Abominable Page 3

  “Yes sir.”

  The lieutenant issued a “stand down” and led John and Shelby around the cubicle toward a series of offices located along one wall of the hangar. “We’ll talk where we’ll have some privacy.”

  His office was small, cluttered with maps of Alaska and the Arctic North, but appeared well equipped with hi-tech necessities—computers, laptops, printers—and against one wall below an aerial photo of the Bering Strait, a weapon case holding several rifles which Shelby couldn’t begin to name, even one that looked like it could punch a hole through a tank. Another large photo of the Challenger in space adorned a second wall.

  Mendle offered them a seat, coffee or water, while he checked the computer screen on his desk. He looked up calmly and shrugged. “This one never went down. Weird. It appears the ‘short,’ for lack of a better word, was only in the immediate vicinity of the platform. I’ll be damned.” His phone rang and Shelby couldn’t help notice how abruptly he picked it up. So there was still some underlying tension. He listened a few seconds then said, “Yes sir, all is fine. Still awaiting all the online input but for now all is clear.” He replaced the receiver. “Damn, John, I’m beginning to wish you had simply stepped over that big crevasse and collected your glacier rocks and left.”

  John understood. “We would’ve except it was too damn wide. An EMP?” he asked, returning to the blackout. Then for Shelby’s benefit, he repeated, “Electromagnetic pulse.”

  Mendle explained. “That’s initially what we thought but it was too isolated, only in the vicinity of the platform. Plus, at least so far, we’ve found no indication of any emitted radiation—nor any aberrant electrical magnetic waves. And no residual effects, either. Nothing. It’s like it never happened.”

  The lieutenant cast Shelby a smile. “But if that ‘thing’ out there”—he jabbed a thumb in the direction of the platform—“hadn’t been discovered, you wouldn’t have collected your bones.” He paused a moment and continued. “You’re an anthropologist, correct?”

  “A primatologist. My specialty is paleoprimatology.”

  “Do you think the bones could be related?”

  “To what is out there?” Shelby shrugged. “I’ve been entertaining that same question. And I have absolutely no idea—but it does seem a stretch to say they are not linked in some inexplicable way.”

  Mendle countered, “It could also be stretch to infer they are.”

  “No argument from me,” Shelby agreed.

  Mendle retrieved a piece of paper from the printer tray and passed it to John. “You’ll find this interesting.” While John read, Mendle continued speaking to Shelby. “There are several ways to identify whether a substance is a metal or nonmetal utilizing the substance’s physical as well as chemical properties. For instance, metal forms acid when oxidized, metals conduct electricity, and all known natural metals are opaque even as a thin sheet. There are no known pure true transparent metals.”

  Shelby didn’t miss the lieutenant’s slight timbre change when he said “known.”

  Mendle saw John still reading so he went on. “Also, all known metals conduct heat. You felt that thing out there.”

  Shelby nodded. “It was cool.”

  Mendle nodded. “And those powerful lights have been concentrated on the UCO for ten days straight. That surface should be at least warm.” He shook his head. “The UCO’s surface temperature has not changed a single degree. Not even when we heated the hell out of it. Remained seventy-one degrees F.”

  John set the paper back on the desk. “None of this data indicates either metal or nonmetal.”

  Mendle tapped the sheet. “Correct.”

  “So you’ve been unable to identify what the UCO is made of. Out by the platform you mentioned some type of iron.”

  “Hell, John. That is the working supposition. I mean, damn, it looks like it should be iron. Metal anyway. Yet we can’t even isolate a vapor or gas from it.” He shrugged. “And with no vapor to analyze, no atomic spectroscopy analysis, and no atomic number or mass. Where that thing sits on the periodic table of elements is anyone’s guess.”

  “But it’s not a metal?” Shelby commented.

