3zekiel (First Contact) Page 8

  “Yes, but why is that important?” Mordecai asks.

  Angela gets it. “So, the extraterrestrials are lowering a cable to Earth from an asteroid, but that can only happen at the equator. Anywhere along the equator, but only on the equator.”

  “I don’t understand,” Mordecai says.

  Angela replies, “Orbits are counterintuitive. They have very exact requirements.”

  Pretzel clarifies. “Everything in space is in motion. The only way to stay stationary relative to a position on Earth is to remain directly above the equator. We have geostationary satellites, but they’re only ever over the equator. If what you say is correct, and the Book of Ezekiel contains an account of an extraterrestrial encounter like the one we’re witnessing, then Ezekiel wasn’t an eye witness—someone else was and he simply recounted the story, as this particular type of encounter could only occur in a very narrow geographic band.”

  Pretzel gets to his feet, slapping his thighs. “Anyway, it’s a nice, entertaining idea but we have work to do. Where are those caves, Josh?”

  And just like that, I’m back on Team Science.

  Waterfall

  We follow the base of the cliff, moving away from the waterfall, planting sensors in various locations, climbing trees and strapping probes to the underside of branches as well as digging into the rotten leaves on the ground to bury them just below the surface. The ants find them fascinating, swarming over them within seconds, diligently looking for some way to break into these alien devices. For me, that’s the strange thing about the scientists. They’re here to study extraterrestrials, but to us, they’re the ones from another world.

  Petty Officer Garcia is out in front. Jana and Angela are walking ahead of me, with Pretzel bringing up the rear. Without meaning to pry, I’m interested to listen to their conversation.

  “Yeah, she’s quite something, huh?” Jana says in response to a comment by Angela. They’re talking about Lady.

  “I think she’s brilliant… You know, when we were dropped into the jungle, we thought we knew what to expect. We thought all the surprises were going to come from above. We never expected to meet you and Josh, let alone Lady.

  Jana is a little embarrassed by the attention, her eyes drift down, watching the fall of her shoes on the track. Typical African modesty. She never gives herself enough credit.

  Angela says, “Assumptions are always dangerous, Jana. Instinctively, we rely on them, but we shouldn’t. We really shouldn’t. Take Pretzel and me. We thought this was all about ET, but it’s not. It’s about you and Josh and Lady and Tiny. This is your home and they’re just dropping by.”

  “Do you think they’re dangerous?” Jana asks, and I quicken my pace, not wanting to miss Angela’s reply.

  “We can’t assume anything... Everything’s dangerous. Helicopters. Cars. Bicycles. We live in an inherently dangerous world, so we take precautions, like wearing seatbelts or a helmet.”

  Jana doesn’t understand. “You mean, they’re dangerous? Kinda like snakes or leopards?”

  “Not just them. Absolutely everything is dangerous in some way. Water’s dangerous. People drown, right? But it’s more than that—drink too much water and you die. Too much oxygen is poisonous. So even good things must be balanced or they become dangerous. It’s pretty wild when you think about life like that, huh?”

  “Yeah, crazy,” Jana says. There’s warmth in her voice. She likes Dr. O’Brien. Although we call her Angela because she told us to, I’m sure Jana is like me, thinking of her more formally as Dr. O’Brien when she talks about science. She carries herself with an air of confidence we both find refreshing. She knows I’m listening, trailing in just a few feet behind them.

  “I don’t think the aliens mean us harm. Their whole approach has been cautious, but there are dangers. That’s not a problem, though. We just need to manage those risks.”

  “That’s why we have these probes,” Jana says.

  “Yes. Exactly. We have these probes so we can understand any potential danger. It’s not something to be afraid of, but we need to be cautious.”

  Jana nods her head in agreement. I like Dr. Angela O’Brien. She’s smart.

  As we pass through the dense undergrowth, we come across a termite nest.

  “Oh, this looks interesting,” she says, and we come to a stop. Garcia watches from afar, standing almost thirty feet further on, having walked past the mound without giving it a second thought. To the scientists, though, it’s an ideal spot for another probe.

  “Nice find,” Pretzel says.

  “I’m thinking one on the outside, one inside,” Angela says.

