The Menagerie 2 (Eden) (6 page)

After they entered the adjoining room, O’Connell waved his hand over the lens on that side of the door, and the emerald-colored glass reappeared, locking them in.

The corridor they entered had a corkscrew wind to it, the level descending, until they reached a darkened chamber, a room with a sepulchral air to it. The walls offered a phosphorous illumination, an eerie green, with no known filaments or power source to set off the light. In the room’s center was a horseshoe-shaped console. But this console was made of the same energy as the emerald-colored door, solid and glasslike. And indestructible.

Alyssa traced her fingers over it. It was cold and smooth to the touch. “Is it real?” she asked.

“As real as that door we just passed through,” said O’Connell.

“How . . .” Her words simply trailed. To fashion something from pure energy was beyond comprehension. To understand the physics or the mechanics behind such science, she believed, was light years away—no matter how brilliant O’Connell’s people may be.

She maneuvered behind the desk, could see through the desk’s surface to the floor, and sat in the chair. It was translucent and as smooth as glass, the ergonomics of the chair coming alive to suit her shape, forming to her comfort. “This is absolutely amazing,” she said disbelievingly.

Savage had thought he’d seen it all in Eden, the mysteries. But this ship harbored far greater mysteries—that of the universe.

He moved around the desk and traced his fingers over the surface, discovering the same sense of awe as Alyssa. What may have been a novelty to O’Connell was apparently gone, the technology no longer a marvel as the man appeared flat and disinterested.

“To your right, Ms. Moore, you will find a keypad upon the surface,” said O’Connell. “Do you see it?”

The keypad was the same color as the surface of the desk, a phosphorous green, but pulsating. “I see it.”

“Touch it.”

She did. And three archaic symbols appeared.

“It’s actually an easy combination to figure out,” he told her. “Whether the symbols be numbers or letters, the pattern was easy to figure out since there were minimal combination arrangements. Tap the third symbol, the first symbol, and then the middle one.”

She did, feeling a static charge at the ends of her fingertips, the sensation not unpleasant at all, just a tingle. A moment after striking the last symbol a holographic image the size of a chalkboard appeared in front of her. On it were schematic images of the ship in detail. But on the board’s right was a series of characters, ancient and archaic, with marginal similarities to Sumerian and Egyptian type, situated like text and documents. 

“Of course we were unable to decipher it,” O’Connell continued. “But as you can see there are similarities to the writing on that holographic image that corroborates with the writings you posted in your publication regarding your discoveries in Eden. As I said prior, Ms. Moore, the percentage of similarities is much too high to be coincidence.”

When she touched the board it responded, the images touch-sensitive as she was able to drag the image from the right side of the panel to the center with the point of her finger. With a few taps the symbol grew larger, like zooming in. “I know this character,” she said. “It’s ancient Sumerian.”

“Does it give any insight at all regarding this ship? A manual perhaps?”

“It’s just one character,” she told him. “I don’t mean to get your hopes up, O’Connell, but it’s still a puzzle. To line up the language and decipher it could take months.”

Months?
“Ms. Moore, we brought you aboard because of your expertise in such matters. Surely you could apply your skills of interpretation in speedier manner.”

“This is a language never seen before,” she told him. “And a majority of these symbols are completely alien, no pun attended. But their syntax, their meaning, or to determine if we even have a word in our language to describe what they’re talking about, may not exist.”

“Ms. Moore, we do not have months. What we have is
days
.”

“What do you want her to do?” asked Savage. “She just gave you an honest assessment of her capabilities.”

 “All I’m saying,” said O’Connell, “is that time is not a luxury. We need Ms. Moore to interpret the language to a point where we can at least begin the process of reverse engineering. Just enough to open the door a crack, is all we need. Once she does, then we can do the rest.” He turned to face Alyssa, who was enamored with the board by continuing to drag symbols from one point to the next. “Surely you can do that much, can’t you, Ms. Moore?”

Savage could see Alyssa dragging symbols that she recognized, characters he recognized, to the board’s center. There were quite a few.

