Atlantis Endgame Part 9

CHAPTER 12.

LINNEA HEARD THE singing first.

She emerged onto the cliff outside the oracle's cave, tired and sweaty, to the faint smell of sulfur and the sound of young girls' voices.

The voices rose and fell in a strange chant. It wasn't music, not to a modern, Western-trained ear, but nor was it totally dissonant.

Mesmerizing, Linnea thought, already mentally writing her monograph . . . except where could she publish it? Project Star was totally secret. She then realized something she had, so far, avoided looking at: that Gordon Ashe, with his fine mind and eternal curiosity, had never published anything. Yet how many fabulous secrets of the human past had he seen? Linnea thought, already mentally writing her monograph . . . except where could she publish it? Project Star was totally secret. She then realized something she had, so far, avoided looking at: that Gordon Ashe, with his fine mind and eternal curiosity, had never published anything. Yet how many fabulous secrets of the human past had he seen?

What does he do? Linnea thought as she crossed the cliff and stood with the little cl.u.s.ter of waiting people. Does he plant clues so that other archaeologists can find them the customary way? Or does he live with the knowledge of treasures of knowledge permanently suppressed? Linnea thought as she crossed the cliff and stood with the little cl.u.s.ter of waiting people. Does he plant clues so that other archaeologists can find them the customary way? Or does he live with the knowledge of treasures of knowledge permanently suppressed?

Or is the word permanently permanently an arrogant a.s.sumption? One thing for certain, he had long ago accepted that fame would not be his. (Never mind fortune. Archaeologists don't get rich, even if they are lucky enough to uncover vast quant.i.ties of gold and precious gems in rich tombs; governments then thud in with their heavy feet, waving official papers right and left, leaving archaeologists with little but their dwindling stipend and the hopes that they can get credit for their find.) an arrogant a.s.sumption? One thing for certain, he had long ago accepted that fame would not be his. (Never mind fortune. Archaeologists don't get rich, even if they are lucky enough to uncover vast quant.i.ties of gold and precious gems in rich tombs; governments then thud in with their heavy feet, waving official papers right and left, leaving archaeologists with little but their dwindling stipend and the hopes that they can get credit for their find.) So, if a trained mind like his had given up the idea of fame, what was the payoff? The satisfaction of a job well done?

That sounds n.o.ble but not quite human, Linnea thought, smiling. Linnea thought, smiling.

A teenage girl dressed in a brightly colored robe, with a golden necklace of stylized serpents, looked up into Linnea's face. She said something-asked a question.

Linnea suppressed the urge to write down the girl's speech and compare it to Greek as the girl then restated in careful Ancient Greek, "Your quest?"

"I seek Ela," Linnea said in the same Ancient Greek, trying to match accents. "Theti sent me."

"Sent you? Why?"

"I met her in Akrotiri," Linnea explained, and then she offered the cover she'd invented on the long walk uphill. "I am a priestess of the Earth G.o.ddess, only from Kemt. I was sent by the G.o.ddess to witness here."

And the girl took it without a blink. "You must come within," she said, gesturing. "We are still finis.h.i.+ng the purification, so-" She touched a forefinger to her lips and led the way past the waiting pet.i.tioners, who watched with patient att.i.tudes, and curious eyes.

Linnea followed, feeling morally queasy at how easily her lie had been believed. She had always a.s.sumed that those who lived around oracles made their living by listening to gossip. Did they really accept directives from outside, just on the word of someone claiming to be sent by their deity?

At least I intend no harm, Linnea thought. Linnea thought. I will do nothing but observe and learn what I may. And my mission is to save these people from a really horrible fate. I will do nothing but observe and learn what I may. And my mission is to save these people from a really horrible fate.

The smell of sulfur intensified as they eased past a great crack between two ma.s.sive rocks. Short as she was, Linnea had to duck and walk sideways for several yards, until cool air suddenly ruffled against her face and they emerged into a wide cavern with a sudden drop at the left. Linnea did not have to look down to see the rus.h.i.+ng water. Above the stream, far above, was another great crack. A shaft of faint golden light, widening slowly, filtered in.

A circle of young girls, all in brightly colored robes with red jackets edged with blue, walked with deliberate step in a circle round what looked like an ancient tree stump, their arms upraised, fingers brought to a point like a beak-or like the head of a serpent, Linnea realized, as she watched the sinuous, dancelike swayings and pouncings of those young arms and hands.

Linnea transferred her gaze to the center of the circle. Had a tree really once grown here? Well, there was light, and below ran water. All that was needed was some bird to drop a seed while flying over that crack.

As the thin shaft of light crept closer to the great tree, Linnea perceived movement in the shadows at the other end of the cave, beyond the circle of the girls and the tree.