  “That’ll work,” Pretzel replies, joining her by the termite hill.

  Jana and I lower our backpacks and the scientists set to work placing the probes. Angela uses a stick to dig away at the side of the mound, exposing the catacomb within. Termites swarm everywhere, even though they hate daylight. Their home is under attack by giants, but it’s better those giants are from this world and not another.

  Pretzel sets the probes, raising the antenna and checking the signal. Angela takes readings, tapping away on the tablet computer.

  From the bushes behind us comes rustling leaves and the sound of shaking branches. Both Jana and I step away, turning to face the noise, but I’m confused. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the jungle, it’s that you never see or hear an attack coming. Leopards are too smart for that. No, this is something different. A dark, furry hand reaches around a tree trunk, snatching at Jana’s backpack as it rests on the track.

  “Hey, put that down,” Pretzel yells as a mandrill makes off with one of the sensors, crashing through the foliage.

  Jana laughs. Baboons are intensely curious and this one has probably been following us for some time, intrigued by the hairless ones, as Lady would call us. We catch brief glimpses of his plump, bright red ass flashing at us as he rushes through the jungle.

  Angela shakes her head, laughing. “We did not train for this.”

  “It’s sabotage,” Pretzel says, only half serious, laughing and shaking his head at this surprising act of animal theft.

  Garcia smiles. “Well, you wanted a wide variety of readings.”

  We continue along the animal trail. Mud squishes beneath our boots as we move through a shallow marsh at the base of the cliff.

  “There he is,” Jana says, pointing. The baboon is sitting on a rock ahead of us, taunting us, apparently figuring out where we’re going. He’s chewing on the casing, trying to pry open the sensor with his huge canine incisors.

  A small troop of baboons shelter from the sun beneath the broad trunk of a nearby rainforest giant, towering almost as high as the ragged cliff. Young baboons play among the thick roots, squabbling like children in a schoolyard, while the dominant male is intent on wrecking the sensor, pulling at the plastic casing and trying to pry it apart.

  Although their fur is dark, mandrills are stunning, with tufts of fawn colored hair wrapped around their necks like a collar, leading to a goatee beard. With deep set, dark eyes and a slight mohawk, they look like punk rockers after a hard night out. It’s their nose that gets the most attention, though, as it’s a contradiction of color. Long blue bands span either side of their bright red nostrils. Picasso couldn’t have done any better.

  “Put that down,” Pretzel says, hurrying along the track. In response, the baboon starts smashing the sensor on the rocks. “Oh, no, no, no.”

  Garcia says, “Let him have his fun.”

  “Yeah,” Jana says. “You really don’t want to argue with him.”

  That comment seems to get Pretzel’s attention and he turns back to join us on the path. The baboon continues pounding the sensor, bending its antenna and cracking the case. Angela shrugs. “Don’t ask me how, but I’m getting readings from that thing.”

  I think it’s hilarious.

  “We’re close,” Jana says.

  As we creep through the undergrowth, there are tiny bats hanging beneath
the branches of several broadleaf plants.

  “Oh, I’m loving this shit,” Pretzel says, reaching down beneath the plant and rubbing some grit between his fingers.

  “He’s not kidding—he really does.” Angela sets up a sensor beneath the bats, positioning it in an area where guano is slowly accumulating.

  The entrance to the cave is in shadow. Tens of thousands of bats hang from the ceiling, either trying to sleep or madly crawling over each other.

  “Oh, yeah, this is perfect.” Pretzel uses a knife to scrape away some of the guano, examining how deep it lies on the cave floor. “Physically, this cave is sheltered, so we wouldn’t expect any significant change regardless of the weather, but these bats—I love ‘em. They’re our little collectors. What do they eat? Insects? Fruit?”

  “I guess,” I say, not really having thought about it too much.

  “This is wonderful. These guys will fly easily fifty kilometers each night foraging for food before returning here. They’re going to do a lot of our work for us. If there’s any microbial impact from the alien presence or the introduction of toxic heavy metals, they’re going to inadvertently retrieve samples for us and politely deposit them on the cave floor.”

  I’ve never seen someone so excited about bat shit.

