The Descent

'How do I look?' Vera  asked.

Rau patted  his briefcase in applause. Parsifal said, 'Lord spare us.'

'Did you come together?'  she asked.

'London via Cincinnati,' said Parsifal.

'Mexico City,' said Rau. 'We bumped into each other in the concourse.'

'I was afraid no one was going to make it,' Vera  said. 'As it is, we may  be too late.'

'You called, we came,' said Parsifal. 'Teamwork.'  His paunch and hated  bifocals  made the gallantry that much more charming.

Rau checked his watch. 'Thomas arrives  within the hour. And the others?'

'Elsewhere,'  said  Vera,  'in  transit,  incommunicado,  occupied.  You've  heard  about

Branch, I suppose.'

'Has he lost his  mind?'  Parsifal  said.  'Running  off  into  the  subplanet  like  that.  Alone. Of all people, you'd think he'd know what the hadals are capable of.'

'It's not them I'm worried about.'

'Please not that "the  enemy  is us" business.'

'You don't know about  the  shoot-to-kill  order  then?'  Vera  asked.  'All  the  armies  got it. Interpol has it.'

Parsifal squinted at her. 'What's this? Shoot Branch?'

'January's  done  what  she  can  to  revoke  it.  But  there's  a  certain  General  Sandwell who has a vindictive streak.  It's  peculiar.  January's  trying  to  find  out  more  about  this general.'

'Thomas  is  furious,'  Rau  added.  'Branch  was  our  eyes  and  ears  in  the  military.  Now we're left guessing what the armies may  be up to.'

'And who may  be planting the virus  capsules.'

'Nasty  business,' muttered  Parsifal.

They  met  Thomas  at  his  gate,  straight  from  Hong  Kong.  The  gaunt  cubic  angles  of his face formed a mass of shadows, deepening his Abe Lincoln  features.  Otherwise,  for a  man  who'd  just  been  expelled  from  China,  he  looked  remarkably  refreshed.  He glanced around at his greeting party.  'A cowboy hat?' he said to Rau.

'When in Rome...' Rau shrugged.

They  proceeded  to  the  exit,  grouped  around  Vera's  wheelchair,  catching  up  on  one another's news.

'Mustafah and Foley?' asked Vera.  'They're  okay?'

'Tired,'  said  Thomas.  'We  were  detained  in  Kashi  for  several   days.   In   Xinjiang province.  Our  cameras  and  journals  were  confiscated,  our  visas  revoked.  We  are officially personae non gratae.'

'What in the world were  you doing out there,  Thomas?'

'I  wanted  to  examine   a  set   of  Caucasian  mummies   and  some  of  their   writing fragments. Four millennia old. Germanic script. Tocharian, to be exact.  In Asia!'

'Mummies  in  the  Chinese  outback,'  Parsifal  fumed.  'Cryptic  writings.  What  will  that tell us?'

'This  time  I  have  to  agree  with  you,'  said  Vera.  'It  does  seem  remote  from  our mission.  Sometimes  I  wonder  just  what  it  is  I'm  really  doing.  For  the  past  three months   you've   had   me   reviewing   abstracts   on   mitochondrial   DNA   and   human evolution. Tell me how data on placental samples from  New  Guinea  gets  us  any  closer to identifying a primordial tyrant?'

'In this instance, the mummies and their Indo-European script would seem  to  prove that   Caucasian  nomads  influenced  Chinese   civilization   four   thousand   years   ago,' Thomas said.

'And  they  expelled  you  for  that?'  Parsifal  said.  He  fogged  the  glass  with  his  breath and drew  a crucifix. 'Or did the Commies catch you giving last rites to the mummies?'

'Something  far  more  dangerous  is  my  guess,'  Rau  said  to  the  group.  'If  I'm  correct, Thomas,  you  were  proving  that  Chinese  civilization  did  not  develop  in  isolation.  The likelihood that early  Europeans may  have  helped germinate their culture  is  extremely threatening to the Chinese. They're  a very  proud  people,  these  children  of  the  Middle Kingdom.'

'But again, what does that have  to do with us?' asked Vera.

'Everything,  perhaps,'  Rau  ventured.  'The  notion  that  a  great  civilization  might  be modified or even  inspired by  the enemy  or  by  a  lesser  race  or  by  barbarians  is  highly relevant.'

'Plain English will do just fine, Rau,' Parsifal grumbled.

Thomas remained silent. He seemed  to be enjoying their guesswork.

'What if human civilization didn't develop in isolation? What if we had mentors?'

'What do you have  in mind, Rau?' Parsifal said. 'Martians?'

'A little more down to earth.' Rau smiled. 'Hadals.'

'Hadals!' Parsifal said. 'Our mentors?'

'What  if  the  hadals  helped  create  our  civilization  through  the  eons?  What  if  they

cultivated our benighted ancestors, exposed  to mankind its own native intelligence?'

'Haddie was our nursemaid? Those savages?'

'Careful,' said Rau. 'You're starting to sound like the Chinese with their barbarians.'

'Is that it?'  Vera  asked  Thomas.  'You  were  looking  at  China  as  a  paradigm  for  early human civilization?'

'Something like that,' Thomas said.

'And so you traveled  ten thousand miles, and went to jail, all to prove  a theory?'

'A  bit  more,  actually.  I  had  a  hunch,  and  it  bore  out.  As  I  suspected,  the  Caucasian texts   in  Xinjiang  weren't   written   in  Tocharian   script.   Nor   in   any   other   human language. The  reports  were  all  wrong.  Mustafah  and  Foley  and  I  took  one  look  at  the mummies and knew. You see, the mummies were  tattooed with  hadal  symbols.  These Caucasian nomads were  operating  as  agents.  Or  messengers.  They  were  transporting documents into ancient China. Documents written  in some form of hadal script.  If  only we could read it!'

'But  again,'  Parsifal  said,  'so  what?  That  was  four  thousand  years  ago.  And  we  can't read it.'

'Four  thousand  years   ago,  someone  sent   these   people  on  a  mission  to  China,' Thomas said. 'Aren't you a little curious? Who sent them?'

A  van  took  them  to  the  medical  center.  At  the  entrance  to  the  Rende  Research Wing,  they   entered   into  a  crush   of   cops   and   television   cameras.   A   phalanx   of university  representatives  were  taking turns offering themselves  to  the  wolves.  Frost billowed from  every  mouth.  Apparently  the  logic  behind  an  outdoor  press  conference in midwinter was that it would be brief.

'Again,  I  urge  you  to  use  common  sense,'  a  deanlike  figure  was  soothing  the  lenses.

'There's  no such thing as possession.'

A  pretty  news  anchor,  soaked  from  the  thighs  down  with  snowmelt,  shouted  from the  crowd.  'Dr.  Yaron,  are  you  denying  reports  that  the  university  medical  center  is conducting exorcism as a treatment  at the present  time?'

A  bearded  man  with  a  white  grin  leaned  into  the  microphone.  'We're  waiting,'  he said. 'The guy  with the chicken and holy water  still hasn't showed up.'