Ching! Ching! A girl clashed little copper cymbals, and the chant began again. Between the young bodies, swaying in unison as the girls' voices rose, faintly echoing, Linnea glimpsed a shadowy form all in red.

Two steps, three, and the form resolved into a woman, an older woman, spare of build, her spa.r.s.e hair bound up in a golden serpent-fillet like those of the girls, her eyes dark and surrounded by wrinkles.

Two older women a.s.sisted her. When she neared the circle the young girls did not break their step, only amended it, creating a gap, through which the old woman came on alone.

She approached the great tree stump and climbed up onto it. Linnea couldn't quite see the cut portion, as it was about five feet from the rocky floor, but there seemed to be a seat carved in it, for the priestess sat, just as a thin finger of sunlight touched her hair, lighting the gray to molten silver and shrouding her face in shadow.

The girls finished their chant on a triumphant note and filed back down the narrow creva.s.se through which Linnea had come. Moments later the sound of the voices floated back: now, apparently, the purification ritual included the pet.i.tioners outside.

The priestess sat in her tree-stump throne, breathing slowly, her eyes closed, her hands lying palms up and open on her knees.

Presently a woman walked in, looking about a little fearfully. Her eyes lifted to the great shaft of light, which now fully illuminated the priestess on the throne.

Good theater, Linnea thought, but the skin along her outer arms felt rough.

"Mother G.o.ddess," the woman said in Ancient Greek, as she mounted the gnarled tree roots and joined the seer on the stump. "O Mother G.o.ddess, why do the crops fail, and the sky fill with smoke, and the ground growl at us like a beast hunting prey? What can we do?"

The priestess did not answer. Her eyes stayed closed. A soft hissing sound emerged from the cone of brilliant sunlight, and Linnea realized it was the seer's breathing. Those breaths were long, each slightly louder than the one before, a hiss that sounded very like a snake.

A snake. Just as Linnea identified the sound, the seer straightened up. She seemed to grow, to expand a little, as she lifted her face up toward the sunlight. Still the hissed breathing, in and out, and Linnea became aware of the older priestesses standing along the perimeter of the chamber breathing in the same slow rhythm.

Then, slowly, the seer began to sway, reminding Linnea of the snakelike swayings of the girls during the purification chants. Her head turned from side to side, almost like a blinded snake looking, seeking, reaching. Listening.

Linnea, realizing that, felt p.r.i.c.kles again, but she caught herself up, thinking, This is just theater. It's good theater This is just theater. It's good theater- the very best the very best-but it's all showmans.h.i.+p.

Still, it was three-thousand-year-old showmans.h.i.+p, and as such, it was very well worth watching. And she forced herself to divert from the hindbrain's awe by counting up the elements, one by one, that made the whole seem so unnervingly . . . real. real.

The far-off girls' voices, chanting in a mesmerizing pattern; the light; the great aged tree stump that had grown so unlikely in this cavern; the rus.h.i.+ng water; even the faint whiffs of sulfur. And then the old seer's rhythmic writhing: despite her evident age, she moved now, graceful and supple as one of those young acolytes out front.

At last she spoke, in a voice that startled Linnea. It was a guttural voice, harsh, loud, and because it was in the local language (or was it?) she could not understand a word.

But the pet.i.tioner appeared to understand, for she bowed her head, and her tense shoulders slumped.

A priestess moved forward to help her down, and she walked out slowly, her face drawn and worried.

Linnea turned to the nearest priestess, who saw her movement and touched her fingertips to her lips.

One by one the rest of the pet.i.tioners came in, and again and again the seer breathed that hissing breath and writhed, her eyes wide open but blind-looking. Again she cried out something in that guttural voice that clawed at Linnea's viscera, and the pet.i.tioners departed in silence, not one of them looking happy with the answers that they got.

There were seven of them. If others waited outside, they had been dismissed. The sun had moved, in the meantime, and the golden shaft now left the seer on her throne and painted the rocky floor instead. The seer, in shadow, seemed to shrink in on herself, and without any words spoken two st.u.r.dy middle-aged priestesses moved to the sides of the great tree to help her down.

Her eyes were open, but she seemed to be blind. Her hands, once graceful, now fumbled, looking frail and aged.

The priestesses all moved around the empty tree and followed the seer into that back area. Linnea hesitated, and then joined them, moving tentatively, but no one shooed her away or otherwise paid attention to her.

They each ducked under a triangular archway made by two slabs of pumice cracked and s.h.i.+fted apart by unimaginable forces, and Linnea found herself in a back chamber. It was stuffy here; there was no sky-crack to let in air. Reflected light from the tree chamber was dim, revealing rugs on the ground.

The seer was gently helped onto one of these. Everyone stood in silence as she stretched out, breathing slowly again, but without that awful hiss.