  Pretzel and Angela set up fifteen monitors throughout the vast cave, far more than we’ve laid down in any other spot. They position them strategically, with a few right at the back where the vast cave narrows to just a few feet. A stream trickles between the rocks. Garcia climbs up to place a probe on a ledge just below a swarm of bats becoming ever more agitated by our presence. Pretzel is patient, putting up with bat guano dripping on him. He nestles one of the devices right up by a bunch of sleeping bats. Their fur rubs up against the sensor, but they don’t seem to mind.

  The radio crackles and we hustle out of the cave, heading back out into the brilliant sunlight.

  “Sierra Charlie Six. Overlord. Come in. Over.”

  Garcia speaks with deliberate clarity, holding the microphone barely an inch from his lips. “Overlord. This is Sierra Charlie Six. Go ahead.”

  “Sierra Charlie Six. Be advised Alpha is on the move. ETA six hours. We need to clear civilians from the area. We have Romeo Charlie inbound. I repeat, Romeo and Charlie. Rendezvous at waypoint Tango Two. Over.”

  “Copy that, rendezvous at waypoint Tango Two. Sierra Charlie Six Out.”

  “What’s happening? Pretzel asks.

  “Your friends are coming down a little early.” He looks at his watch. “They’re going to make landfall slightly after 7 PM tonight.”

  Garcia turns to Jana and me. “Time to wrap this up. We need to get you guys out of here.”

  “Okay. Okay. We’re good,” Pretzel says, looking down at his computer display and not realizing Garcia was talking about us, not him. “I would have liked to track a little further east to lay down more sensors, but we’ve got a pretty good spread as it is, and this cave is brilliant—exactly what we need.”

  “Great,” Garcia says somewhat insincerely. He seems preoccupied by the contents of the radio call, although I didn’t understand much of it. Romeo? Garcia hoists his backpack and grabs his rifle. “Time to move.”

  We trudge through the mud along the edge of a stream coming from the rock pool. Thunder rumbles in the distance and I’m curious how an alien elevator is going to deal with a tropical storm stretching up tens of thousands of feet—after all, this place isn’t called the rainforest for nothing.

  “Hey, look,” Angela says, pointing off the track. Our friend the baboon has tired of his stolen property and discarded the sensor. Pretzel steps off the path, kicking at the sensor as he checks information on the tablet. Garcia doesn’t look impressed with the delay but lets it go without complaining.

  “Oh, that reeks,” Pretzel says. The baboon has smeared feces all over the device.

  Angela smiles. “Well, you do like your poop.”

  “Not quite what I had in mind.”

  “Hey, there he is,” Jana says, pointing.

  Much to Pretzel’s disgust, the baboon stands at a distance, hurling feces at us. The curiously colored ape is a good shot, and I duck as a clump sails by. Angela takes a short video of the baboon with the camera on her phone. “This is definitely one for social media.”

  Garcia laughs from further up the track, well out of range. Either the baboon tires of tormenting us or his bowels are empty, but he disappears into the foliage. Angela turns the camera on Pretzel, who has a few brown spots on his jacket, and then pans down to the crushed, filthy probe lying beside the track.

  “Oh, you’re not going to post that, are you?”

  Angela laughs. “Ten million dollars worth of advanced bio-scanning tech being road-tested on a baboon’s ass. What’s not to love?”

  Pretzel shakes his head.

  We continue to the base of the waterfall. Brother Mordecai is sitting on a rock in the sun reading his Bible. Garcia walks over to him and talks softly, pointing at the plateau and then circling his hand in the air. I’m not sure what he’s saying, but Mordecai nods and joins our band as we cross the stream and begin climbing over the rocks, watching for dead snakes as we make our way to the animal trail.

  “It doesn’t bother you?” I hear Angela ask Brother Mordecai as we move away from the stream and back into the depths of the jungle.

  “The aliens?” Mordecai replies somewhat in surprise. He points up at the thick branches of a Kapok tree stretching over the track some twenty feet up. “No more than the leopards.”

  I don’t think he’s actually pointing at a leopard, but I double check to be sure.

  Angela probably hadn’t thought about that. “I mean, it doesn’t worry you that there are beings up there that don’t believe in your God?”

