Deep Fathom

Deep Fathom Page 27

Karen bit her lip, then confessed her own secret. “I may be able to supply that.”

Miyuki looked over again, frowning. “How?”

“I wanted to confirm my idea before bringing it up. But the library was of no use, and I keep getting booted off the Internet by these hourly brownouts. I couldn’t get an outside line all day yesterday.”

“What were you looking for?”

“Examples of a written language found on the island of Rapa Nui.”

“Rapa Nui? Isn’t that Easter Island, the place with the big stone heads?”

“Exactly.”

“But that island’s on the other side of the Pacific.”

Karen nodded. “That’s why I need further information. It’s not my area of expertise. I’ve been concentrating my studies on Polynesia and Micronesia.”

The pair reached Miyuki’s laboratories. Miyuki unlocked the door with a key card and held it open for Karen. They entered a tiny anteroom. Starched white “clean suits” hung on the wall. Beyond the glass doors ahead was Miyuki’s lab, all stainless steel and linoleum. Under the fluorescent bulbs, every surface gleamed, dust-free and spotless.

Karen took off her sweater and slipped out of her Reebok sneakers. She took a clean cloth suit from a peg. It was stiff after being freshly dry-cleaned and pressed. She wriggled into the white one-piece jumpsuit, then sat down on a tiny bench to slip on paper booties.

Miyuki did the same. She insisted that her lab maintain a sterile environment. She wanted no contaminants interfering with the large banks of computers lining the center of the room, the birthplace of Gabriel. “What’s this connection to Rapa Nui?”

Karen fixed her short blond hair under a disposable paper bonnet. “Back in 1864, a French missionary reported the discovery of hundreds of wooden tablets, staffs, even skulls carved with an unknown hieroglyphic script. The natives called this language rongorongo, but they couldn’t read the script. Some claimed the language came from the time before the natives arrived on the island in 400 A.D. Unfortunately, most of the artifacts were destroyed before they could be recovered. Only about twenty-five examples of the writing exist today in museums and universities.”

“And you think this language is the same one we discovered?”

“I can’t be sure. Rongorongo is the only known indigenous written language among all the peoples of Oceania. But its origin remains a mystery, and the text unreadable. Many epigraphers and cryptologists have attempted to decipher the language, but all of them have failed.” Karen could not keep the excitement from her voice. “If we’ve discovered a new vein of this language, for the first time in centuries, we might have a chance not only to unlock the mysteries of rongorongo, but also to discover the lost history of Polynesia.”

Miyuki stood. “So what’s the next step?”

“I need to get on-line and hunt down the other examples of the language. Confirm my hypothesis.”

Miyuki began to catch Karen’s excitement. “And if you’re right, we can add these other examples to Gabriel’s database. With more information, he might be able to decipher it!”

“If so, it would be the archaeological discovery of the century.”

“Then let’s get to work. Gabriel can get you a line to the outside by hooking into the U.S. military’s phone lines. They’re the most stable.” Miyuki crossed to the glass door to her lab.

“He can do that?”

Miyuki nodded. “Of course. Who do you think is the main backer for my research? The U.S. military is very intrigued by artificial intelligence and its practical application. I have a Level 3 clearance.” Using her key card again, she unlocked the inner door. There was a whoosh as the door seal broke. The next room was under a slight positive pressure, extra insurance against contaminants entering the lab.

Karen followed her into the clean room. “You go through a lot of trouble to avoid a bit of dusting,” she mumbled with a smirk.

Miyuki ignored her and crossed to a half-arc bank of computer monitors. Two wheeled chairs rested nearby. Miyuki took a seat and waved Karen to the other. “Let me show you what Gabriel has been able to decode so far.” She began tapping a keyboard while speaking aloud. “Gabriel, could you please bring up the images of the hieroglyphs?”

“Certainly, Professor Nakano. And good morning, Karen Grace.” The artificial voice came from stereo speakers behind the two women.

“Good morning, Gabriel,” Karen answered, still feeling awkward. She glanced over her shoulder at the speakers. It was as if someone stood behind her. “Th-Thank you for your help.”

“It has been a pleasure, Dr. Grace. You have presented an intriguing conundrum.” Across the long curved bank of monitors, the glyphs of the unknown language ran along the multiple screens in a continuous line: Birds, fishes, human shapes, geometric figures, and strange squiggles.

“What has he learned?” Karen asked.

“He was able to decipher a small section at the beginning.”