  Mendle slowly shook his head. “We don’t know what the hell it’s made of. The base is flying in some outside consultants including, get this, an astrophysicist. You’ve probably heard of him. Dr. Sigmund Astor from the Oak Ridge National Laboratory. See him on television a lot during publicized meteor showers—Perseids, Eta Aquarids, to name a few. Until then everything remains under tight security. You’ve noticed nothing in the press yet.”

  John and Shelby exchanged glances. “Astrophysicist?” John repeated. “Yeah, I’ve seen him on the news giving interviews. Thought he was more interested in finding the ‘real’ ET.”

  Shelby found herself looking at the photo of the space shuttle. “So they really think this thing is from outer space?”

  Mendle shrugged. “I don’t know. I just wish the hell I knew what it was.” He motioned to John’s satchel. “Anything on the rocks collected with the UCO?”

  “Yes, as expected from the known geology of the area around Okpilak, they’re quite old.”

  “How old?” Mendle inquired.

  John removed a folder and dropped it on the lieutenant’s desk. “The minerals—shale, dolomite, quartzite, some granite—are very old. Millions of years, in fact. Fortunately, we were able to isolate some organic material in the rocky sediment removed from the surface of the UCO and by radiocarbon dating these, arrived at approximately twenty-eight thousand years old, give or take a thousand years. That only gives us an estimate of when the UCO was placed in the ice.”

  Mendle nodded. “So if the correlations are accurate, that thing on the platform out there is close to thirty thousand years old. That makes it real interesting.” His attention returned to Shelby. “And the bones…how old are they?”

  Shelby thought a moment. “For starters they are most definitely not Homo sapiens—” She watched Mendle start and quickly added, “But they are of a species of primate.”

  Mendel relaxed, grinning sheepishly. “Of this earth.”

  Shelby smiled. “Yes, Lieutenant. Of this planet. An extinct species though. As I told John, a more accurate age estimation is pending my lab results from Los Angeles; however, I would guess the skeleton is anywhere from twelve thousand to thirty thousand or forty thousand years old.”

  Mendle thought a brief moment. “Say twenty-eight thousand years old?”

  “Yes,” Shelby replied. “That number falls within my estimate.” She wondered whether to bring up what she started to tell John out on the platform—that she’d felt a vibration through the wall of the UCO just before the lights went out—but for all she knew it was only her imagination. And this discussion was already approaching the macabre.

  Her decision became moot when a loud knock on the door interrupted them and voices erupted from outside.

  A young airman burst in. “Lieutenant, you’re needed at the platform now! We think there’s something inside the UCO!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Something inside the UCO! Shelby exchanged a quick glance with John, whose expression mirrored hers. WTF. They followed Mendle out the door, breaking into a jog to keep up. She watched the lieutenant shouting something into his radio but only heard a few words: “On alert!”

  The anxiety she experienced now was far different from what she experienced when attempting to decipher a fossilized bone—age, species, extant or extinct—and unable to do so. That was anxiety based on frustration. No, this was real anxiety, and though she felt safe with all the weaponry surrounding the base, a part of her wondered whether there was far more to the mysterious cylinder dug from a glacier than initially thought. Especially after hearing Mendle’s claim they hadn’t even figured out what the hell it was made of. And requesting the assistance of an astrophysicist to boot.

  And now this: Something inside!

  She watche
d a crowd of airmen coalescing around the platform, rifles on ready. Beside her, she heard John say, “Wish you were back looking at your bones?” He was attempting to make light of the situation, probably for her benefit, but she didn’t miss the underlying nervous anticipation in his timbre.

  “And miss all the excitement?” She shook her head, though she couldn’t help contemplating, If there is something inside the UCO…

  Men’s shouts flew from the platform and she could see the two airmen she’d watched percussing the UCO earlier were now huddled by another man in civilian clothing. This man had donned a heavy set of ear mitts and was positioned at the object’s base. Sonar? she wondered. They were attempting to listen inside it!