After a time she stirred, made a motion to sit, and again two priestesses sprang to help her, their movements tender with unspoken love and respect.

Someone brought in a little oil lamp and set it down before the seer. Its tiny tongue of flame painted golden color on a worn face that now looked sweet, grandmotherly, and very, very weary.

"Thirst," she murmured-in Ancient Greek.

Someone brought her a cup of water, probably from the stream. Someone else brought dried fish and crumbled goat cheese, and a tiny bunch of withered grapes.

The seer munched her way through these foods with no apparent enjoyment. Her brow was slightly puckered, as if she had a ma.s.sive headache, and she chewed and swallowed as one performing a duty.

At last the food was gone, and all of the water. She sighed, and one of the women gently ma.s.saged her temples.

No one spoke, not until one of the girls came in and said, "Maestra, they are all gone."

The woman who had brought the water turned her head. "Thank you, child. Tell the others they are free to eat their meal."

Others among the priestesses stirred now, some pa.s.sing out fava-seed bread, cheese, grapes. The priestesses talked in low murmurs as the seer had her head rubbed, her eyes closed now. She was surrounded by quiet now, as before she'd been surrounded by that fierce shaft of bright sunlight, the more fierce, Linnea realized, because of all the particulate matter in the air. The sun here before the volcano began smoking and rumbling must have been pure and clear, as clear as the ocean waters.

At last the seer looked up. Her question was the last thing Linnea expected: "What did I say?"

And the chief priestess shook her head sadly. "Nothing. The spirits are still silent."

CHAPTER 13.

"UP THIS WAY," Ross said, pointing.

He paused, gazing up the mountain path. A wisp of smoke haze drifted by, borne on the strengthening breeze. The smoke seemed to leech all the color out of the spa.r.s.e hillside, rendering it unfamiliar, almost alien.

"Or was it?"

"Can you orient on the peninsula?" Ashe asked, after a time.

Ross felt a hot zap of annoyance at his own stupidity. Yes, the smoke had given him a fairly nasty headache, making it difficult to think, but Ashe probably had one as well.

Ross turned around, staring down through the haze toward the peninsula that stretched westward from below Akrotiri. The pre-Kameni Island was barely visible through the murk of smoke and steam, but one thing he could see was the purple clouds headed their way. Even if he hadn't felt fitful puffs of cooler, moisture-laden air pus.h.i.+ng through the hot, humid haze, he would have sensed a major storm on the way. From the tightness at the base of his skull, the way the hairs on his arms p.r.i.c.kled, it was a storm that carried a full load of artillery in the form of lightning and hail.

"We're going to have to find cover," he said to Ashe.

The man shrugged. "Let's get as high as we can. Maybe dive into some creva.s.se if we don't find your vent first." Ross nodded once, ignoring the corresponding pang in his head, and turned around again. He remembered orienting himself several times on that previous journey. "Yes. That way," he said, pointing up to the left. They trudged on.

THE STORM CAME on with energetic rapidity.

Eveleen and Kosta dropped over the side of the boat away from the coast, so that no one who happened to have field gla.s.ses, or the alien equivalent, would see their scuba gear. Stav had erected a tent onboard, which was common enough, especially when the weather was as fierce as it was now.

They undipped the sled from the hull of the boat and hung on as the small but powerful electric motor pulled them away and down. A strong sense of relief shot through Eveleen as they moved steadily downward. The wind had been getting up, and the water had formed little whitecaps; though they couldn't see beyond the mountain blocking the northern sky, Stav had said with Greek stoicism, "Storm on the way. I'll batten down once you two get under the surface."

Out this far from any others they could speak English, which was a relief. Though the Greek agents still called the mysterious Fur Faces Younoprosopoi, Younoprosopoi, and they also called the Baldies and they also called the Baldies Falakri, Falakri, or or Exoyinii. Exoyinii. Eveleen found these nicknames more elegant, even though the first one simply meant "bald ones" and the second "aliens." The sobriquet "Baldies" for the hairless aliens of the future sounded kind of silly, but it had stuck over decades. Eveleen found these nicknames more elegant, even though the first one simply meant "bald ones" and the second "aliens." The sobriquet "Baldies" for the hairless aliens of the future sounded kind of silly, but it had stuck over decades. Rather like the way we still call Native Americans "Indians," Rather like the way we still call Native Americans "Indians," Eveleen thought as she swam downward, laughing inside. Eveleen thought as she swam downward, laughing inside. Which probably thoroughly confuses any aliens who spy in our time. Which probably thoroughly confuses any aliens who spy in our time.

