The Unearthing (40 page)

“How likely is that?”

“Very, actually,” Paulson replied, “Once we have the basic structure of the language and know the context of the runic symbols, the rules, the modifiers et cetera, we can generate a ‘ware that’ll translate Shiplanguage into English, or any other Human language we program the machine with.”

“Although it seems likely we’ll have better luck if we translate into Japanese, or one of the Arab dialects,” Andrews said, “From what we were able to record in the language lab before they shut us down, Shiplanguage is very contextual. The order of the symbols, their placement and the symbols next to them all modify one another in very specific ways. A language as simple and basic as English might not have the complexities necessary to properly interpret Shiplanguage.”

“We may have to filter Shiplanguage through another level of Human language before it can be translated into English,” Aiziz concluded, “But we should still be able, eventually, to come up with an interpreter.”

“For my own part,” Bloom told them, “I’ve been working with engineers through the Grid on a study of the Ship, based on what we’ve seen of it so far. Basically, we know three things: It’s big, it’s old and it’s the most well built thing we’ve ever seen.” There were mirthful groans of irritation around the table.

“The basics behind the engineering of the Ship are sound,” Bloom said, “From what I’ve seen there’s nothing very new or radical as far as principles of engineering go. The real miracles must be in the materials and alien technology. That’s my basic job here: to locate and extract tech that the World Council thinks will be beneficial to Humanity. Until we actually get beyond the language lab and into the Ship itself, there isn’t much as an engineer that I can do. That’s why I’ve filed for a temporary leave of absence. My daughter’s home from hospital and I’m going to spend the next few days by her side. I’ll return once the World Ship Summit has announced its decision regarding the future of our expedition. Major Benedict will be taking care of you while I’m gone and will be able to reach me if necessary.”

♦♦♦

“And then what happened?” Doctor Brace asked. James swallowed hard.

“Allison thought it best that she go alone to get Laura home from the hospital,” He said, “And I thought it best I try and reach you as quickly as possible.”

“You’re fortunate that I do two hours a day of Grid linx appointments,” Brace said from the viewer boom over James’ left eye, “So Allison’s not back from the hospital with Laura, yet?”

“No…they should be back soon. I got a text message from Allison saying traffic was bad.”

Brace nodded. “You have your work cut out for you where Allison’s concerned,” She said, “That much is certain. I can’t say that I’m pleased with you using the tranquilizers I prescribed to get high. It was stupid and dangerous. For someone who’s afraid to die, Mister Johnson, you shouldn’t take such a risk with your life. You have to start appreciating your life instead of simply being afraid to lose it. We all die, Mister Johnson. It’s inevitable. You have to focus on other things. When you start thinking about death again, fight back. Think about what you have; what’s worth living for. What you want to accomplish. What you want to do. Life is for living. You’re conscious awareness of your mortality can be a blessing in disguise if you let it.”

♦♦♦

“Mark, have a look at this,” Cole beckoned from where she’d been working with cell samples. It was late at night, Cole and Kodo having spent much of the day hunched over their desks, working diligently. Kodo sighed and stretched, coming over from his workstation to Cole’s. He moved with exhaustive lethargy. Cole turned the eyepiece of her microscope toward him.

“Here,” She said, “Have a look at this. I was trying to isolate the polymerized cells from the regular cells.” Under the microscope slide one of the darker, polymerized cells was stuck against a small cluster of living tissue.

“Notice anything?”

“Not really,” Kodo said. Cole increased magnification until the cells seemed as big as saucers under the lens. She then positioned a microscopic spot light directly over the sample.

“How about now?” she asked. In the sample dish, a dot of blue energy had appeared in the polymerized cell and glowing veins of blue could be seen flowing to each of the cells in the tissue sample.

“My God,” Kodo said.

“This is occurring under normal light as well,” Cole explained, “But it’s much stronger when light is concentrated on the polymerized cells.”

