Meantime, Mars Central reported that the North Ridge disks had moved! Three had rotated and now seemed to be tracking the sun. (The fourth was apparently not functional.) Warren had just begun to digest the implications when another bulletin arrived: electrical power was being collected by the disks and relayed below ground.
“What’s down there?” asked Judy.
“They’ve finally got around to ordering a radar survey,” said Sam, pressing his earphone down.
Murray’s team produced an alphabet for the alien script, and constructed a model syntax. Warren worked with them for a while, but they were too quick for him. Anyway, there was something else he wanted to look at.
“This,” he told Judy, indicating the pyramid tablet. “The pyramid has to be something special. It puts off light rays. And look at the Martian’s attitude.”
“It’s almost religious,” she said. Judy’s group had been cataloging and analyzing the other artifacts.
“That might be a leap,” said Bryan. “After all, these are alien icons. I think we should go slow trying to read nonverbal cues.”
Judy picked up the pyramid and compared it to the one in the image. “It’s the same object.”
“I think you’re right,” said Warren.
She held it at eye level. “What are you?” she asked.
It was getting late. “We’ll pick it up from there tomorrow,” I told them. “But I want to congratulate you. We didn’t think anybody was going to be able to translate the language.”
Murray drummed his fingers on the table and glanced around at the five people who had been working with him on the tablets. “We thought we’d stay on awhile,” he said. “We’re close to a breakthrough.”
But I didn’t want anyone getting ahead of the program. “Let it go, folks. We’ll get back at it in the morning.”
They grumbled and picked up some notes and I knew damned well they were going to find a place and keep working. But I wasn’t brought in to police these people, and they couldn’t take the tablets with them, so there was a limit to how much progress they could make.
Skyhawk maintained The Hawk’s Nest, a bar and recreation lounge next door to Harper Hall, which filled quickly with the Baranovians. They drifted by and talked about books they’d recently read, or about recent advances in one area or another, or just how good (or poor) the drinks were. They made it a point to avoid talking about the exercise with us. “It’s not considered kosher,” Sam said. “Not after hours.” After a while Maureeen and I withdrew to talk about the next day’s scenario.
I have to make a confession of sorts here. Maureen had caught my eye right at the start. By the end of the second day I felt positioned to try to implement some dishonorable intentions, so when she started toward the office we’d been using in the Long Elm Building, I steered us instead along the lakefront.
She looked surprised but said nothing. We congratulated each other on the good job we were doing. The wind was loud in the trees and somewhere a radio was playing. Exactly the right sort of music for a moonlit night and a beautiful woman. “You have lovely eyes, Maureen,” I told her.
Her lips curved into a smile. “I thought science fiction writers were above this sort of thing.”
The comment threw me off stride. The truth was that I couldn’t even see her eyes in the shadows. I struggled to come up with an appropriate response. Something witty. If you can make a woman laugh, I’d always noticed, everything else comes a lot easier. But she’d turned away from me and was looking out toward the lake. Along the shoreline, there were a couple of docks and a boathouse and a few benches. Someone was sitting on one of the benches.
“It’s Bryan,” she said. “What’s he doing out here by himself?”
I shrugged. “I guess he wants some time alone.”
“I guess. But the whole point of coming here’s to party, isn’t it? Especially for a guy his age.”
There was something disconsolate in his appearance, a distortion in the geometry of body to bench to moonlight. I could see that Maureen felt it too, and a cold wind blew suddenly off the lake. We looked at one another, and I read the unasked question in her face, whether we should go over; and I saw the answer in her eyes. If he wanted company he’d be in the Nest. Best let it be.
We passed on, chilled, and strolled among the bungalows that served as living quarters. Gradually we got back to laying plans for the morning. The mood of the evening had changed, and I knew that an advance on my part would not be welcome.
An hour later, we returned past the shore front. Bryan was still there.
Four characters had been written across the face of the flip chart. “It’s the god’s name,” said Murray. “It’s from the tablet with the pyramid.
“What does the inscription say?” asked Judy.
“‘In (the god’s name) are all things made possible. Speak, and he will reply.’” There was of course no way to know how the name had been pronounced, or indeed how any of the Martian language had sounded.
“We have two kinds of inscriptions,” Murray explained. “One set advises visitors about behavior. No loud talking. No shouting or laughing. That sort of thing. The other’s devotional. ‘Know that in the hour of most peril I am with you.’”
Warren was puzzled. “So we have a society in a place where no one could have lived during the last three billion years or so. Some of the artifacts, drums, religious symbols, and whatnot, seem primitive. But they were able to put up solar power units.” It gave him a headache. “How long has this stuff been here? Have we established that?” He looked toward Sam.
Sam nodded. “The lab thinks the altar, the urns, the more primitive stuff, is about eleven thousand years old. The cable, the coils, the pyramid, one item that seems to be a gauge, are all older. By about a thousand years.”
“Older?” said Eddie.
“Yes. The high-tech equipment came first.” He paused. “This is off the subject, but it’s something you should know. During the night, a lot happened back home. We have reports of widespread arrests across the United States. They’ve got massive riots, and the rioters are on both sides of the issue. The National Guard was called out, and in some places they refused to fire on the rioters. Martin’s expected to declare a national emergency and there’s even talk of his suspending the Constitution. On top of all that, Broadwell says he’s not doing enough.”
“Broadwell?” asked Judy.
“Chairman of the Joint Chiefs,” said Bryan.
They stared at one another. Warren thought about his kids, four of them, all in their twenties and trying to get started. He didn’t like what he was hearing. “I need to get to the commcenter,” he said.
Sam nodded. “We’re making provisions for anyone who wants to call home. Make a list of people you’re worried about and we’ll try to get through. But Harvey asked me to tell you that lines are jammed in some places and down in others so he can’t promise anything.”
“Best thing for us,” said Jason, “is to just continue what we’re doing and let things play themselves out. There’s nothing we can do from here.”
Sam touched one earphone, the way he always did when a message was coming in. A moment later he nodded and punched a button to activate the speakers.