“I think that may be a possibility,” she said. “But don’t be surprised if I can’t—at least not in the amount of time that you’re giving me. But I will give it my all, O’Connell. I promise.”

He nodded. “That’s all I can ask for, I guess.”

“You said you had books, annals, filled with symbols your team gathered from all over the ship.”

O’Connell nodded, then faced the opposite side of the chamber and pointed. “Down that corridor you’ll find a Central Post with more personnel. Of course you’ll have your own space with the best computer and software to aid you in your work—absolutely everything you’ll need. It’s a big ship, however, with lots of corridors. But you’ll get used to it. You’ll be able to find your way around.”

Savage went to the doorway and noted a string of light pods as far as his eyes could see. “How big is this ship exactly?” he asked.

“Big enough.”

 “And we’re on what? The third level?”

“With two more below us, yes.”

Savage did a quick calculation. The point of the remnant was exposed beyond the wall of the crater, this he knew, with the lower tiers buried within the surface.

His eyes scanned overhead, at the surrounding walls. They were buried this far in, but hanging precariously in the loose earth and could easily dislodge and fall to the bottom after a massive tremor.

“We’ve much to do, Ms. Moore. So if you please, I need you to follow me to the Central Post. Everything you’ll need will be there.”

She appeared not to hear him, concentrating on the string of characters she aligned side by side on the holographic image. There were symbols and glyphs, archaic lettering with Sumerian and Egyptian similarities, most bearing the telltale signs of slight evolution in character shift.

“Ms. Moore, please. Time is limited.”

Alyssa stood. When she did the holographic panel closed to the size of a pinhole, and then it was gone, squeezing itself out of existence. The chair also took its regular shape, small and less suited to fit her physique.

Amazing
, she thought.

As they made their way to the lower levels the rooms became wide open, the corridors leading from one area to the next tall and arcing overhead, meeting at a central point at the center of the ceiling. Here the ribbing along the walls served as luminary conduits, the ribs flaring with emerald-green light. In one section techs had removed a squared panel along the wall where light was emitting from, only to find no originating source or filament. Just . . . light.

When they reached the bottom level it was as spacious as a football field, long and wide and filled with rows of lights, tech benches and computer consoles. The entire floor remained as busy as a factory as engineers milled about with their clipboards and tablets while others managed PC’s. Through the aisles the Tally-Whackers meandered with assault weapons draped over their shoulders, each one keeping a watchful eye.

“Over here, Ms. Moore.” O’Connell was standing next to a long console with multiple monitors and PC’s. “This will be your station,” he told her, holding his hand out to showcase the work area. “The scripts, the lettering, the symbols from this ship have been logged and downloaded onto these computers. Whatever needs analyzing, you will find it right here.”

She sat in the chair facing the screens, then booted up, the three screens coming to life in unison.

There were thousands of archaic symbols, thousands of characters and glyphs. She immediately put her hands on her head, distressed, her mind racing with overload.

“Problem, Ms. Moore?”

She let out a sigh as the monitors continued to scroll through the symbols.

“Ms. Moore?” he repeated.

She shook her head. “This isn’t going to take days,” she told him. “Even if I was able to piece together bits and pieces here and there, it may not be enough to put together what you need for your engineers to begin the process.”

O’Connell leaned forward and tapped the keyboard. The scrolling on the monitor stopped, and then winked off. After tapping in another set of commands, the center monitor showed archaic script. On the screens that flanked the central monitor were linear configurations of the creatures within the menagerie, their images revolving slowly to give a 360-degree view before closing to the size of a computer app and sliding off to the screen’s upper edge. More images came up, more creatures, each one rotating in display before shrinking to a tile and moving to the top edge of the screen, joining others. This process went on until the tiles filled the flanking screens.

“How many of them are there?” asked Savage, whispering, the others not sure if he was being rhetorical. Either way, no one answered.

Dozens of computer tiles turned to a hundred, then from a hundred to several hundred.

How many
?