The light changed abruptly. They'd reached the level where shafts s.h.i.+fted and changed, but suddenly they faded and vanished. Eveleen flipped over, holding on to the sled with one hand, and saw the remarkable effect of hail and rain pockmarking the surface. It was a beautiful sight, but she forced herself to turn back. Some day, Some day, she resolved, she resolved, if we get back all right, I will have time to watch a storm from below. if we get back all right, I will have time to watch a storm from below.

Next to her Kosta turned on his forehead lamp and started surveying the depths in its beam.

Eveleen turned hers on as well and then pulled out the device that Ashe had given her. They couldn't use sonics for this search; there was too much area to be covered and the returns were confused by the water. Ashe's device wasn't much better, but it worked underwater. About all it could do was detect the presence of alien tech within a range of twenty yards; as one might expect when dealing with a technology far beyond most theories contemporary scientists could come up with, it could tell little more. But after much research, and the invention of a different way of looking at quantum mechanics, the brain boys had realized that the power source for Baldie tech involved some sort of temporal distortion, and some smart lab jockey had figured a way to use a piece of the Baldies' own tech to home in on its brethren via that signature. Unfortunately, it was active detection, so they were announcing themselves to the Baldies by using it. But that couldn't be helped. At least they knew where they were-and maybe their actions were causing the devices to be turned off. That was enough, for now.

She and Kosta reached the cliffs supporting the island. Dramatic striations of rock and great upthrusts of ancient pumice testified to the terrific volcanic activity of the past millions of years.

She flicked her device on and held it out. A faint signal responded, pretty much the same signal the men had gotten on their first preliminary cruise.

Now to get a vector on position.

Kosta took the sled-he was far more practiced in its use, and it was difficult to steer when it was going slowly. Eveleen swam away from him until they were just in sight of each other. She checked the detector: still a good signal, if weak.

She turned Kosta's way and saw him gesture toward his device, confirming that he, too, still had a signal.

By hand signals they divided up the immediate terrain, and Kosta dove down to explore parallel to Eveleen. They would continue to do so until their air ran low, occasionally syncing the machines for a pattern comparison that, they hoped, would locate any Baldie tech.

Curious fish swam slowly by as they proceeded along the silent rock face with its dotting of colorful plants. Eveleen looked at those plants with their astonis.h.i.+ng variety of waving fronds, tentacles, and cilia, and frowned, thinking of what was going to happen to them all before long. These were the plants that scientists would eventually find fossilized by burning lava three thousand years up the line.

She shook her head. Plenty of time to brood later.

A faint flash of purple caused her to roll over. Another flash of purple beyond the surface, which was otherwise quite dark, gave evidence of a truly violent storm going on.

Eveleen turned back to work. They proceeded along the rock face for an hour, Kosta zooming over to her every fifteen minutes to link the devices, just to discover that the detectors still couldn't localize the signal. Strange. Eveleen watched her device. Either it was defective or it was insufficiently sensitive.

A faint signal without locale . . . could that mean bits of low-end tech all over? Or was it the opposite? A great concentration of alien tech, but at a remove?

A little while longer, and she started checking her tank every ten minutes. About four checks later, Kosta maneuvered the sled up to her, indicating that this was the place they were to go up. He had the compa.s.s, and they'd planned out the exploration with Stav in the boat.

They arrowed up. Eveleen was relieved to see that the color of the sky was once again blue, that the surface was visible.

Her relief was short-lived.

When they popped up and removed their masks, Stav and the boat were nowhere in sight.

LINNEA WATCHED THE water shaft down through the crack in the ceiling as the priestesses went about their business. The girls, given permission, danced about in the waterfall, cooling themselves off. They giggled and splashed water on one another, so much like girls of modern times-like Linnea's own daughter had at that age. The sight smote her heart. We have to save them, We have to save them, she thought. And again, she thought. And again, Why am I here? Why am I here?

So far, she had found out exactly nothing.

The storm had come on fast. As the seer sat in silent meditation, the women finished their meal and set about cleaning up the few remains.

Now some of them took off their robes and washed them in the waterfall from the rain, then stepped into the water. Judging from their reaction, it was cool but not miserable. They gasped, but with delight.

Linnea, itchy, gritty, gave in to impulse. She couldn't bring herself to disrobe completely. Old conditioning was too strong for that. But she could get herself and her robe soaked, and at least wash away most of the sweaty grime.

The women, unconcerned, chattered around her. Linnea turned her face up into the water, which had run long enough to be free of silt. As the refres.h.i.+ng coolness pounded down onto her, she gasped, and then as the aggravating itchy heat dissipated, replaced by a sense of cool cleanliness, her mind ranged freely, and she thought about the day.

It was no longer fair to even think "theater," she had decided. These women were not pulling a scam, however other oracles and cults had worked in other times and places. They sincerely believed in what they were doing; there was no reason to behave the way they did otherwise. They were also obviously not stupid people. In their paradigm, what they believed made sense.