“You’re kidding!” Karen sat up straighter.

The line of script ran across the screen until a section appeared highlighted in red. Then the scrolling images stopped, centering on the highlighted section. It contained six symbols.

“Gabriel believes it’s a lunar calendar designation. A date, so to speak.”

“Hmm…those central symbols do look like the sickle shapes of a waning or waxing moon.” Karen shifted back. “But if it is a date, what does it mean? The date when the inscription was written or some historical notation?”

“I’d guess the latter,” Miyuki said. “Some ancient historical event being described.”

“Why do you think that?”

Miyuki remained silent.

Karen glanced at her friend. “What?”

Miyuki sighed. “Gabriel came to his calendar conclusion by cross-referencing with the starscape etched on the ceiling of the inner chamber.”

Karen recalled the quartz star map on the room’s domed ceiling. “So?”

“He compared the chamber’s starscape with an astronomical program, then tied it to the lunar calendar.” Miyuki looked at Karen. “He’s calculated the rough date noted in the inscription.”

“Amazing…When? What’s the date?”

“Gabriel?”

The program answered: “The icons denote the fourth month of a lunar year.”

Karen noted the four moon sickles. “Early spring.”

“Correct…and from the relative position of the depicted constellations, I can extrapolate the approximate year.”

“Within a statistical error of fifty years,” Miyuki elaborated.

“Of course, I could not be more precise.”

“That’s close enough!” Karen’s mind spun. If Gabriel’s calculations were correct, this might be a clue to when the ancient ruins had been constructed. “What year? How long ago?”

“According to the astronomical map—twelve thousand years ago.”

Northwest of Enewak Atoll, Central Pacific

Aboard the Nautilus submersible, Jack drifted over the debris field. From his position several yards away, he watched the tail fin of the Boeing 747 rise from the silt, drawn up by two four-inch-thick steel cables. Disturbed clouds of silt wafted up as the fin was pulled like a bad tooth from where it was embedded. Six hundred meters overhead, the motorized winch aboard the USS Gibraltar hauled on the cables, slowly but efficiently drawing its catch to the surface.

“Going for the next fish,” Jack called into his throat microphone. He worked the foot pedals and swung his sub around. He checked the Nautilus’s clock. He had been working for almost three hours, targeting the specific pieces of the plane the NTSB had picked out from the video feed of his first dive.

By now the salvage of Air Force One was becoming almost routine. Over the past three days they had hauled up almost forty sections of the plane. The recovered wreckage was now spread and numbered in the lower hangar deck of the USS Gibraltar like a macabre jigsaw puzzle.

Though the recovery of the plane was well under way, so far only four bodies had been recovered: two floaters discovered in the tricky currents, identified as two men from the press pool, and the pilot and copilot, found strapped to their seats. Jack drove away that memory. The plane’s crumpled nose cone had been one of the first pieces to be hauled to the surface. He had diverted his eyes from the shattered window as he attached the cables, but had caught a brief look. The pressures at this depth had crushed their bodies to a pulp. They looked like flesh-colored clay molded into a vague approximation of the human form. The only way to identify them were by their uniforms and their seats in the cockpit.

Since then, as Jack sifted through the wreckage, he had held his breath, fearing what else he might chance upon, but no other bodies were found. The impact and currents had thoroughly scattered the plane’s human cargo.

“We’re ready with the second winch,” the NTSB radioman announced.

“Aye. Ready on the second winch. Going for the next target.”

Jack swung the sub around and edged to the opposite side of the debris field. Ahead, another cable appeared, seeming to hang on its own, its end disappearing into the gloom above. It connected to a second surface winch aboard the Gibraltar. Jack dove the Nautilus down to the electromagnet hook attached to its end.

Working the sub’s external manipulator arms, he grabbed the hook and dragged it to one of the plane’s engine sections. Then he lowered the cable’s end and placed it against the metal nacelle.

“Okay,” he called up. “Energize!”

On his signal, he watched the cable’s electromagnetic terminal flip and attach to the engine’s side.

“Fish is hooked. Haul away!”

Jack backed his sub with a whine of thrusters. He watched the slack in the cable tighten; then the engine cowling slid from the silt.

Jack swung around. The graveyard was now almost half cleared. Only smaller pieces and sections of fuselage and wing remained. Under his sub, he passed over a large chunk of landing gear, its tires collapsed under the pressure. Another day or two and nothing would be down here.