“These images, these tiles, are in essence—at least we believe them to be—the biological history of those within the menagerie,” said O’Connell. “We believe this to be the mainframe instructions that manage the energy walls to the enclosures. If you see here,” he said, allowing his words to drift away as he hit more buttons. When he finished, a series of schematics to the holding enclosures came up, each with alien symbols denoting and pinpointing certain elements of the containment cells. He then stood back. “Every cage has a locking mechanism,” he said. “In this case it’s the energy field. If you can decipher the script and determine the mechanics to shut them off and to turn them on, then we can begin with the rudimentary fundamentals of learning this technology. All we need, Ms. Moore, is for you to start chipping away with the interpretation of these symbols. If we can learn to maneuver these fields even at the most basic level, then my engineers can do the rest.”

She turned to him and cocked her head slowly. “You want me to shut down the stasis chambers?”

“We need you to discover the ‘on’ and ‘off’ switch,” he told her. “Nothing is without their instructions. And we can’t perform the most basic of functions if we don’t know how to turn the switch.” He looked at the screen. “It’s all there, Ms. Moore. Use your skills of interpretation. Please show us the way.”

She turned back to the screen, then back to O’Connell. “And if I do, if I lower the energy shield, what about the creatures within?”

“Then they will become the matter of our biological techs,” he simply stated. “Placed on ice and studied.”

Already she was picking out certain symbols for study.

While she was focused to the monitor, Savage’s thoughts were elsewhere. The Tally-Whackers were keeping them under careful watch. They were keeping everyone under careful study.

“Mr. Savage, Ms. Moore, I’ll leave you to your duties.” O’Connell gave a nod in salutation and left. But before he left the area he stopped by a Tally-Whacker, leaned into him, and whispered something to him in close counsel. The Tally-Whacker nodded and drew a bead on Savage, remaining at his post as O’Connell disappeared somewhere down the aisles.

Although Savage could not see the soldier’s eyes through his facemask, he knew they were not kind, benevolent, or held the hint of mercy. They were filled with a warrior’s stoicism whose personal salvation was meaningless.

Unlike those around him, he sensed great danger within their presence.

Laying a calming hand on Alyssa’s shoulder, she didn’t seem to notice as she tapped away at the keyboard.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Report.” This was not a question, but a flat statement from Daniel McCord, the Deputy Secretary of Defense.

O’Connell was sitting behind a desk located in a partitioned area on the platform. On his monitor screen the image of McCord was snowy. But the audio was clear. In between the whitewash lines of poor reception the secretary’s head appeared distorted in a funhouse way, long and indistinct. “It’s no different than what it was twenty-four hours ago,” he answered.

“And Ms. Moore?”

“She seems quite comfortable in her surroundings. In fact, she was moving the tiles across the holographic board as if she recognized them.”

“You think she can do it?”

O’Connell shrugged. “Unless she can determine the language, then this is going to take time. Perhaps more time than we have.”

“Expound.”

“The remnant of this ship is sitting precariously on top of a marine terrace. With every aftershock a piece of this terrace is breaking off and falling into the abyss below, five miles below.” After a period of three heartbeats, he added: “Eventually this station will fall.”

McCord remained stoic. “How long?”

“Days. A week. Who can tell?”

“Then we need Ms. Moore to apply her abilities in the most immediate manner, wouldn’t you say?” 

“If I tell her the truth about the instability of the terrace, if the other scientists find out, then they’ll want an immediate evacuation. I’ve been giving them false hope, telling them that everything’s fine—that Nature’s simply flexing its muscle.”

“A true bureaucrat,” he said. “Tell them what they want to hear. Tell them what they must hear.”

O’Connell closed his eyes for a moment. And then he reopened them to the highly distorted image of the deputy secretary caught between a myriad of zigzag lines.

“Everyone on board that ship,” McCord began, “even those with TS clearance, is expendable. Get whatever pieces of the puzzle you can for our team to reassemble at base. We need to know how to utilize that pure energy for military purposes. We need the upper hand over China. With that technology, we’re everything. Without it, then we’ll continue to fall behind on the world stage.”