  A loud grinding din echoed behind her and she glanced back to see the huge hangar doors closing. She reached the platform just behind Mendle and John. She watched them race up the steps but when she tried to follow, a thickset uniform moved in front of the entranceway, making it clear she would wait down on the concrete apron.

  The lieutenant spoke briefly to the civilian then called back to someone at the platform-side cubicle. “Anything? Radio or magnetic, any emissions?”

  She glanced at a tech seated before the work station console and saw him shake his head. Nothing. What were they listening for?

  Appearing frustrated, Mendle pointed to the top of the UCO and barked into his radio. Seconds later, Shelby watched a small drone materialize from near where the jet fighters were parked and whirr overhead, hovering momentarily before descending on the UCO. She caught John watching her just before he donned the listening mitts, actually holding one against one ear while Mendle listened to the other. The civilian monitored a small laptop, periodically looking at the drone. Shelby moved closer along the platform barricade to where she could see a portion of his screen. The laptop was downloading the camera images from the drone. But from her angle she couldn’t tell much, except…

  She heard herself suck in her breath. It’s changing color!

  Mendle shouted to the woman technician piloting the drone. “I need a closer look at the top surface. As near as possible. Now!” He went back to the laptop images, adding, “But don’t land on it.”

  Shelby was so busy watching the small drone descend she didn’t notice John had left the platform until he touched her shoulder. She jumped with a start, saying, “The top, I saw it on his laptop. It’s actually changed color! It was gray, now it’s a deep indigo.”

  John nodded, removing his cell phone and dialing. “I know. The thing is too damn big for any scanner the base has on hand so I’m checking with the university to see if they have anything that can scan something this large.”

  “But Mendle already said it was impervious to X-rays or magnetic waves.” But not sound, it seemed.

  “He wants to try again now that—” His connection went through.

  Shelby already knew the answer, having used scans in research—both CT and magnetic resonance—to study both fossilized remains and living primates. There was nothing she was aware of that could fit this behemoth inside an imager, not even a large animal MRI machine.

  She listened while John relayed the dimensions. He frowned and disconnected. “Mendle’s dying to look inside this thing. Not going to happen, at least not tonight.”

  More commotion on the deck platform. Shelby asked, “I saw you with the listening device. What did you hear?”

  John caught the lieutenant’s gaze and drew a finger across his throat, mouthing no luck with an imager. “I’m not an expert on sonar, though I used it once when sounding the depth of a glacier. We heard…” He paused and Shelby imagined him saying something really off the wall, like music or voices. He elucidated, “An acoustic vibration,” adding, “Not one but repeated passive original vibrations.”

  “Original?”

  “We didn’t precipitate them—there was no echo return. The disturbance was independent of our percussions.”

  Shelby’s eyes remained riveted on the drone and UCO. “Were the intervals regular?”

  “No…irregular.”

  She thought of the brief electrical interruption that, looking back, seemed to coincide with the two men tapping percussion hammers along the cylinder’s wide girth. A strange thought crept along the edges of her mind like a predator stalking an unsuspecting prey. What have they awoken? “Irregular,” John had said. She knew there might be no correlation; however, she was also aware, as she was confident the entire base was aware, that regular sonar vibrations were more likely to be inanimate—a machine or some other mechanical or electrical device—the turning screws of a submarine—whereas irregular sonar waves were far more commonly found in nature—the sonar vibrations of a pod of dolphins practicing their echolocation of a food source, for example. The thought sent a chill of nervous anticipation through her.

  She watched two airmen hauling a ladder toward the platform as she admitted, “I felt it too.”

  John had taken a step back to the platform but stopped, watching her. “You felt what?”

  “A vibration, a…tremor for lack of a better description.” She stepped nearer. “It was a slight shake, that’s all, just after the men had stopped tapping and just before we lost electricity.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I was going to, but then the lieutenant’s airman burst into the office.”

  “Lieutenant!” The voice came from the tech monitoring the work station terminal. “I have something!”

  Mendle and the other airmen moved to make way for the ladder. “What are you picking up?” he shouted across the commotion.