  Mordecai is irrepressible. “There are plenty of beings down here that don’t believe, and that doesn’t bother me either.”

  She nods, grinning. I’m walking slightly ahead of her beside Pretzel, and although he doesn’t say anything, I notice the exchange isn’t lost on him.

  I think it’s a good point. Sometimes, we can be too melodramatic—it’s the end of the world! And I understand that from both points of view. People like Pretzel think it’s the end of the old world and the start of a new, better one. Someone like my dad, though, worries it might be the harbinger of the apocalypse, but I think Brother Mordecai is probably right. For all the change that’s coming, there will be plenty of stuff that continues on as it always has. Religion has been pretty resilient to change. Dad thinks that’s good. He says we need the social structures and certainty that comes from continuity. I suspect Pretzel and Angela are in the other camp, where they’re quite willing to throw everything out and start again. It’s surprising to me that Brother Mordecai is somewhere in the middle.

  “I love a challenge,” he says.

  “I noticed,” Angela replies with a smile. In her mind, she’s probably referring back to the debate by the rock pool. Although that may have seemed heated to her, I don’t think it bothered Brother Mordecai. That’s something I admire in him. Getting angry is easy, but it makes it hard to see clearly. I think the dumbest decisions are made out of pride when people are angry, but perhaps that’s just me reflecting on my own hot head.

  “It’s all rather exciting, isn’t it?” Mordecai says.

  “It certainly is,” Angela replies, and I can see what Mordecai’s doing, breaking down the walls, finding common ground. He’s not trying to convert her. I’ve known him for years. He’s genuine in his love for people regardless of their beliefs. I once saw him give the local witchdoctor some anti-fungal cream even though he needed it himself, simply because he knew he could always get more when he returned to Kisangani.

  Going uphill is harder and slower than coming down. Petty Officer Garcia sets a cracking pace. Even though our backpacks are half empty, it’s exhausting trying to keep up with him and he inevitably pulls ahead. Rocks, stones, mud and tree roots p
ass under my boots with a steady rhythm. None of us talk much, focusing instead on keeping a good pace. On those few occasions when I look up, which is only as we turn one of the zigzag corners on the track, I catch sight of Garcia at the far end, already tacking back in the other direction. Butterflies flutter through the air, mocking our efforts at climbing around the edge of the cliff.

  “Is he always like this?” I ask, resting for a moment and leaning forward with my hands on my knees.

  Sweat drips from Pretzel’s brow. “No. He’s going easy on us.”

  After thirty minutes, we pass the clearing where the gorillas frolicked in the sun, but they’ve moved on. I look for Lady, hoping for even a glimpse of Tiny through the dark undergrowth, but the troop has gone foraging.

  “Do you think we’ll see it?” Jana asks as we walk up the track. “I mean, not just on TV—in real life.”

  “I hope so,” I say, spotting Garcia through the trees, following the track as it winds toward the top of the hill. I was hoping he’d give us a chance to rest in the clearing, but he’s already approaching the plateau.

  Birds squawk throughout the forest. To me, the jungle’s like a crowded train station—full of buskers and passengers, station staff and transit police. Everyone’s got something to say and everyone’s saying it at once. Monkeys screech in the treetops, swinging between branches that sag and bend, flexing beneath their weight as they soar through the canopy. The ease with which they move is deceptive. With long, muscular arms and a steady rhythm, they sail into and then out of view in seconds, disappearing into the lush rainforest.

  Finally, Garcia comes to a halt, standing on the crest of the hill some fifty feet ahead of us. He waves with his hand, wanting us to hurry. Yeah, that’s not happening. Cupping his hands so he can be heard over the cacophony of the jungle, he yells. “I can see it. I can see the alien craft.”

  That gets our attention. Suddenly, the pack on my back feels as light as air. Jana is beside me. She quickens her pace. I look up at Garcia and start to jog, forgetting about the ache in my thighs, excited at the prospect of seeing an alien spaceship hanging from a rope, imagining it looks like a spider dangling from a thin strand of silk. I start to holler with excitement when the world goes deathly silent. I’m not sure how, but the jungle falls quiet in an instant.