Engines Of God

OBLATENESS: O.OO4

MASS (EARTH = 1): 1.06

DENSITY (WATER = 1): 5.3

ALBEDO: O.44

AXIS TILT (DEC): 18.7 ROTATIONAL PERIOD (D/H/M): 1/1/17

OTHER

ELECTROMAGNETIC RADIATION

(ARTIFICIAL): None Noted MEAN EQUATORIAL NOON

TEMPERATURE (EST): 28 °C

"Hey!" Carson pointed at one of the moons. The one designated Three-B.

At the same moment, they heard the captain's voice, raised a notch above his usual monotone: "Director, we have an anomaly on Three-B."

"We see it," said Truscott. Three-B was the largest of the satellites. It was heavily scored, covered with lava seas. In the northern hemisphere, they could make out, on the western arm of a broad plain, something. A mark. An eruption. A speck.

"What is it?" said Carson. "Can you give us a better picture?"

The image got bigger. And clearer. "We don't know yet," said the Captain. "It's the same color as the surrounding rock."

"It looks like a square," said Janet, awake again.

Morris had become almost frenetic. It was amusing to see him nonplused. "It does appear symmetrical," he said.

"It's an Oz," said Hutch.

"Roughly two hundred kilometers on a side," continued the captain. "Big."

"She's right," said Carson. "It's the same damned thing they've got at Quraqua."

Maggie raised a triumphant fist. "Except bigger. A lot bigger."

Truscott looked at Carson. "Do we want to inspect it up close?"

Carson glanced at each of his people in turn. "No," he said. "We know what it is."

Truscott nodded. "Obviously," she said. "It is Oz, isn't it? Why do I have the feeling you've been holding back on me. What's the co

Carson shrugged. "No big secret," he began.

After the continent had drifted into the world's night, the Academy team reviewed the pictures. They looked for likely city-building sites: harbors, river junctions, mountain passes. And for roads. For any evidence of habitation.

George was looking at a site about 30 degrees north, where the land mass narrowed to less than half a kilometer. Lush red and yellow forest rolled downhill from a promontory and spilled into the ocean on both sides. It was the kind of area that, on Earth, would have been natural high-roller real estate. Good place to spend a weekend with Hutch. His mind drifted and his tides began to rise when he noticed a sharp angle in the trees. A shadow. A wall, maybe.

Or a place where a wall had once existed.

He could find nothing more definite, and was about to show Hutch, when Janet said quietly, "I think I've got something."

They were only dark pocks on a river. But they were regularly spaced.

"I think they're bridge supports," said Janet, her voice rising. "Son of a bitch, they are!" She threw up her hands. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a bridge"

Well, they didn't really have a bridge. They had the remnants. But it didn't matter. Cheers broke out. The assembled passengers surged forward, spilling coffee, pounding one another, calling to others outside to come see. There were handshakes all around and Hutch got squeezed and kissed and squeezed again. But she didn't mind. Goddam, she did not care.

"Congratulations," said Truscott.

"How much time," said Carson, "can you give us?"

"Frank," she said patiently, "I am already well behind schedule. We had an agreement."

"But we have found something."

"Yes, we have. The Academy has a new archeological site to explore." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I even think I know how much it means to you. But we have to get moving. I'm glad we got something out of this, but I'm going to authorize departure. Morris is raising a storm. And he has grounds for complaint. You'll have to come back with your own people."

Hutch thought she knew what it would mean. Somebody would figure out that this world had been home to a starfaring society. There'd be a lot at stake, and consequently the mission would be taken away from the Academy. There'd been momentum in that direction before they left home. Carson and his friends might one day return, but it would take a while, and they would be subordinate parts of a much larger operation.

Damn.

Truscott left, and they sat listlessly around the lounge, commiserating with one another, crashed from the emotional high of a half hour before. Hutch stood all she could for fifteen minutes, and got up to go somewhere else. As she did, the commlink chimed, and Sill's image appeared. "Dr. Carson," he said, "would you come up to the bridge, please? Bring your colleagues with you."

"We have an object in orbit."

Melanie Truscott, with the captain in tow, steered her five passengers to the main navigation display. It was mostly starfield, with a muted planetary arm across the bottom. One of the stars was extremely bright. "That one," she said.

Hutch felt a ripple of exhilaration. "What kind of object?"

The captain answered. "We don't know. You're looking at mag five. But it isn't a natural satellite. Its RI is way too high for its range."

"An RI is a reflectivity index," said Truscott. "It's big.

Bigger than our station at Quraqua."

Hutch and Carson silently shook hands.

"John." Truscott was addressing the captain. "Are we prepared to make a quick exit if we have to?"

"Yes, Director." He motioned to one of his crewmen, a quick jab with his index finger, and the crewman spoke into a mike. Hutch suspected they were warning all passengers to tie down.

"Is there any indication of onboard power?" asked Hutch.

"Negative." Morris bent over one of the consoles. "Nothing." He looked sternly at Truscott. "Melanie, we have a ship full of people. I think we should leave the area."

The bridge was immense by Hutch's standards. There were four officers on duty, not counting the captain. One, a young woman seated at the navigation console, touched his shoulder and directed his attention to a display. "We've got lights down on the surface," she said. "Low power. Very low. Probably not electrical."

"Reflections?" asked Truscott.

"Possibly," she said.

Truscott turned to Carson. "Someone's made your point for you, Frank. What do you want to look at first?"

When had Hutch ever seen Carson look more pleased? "The orbiter," he said.

"Very good." She folded her arms. "I believe we are about to commit history."

They pursued the white star down the curve of the world.

It took a hauntingly familiar form on the scopes: a double-ring rotating wheel, not unlike the home station, or Kosmik's orbiter at Quraqua. The architectural style was less utilitarian. This orbiter possessed a degree of elegance and panache, of blurred lines and eclectic curves. It looked fully capable of harboring winding staircases and secret rooms. It was a station with a gothic flavor, maybe the kind of station Poe would have designed.

Windows were everywhere. But they were dark.

Hutch loved it. She watched it drift closer, felt a cool stirring within her, a chill that was simultaneously pleasurable and disquieting.

"Negative EMR," said one of the officers. "It's tumbling." And, moments later: "Wheels not rotating."

Pity, thought Hutch. We're too late again.

She knew Carson well enough to read his discouragement. There was no denying the signs: the Bowls in disrepair, no lights on the surface, a collapsed bridge, and a dead orbiter. The Monument-Makers were gone.

"We'll want to board," said Truscott.

Carson nodded Yes, as if he had anticipated a struggle.

The captain's features hardened. "I advise against it, Director."

There was something wrong about it. More than its strangeness, because strangeness was at the heart of the thing, designed into it, underscored by all those unlighted windows. Something else was wrong.