“Then this is how the cells have been staying alive; the polymerized cells have become photovoltaic generators.”

“That’s right. And those cellular components that we couldn’t identify are part of that process. In the regular cells, they convert the power current generated by the voltaic cells into nutrients. In the polymerized cells, they run photosynthesis.”

“Simone, you’re a genius.”

“Well, yes, Mark, I am.”

♦♦♦

“Good morning, Elder Santino,” Santino sighed heavily. He could never understand why Catholic clergy always seemed to be such bloody morning people. It was half past six and he wanted for another hour’s sleep, at least. He toggled the comm switch on his console, turning the screen so it faced him.

“Morning Brother Gage,” He said, to the cheery-faced young man on the roll-out screen before him, “But this early, it can never be good.”

“Actually, I’d think it is,” Gage replied.

“You would,” Santino sniped, “Why? What is it? Our committee isn’t supposed to sit…” he called up his schedule on a submenu, “Shit! Brother Simon, we’re not meeting until this afternoon!”

“I know. You have an unscheduled breakfast meeting.” Why him? Santino bemoaned. He’d been having breakfast meetings off and on since he’d gotten here. First, the heads of the Aboriginal Delegation had wanted to speak to him and then it was the Hindu Delegation, the Muslims, everyone wanting to hear about the Ship, all of them asking for his perspective on it as a Shaman. Try as he might he couldn’t get it through these peoples’ heads that he
wasn’t
a Shaman, he was a scholar.

“Who wants to see me, this time?” he growled, “The Pope?”

“Actually, yes,” Brother Gage said. Santino sat up in bed, suddenly fully awake. The Pope had asked for an audience. With him.

“He knows I’m not a Shaman, right?”

“Yes.”

“Who told him?”

“I told the Bishop, who told the Cardinal…I can only imagine the Pontiff saw it on your updated biography on our Grid spar.”

“When’s breakfast?”

“His Holiness likes to have breakfast at seven thirty.” Gage replied, “You have about half an hour before someone comes to collect you.”

“Collect me? I’m housed a half-klick from the Vatican.”

“We have to brief you on protocol when meeting the Earthly head of the Roman Catholic Church.”

“Oh. Great.”

“We’ll see you in a half an hour.”

“Half an hour. Great.” Santino grunted. He terminated the linx and rolled out of bed. It was going to be a long, goddamn day.

Santino was escorted into the Pontiff’s inner sanctum and into the walled garden beyond. Besides the Pope, few people ever saw this place. Santino was shown to a table in the middle of the enclosed garden and seated before Pope Simon Peter. The aged Black man poured the former Chief of the Laguna Band a cup of strong coffee.

“Good morning sir,” The Pontiff said, “I request one thing of you before we begin: speak honestly with me, or not at all. Although the people around me mean well, they so often fail to inform me, as much as they flatter me.”

“All right,” Santino said, “I think I can do that.”

“Good,” The Pope replied, “Then I can reasonably expect not to always hear what I want to hear from you. I imagine you’re wondering why you’ve been given an audience with me.”

“Yes your Eminence, the question had crossed my mind.” A servant brought out a small buffet of breakfast foods. The Pope heaped scrambled eggs and bacon onto his plate, along with toast and sausage. As Santino filled his plate, the Pope glanced at him wryly.

“One of the greatest advantages of age and heading the third largest religion in the world,” he said, “Is being able to eat what you please for breakfast.” Santino smiled. They ate in silence for a few moments, each of them relishing their initial mouthfuls of breakfast. Finally, the Pope spoke:

“Plainly put, Elder Santino,” The Pontiff raised a hand to pre-emptively silence Santino as he saw the other man begin to object to the use of the title, “Whether you are comfortable with the honorific or not it owns you as you do it,
Elder
. Plainly put, I have asked to see you because of all the people gathered in Roma as part of this fourth Vatican Council you alone have seen the Ship; you alone were there when it was unearthed.”

