of the vessel’s portside.

On the unblemished patches of the ship’s surface, Alyssa could make out archaic script: ейшых 
ў
філёзафаў
, but couldn’t discern or decipher its meaning, the writing having no similarity whatsoever to the lettering she found in Eden.

“Amazing,” she whispered, but no one seemed to hear her. Or if they did, chose not to respond in the midst of their own allure.

The mini-sub slowly rounded the aft side of the ship, the lighted platform coming into view with the hooded staging area appearing like a series of barracks connected together beneath a grid work of lighting, an undersea station. Running from the end of the station to the ship’s hull was a tube made of high-density rubber, the pipeline acting as an umbilical tie between the platform and the ship.

The vessel’s outcropping was almost thirty feet above the marine terrace, with several levels still buried. The analogy here is that the ship was like an iceberg, revealing its tip with the vastness of its shape hidden underneath.

Once the sub maneuvered beneath the squared opening that led up into the hooded platform area, the pilot filled the ballast tanks with air, which caused the sub to rise.

When the mini-sub was stabilized and the docking platform connected, everyone exited the vehicle with the exception of the pilot. As soon as they were standing on the base floor, the pilot, through the sub’s bubble glass, gave a mock salute and submerged the vessel, the water churning to froth as it descended beneath the waterline.

In the quarters, American and Mexican nationals milled about, all wearing lab coats and carrying clipboards, each person running from one monitor to the next, taking notes.

The ceiling was low, the lighting marginal, and the walls looked like corrugated tin pieced together. As passing currents pressed against them, they sounded off like the creaking timber of an ancient ship, a rather disturbing sound of constant pressure exacting its power against the platform.

At the far end of the barracks was the collared walkway leading to the vessel, the entryway blocked by an oval-shaped doorway, solid and thick.

“Welcome to the undersea coalition between the United States and Mexico,” said O’Connell. “This is where we monitor significant readings as to what’s going on inside that ship.  We monitor air levels, air quality, and all significant signs of equalized pressure to make sure that everything is stabilized and—”

Just then a mild aftershock shook the area, the platform vibrating, the shock-absorbing buttresses doing what they were meant to do, to minimize the trembling. When the shocks subsided they finally released their collective breaths. Things, after all, were different below sea level when the pressure was approximately 900 pounds per square inch—crushing weight.

“It’s all right,” said O’Connell, assuring them as much as he was assuring himself. “It’s something we’ll all get used to. Trust me.”

And then the walls seemed to creak back to their original design, the resonating sound as unnerving as a banshee wail tapering off somewhere in the distance.

O’Connell went to the collar’s oval-shaped doorway, turned the wheel, pushed
to open the door, and gave Savage and Alyssa access to the walkway. 

“Follow me,” he said.

And then they entered the collar.

CHAPTER FIVE

Entering the Ship

The interior of the collar’s tubing looked like the inside of an intestinal track, long and segmented. As they neared the ship’s door, the causeway beneath their feet wobbled. At the end of the tubing they noted a highly magnetic ring that sealed the collar to the ship’s hull, where there was a second door that led into the ship.  

After O’Connell spun the wheel and opened the door, feeble light from a light pod spilled into the collar, drawing long shadows onto the causeway behind them.

The chamber they entered was cramped with walls that appeared ribbed and coated by some kind of textured oil, greasy and slick. But when Alyssa grazed her fingers over the surface they came away dry.  

The floor was slightly tilted, the degree of its angle hardly measurable as the ship lay embedded on a nearly even plane. In the chamber’s center sat a horseshoe-shaped console and an ergonomically structured chair, which clearly indicated that the fittings were suited for a hominid no taller than four feet, perhaps smaller.

O’Connell closed the door and gave the wheel a turn, locking them in. “As you can see,” he began, “the furnishings are quite dissimilar to an average human adult, obviously indicative of a much smaller race. Unfortunately, there were no bodies to verify this.” He stepped behind the terminal. “Our scientists believe this to be some kind of engineering terminal. But it’s all speculation at this point.”

“”Don’t you think it’s a little small to navigate something as large as the bolide that collided with Earth and nearly wiped it out?”

“Perhaps this will put a little more weight behind the theory,” he said. O’Connell then waved his hand over a red, mushroom-shaped gem on top of the terminal. From the gem a conical-shaped beam of light emitted from the panel, creating a three-dimensional holographic schematic of the ship in its entirety, the image suspended in the air. Geometric lines and angles connected in crisscrossing patterns and seams, denoting every level, every room, all the living quarters and labs. The ship was a virtual metropolis traveling through space.