  The tech adjusted his head gear. “Not sure, sir. I’m picking it up through the drone. It’s a scraping sound. Near the top.” The technician looked up toward the platform, clearly puzzled. “It stopped.”

  Shelby gazed above the UCO, her eyes fixed on the tiny whirring drone hovering less than two feet over the cylinder’s roof like a mutated dragonfly. Something is inside! An image of a fully articulated skeleton flashed in her mind—very similar to the partial skeleton of the ancient ape-child sitting in her lab back at the university, that huge ape-child, epiphyses not even fused, the strange well circumscribed hole just above the right orbit—and just as quickly she shrugged it off. How in the hell could that be related to what was on the platform? Her damn imagination on overdrive again.

  John moved back up the steps. She heard him mumble, “If this thing is as old as the organic debris in the stones…”

  Twenty-eight thousand years old, based on wood fragments and pieces of leaves in the spars of granite, quartzite, and shale. Shelby followed his thoughts. Nothing living could survive that long locked in a glacier—except perhaps some tiny bacteria.

  “Shelby.” John was motioning her back up on the platform. This time the security beef stepped aside, allowing her access to the steps.

  She followed John to where he stood next to the tech holding the laptop. Mendle remained on the radio, speaking in short bursts. “No radiation, no EMPs, only the sonar pick-up…” She guessed he was in communication with his superiors. Shelby studied the screen image shot from the drone. This near she could see the cylinder’s top surface had altered in color—the rich indigo remained—however, she could tell the color change was not of a uniform shade. Some reflected lighter and other areas darker, the patterns seeming to move in slow random waves across the top with no particular interval or rhythm.

  Mendle leaned nearer the tech holding the sonar sounding gear. “Anything?”

  He indicated no. “Readings all zero. Absolute silence.”

  “But you’re sure it was coming from inside?”

  “One hundred percent, sir. Levy will confirm.”

  Shelby assumed Levy was the tech monitoring the work station on the apron. Four ears were better than two. Her eyes broke from the done to the UCO. “It’s moving,” she said aloud as more excitement moved across the platform like an electric current. A
ll attention focused on the object’s superior rim, where the darker shades had leached over the edge and appeared to be running down the smooth sides as if composed of a viscous liquid.

  “What the hell?” Mendle cursed, shooting a sharp glance at John, who appeared as puzzled as everyone else.

  Shelby noticed the obvious frustration, and perhaps a little indecision as well, in every face around her. What should they all do? Were they all in imminent danger? Should they retreat, or remain and see how this scenario played out? She would have been hard pressed to leave even if ordered. Already a long thick finger of indigo had reached to eye level. She moved closer—and immediately noticed the tiny striations visible just beneath the UCO’s smooth surface that had not been evident, and were still not evident, where the color remained the alabaster gray. She moved closer, reflexively sniffing—no odor—and noticed John stepping with her. She pointed and he nodded. “It almost looks like tiny circuitry inside,” he said, voicing her impression, and that gave her an idea.

  John turned for the lieutenant, but Mendle appeared occupied securing the fourteen-foot ladder to the UCO. It continued to be unsteady because of the circular rim, though, and he barked another order into his radio. Two men quickly pulled the ladder away and passed it off the platform.

  Shelby heard an engine grind into action and watched a military crane truck mounted with a long jointed arm move into position. A basket large enough to hold several men swung over the apron and settled on the platform next to the UCO. It was plain someone was going up to get a better look at the cylinder’s top where the color change had originated.

  While Mendle and the tech loaded the listening device and prepared to enter the basket, Shelby softy ran her fingertips over the cylinder’s surface where the old gray color and deeper indigo merged. No palpable border. Yet she was sure she wasn’t imagining the tiny striations. Nor was she imagining the subtle temperature change. It’s warmer!

  “John, touch here,” she said.

  He placed a hand next to hers and nodded. “The damn thing is heating up.”