“I didn’t actually witness the Unearthing,” Santino said, “But I have seen the Ship; I’ve stood near it and heard the Shipsong.”

“I have read and seen records of testimony from quite a few people who have been near the Ship,” the Pontiff informed him, “Mainly my fellow-Catholics who related these encounters to their clergy.”

“Then I don’t suspect there is much new information that I can give you.”

“Every report I have read, every record I have seen, has all been coloured from the Catholic point of view. Even when the accounts were of Catholics finding doubts in their faith after having been to the Ship, everything is filtered. We tend to be biased by our beliefs. That was one of the reasons I made Vatican IV multifaith. I even invited the Pagans, much to the horror of many Catholics,” The Pope chuckled. “I come from Haiti. I grew up with Voodoo and Catholicism living side by side. All religions, Elder Santino,
all
religions have something to say to us.”

“I wouldn’t even go so far as to say I’m very religious Your Eminence,” Santino replied, “A scholar of Native American religion and folklore, yes; but not much of a believer.”

“Then you will see things from the perspective of your
lack
of faith,” The Pope said, “Either way, I need to know what you saw after the Ship was Unearthed and how you saw it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand why.”

“Because,” the Pontiff sighed, “It is my intention to go there and when I see the Ship for the first time with as much understanding as possible.”

Santino chuckled, hiding it badly taking a bite from his toast. “You’ll forgive me, but given who you are…”

The Pope smiled, understanding. “Yes, yes. I am the head of the Catholic Church. Everything I do or say is coloured by my perspective as the Pope. Tell me Elder Santino: What defines your perspective? Your job? Your religious convictions or lack thereof? The experiences you’ve had? The teachers who educated you? Your family, your friends?”

“Pretty much all of the above,”

“Then what makes you think I am any different? One does not stop being a man just because one becomes Pope. One still has one’s past, one’s life experience to draw upon. My world is very much coloured by my beliefs. I have dedicated my life to God, as revealed to me through Jesus Christ. I have had the good fortune and the blessing to become the Earthly head of His Church. But I am also a man of this world. I have degrees in psychology, anthropology, bio-agriculture, diplomacy…I know six languages…I was part of the Slam Culture as a young man…I served on a freighter during War Three and before becoming a Priest I was married and widowed. Is it so hard to believe, then, that when I see the Ship for the first time I want to see it without lenses of bias in front of my eyes?”

“No…I suppose not.” Santino replied.

The Pontiff smiled. “It is important for me to see the Ship for what it is. Not what I want it to be,” he said. “That is why I need to know what
you
saw, when you first saw the Ship.”

♦♦♦

James and Allison hardly spoke when she’d returned from the hospital with Allison. He spent that day on the couch and Allison spent it tending Laura. Then the following day Bloom arrived and was taking care of Laura as much as she could. Her daughter was in and out because of the painkillers, but Bloom was tending to her diligently, freeing up Allison and James to get back to avoid each other. When everyone had retired for the night, James and Allison lay in bed together. Allison put on the blacklight and lit a joint. She smoked it for a while before James reached out a hand and she passed it to him. Allison blew out a long stream of smoke, regarding him in the faint gloom.

“James, we have to talk.”

“Yeah, I know,” She held her breath, a long moment. Those three words were becoming an all too regular part of his vocabulary. He took his tokes from the joint before passing it back to her.

“Yeah, I know,” he said again, “I’m just scared. Growing old…aging, dying…it’s all just too
terrifying
.”

“James, we all grow old. We all die.”

“I know; everyone tells me that. But, I don’t
want
to,” He said, flatly, “And if I
have
to die, I want to know that there’s something else out there, that I’m going to get to be part of.”

“We all do James,”

“But I’m not sure that there is. I don’t think there’s really anything out there.”

“There has to be.”

“There does? Why?” He turned to regard her, rolling over to look up into her face. She shook her head in response to his question and then asked him one of her own.