The rover edged forward slowly, coming to a halt against a small round rock which hid most of its body from the direction of the MLP.
The lens re-focused on the object, picking out the grooves in its surface.
It started taking pictures.
Chapter 31
The rain came down in waves, lashing the flat sides of the tall building again and again. Bright halogen beams cut through the darkness from their source along the roofline of the building, reflecting against the drops of falling water on their way to the ground. A simple white door was the only noteworthy feature of the plain white walls. A group of tall palms bowed under the forces of nature, their flexible bodies saving them from the worst of the hurricane. In the distance, the roar of the disturbed sea was hardly perceptible above the sound of the rushing wind.
At the side of the building, a white van sat purring in the darkness, its headlamps dipped, waiting.
“So much for global warming,” the driver said, resentfully.
The percussive fall of rain on the van’s roof was almost incessant, save for the short bursts of very strong wind, when the water would be whipped back into the air before it had the chance to hit.
His passenger shivered and tucked his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “Warmer for some, though, isn’t it? Otherwise where do you think all this would be coming from?”
They both stared into the building’s courtyard and contemplated this. Suddenly, as if on cue, the driver turned off the engine and the heating. “Here comes another one, let’s get out of here.” He switched off the headlamps and rested his hand on the door release.
Outside, the howling wind reached its terrifying crescendo then dulled, the threat of its return lying oppressively in the air.
The men jerked open the van’s doors and slammed them shut behind them. As they ran towards the small door in the side of the building, the driver pointed his arm behind him and pressed a button on his keys, rewarded by the quick chirp of the van’s central locking system. His passenger had already reached the wall and was pressing the intercom button repeatedly.
The door gave a loud buzz and they pulled it open in unison. They were barely through the opening when the wind made its return, violently slamming the door behind them and making the frame shake. They had been outside for a few short seconds, and yet they were soaked through to the skin. The passenger stood motionless with his legs apart, leaning his body forwards and holding his arms out to his sides, frozen in the posture of a man who has just been punched in the stomach.
“My God!” he exclaimed. The water had already left his hairless scalp and most of it had made its way to his bearded chin, from where it dribbled to the floor with a patter.
They found themselves in a short corridor with another door at the far end, also secured by an intercom.
The driver shook his arms before running his hands through his short hair. “And to think people come here to retire.” He stopped in the middle of unzipping his coat. “Your bag?”
The passenger looked in disbelief at his own empty hands. He turned his head back towards the door and the raging storm outside. “Damn.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” he gaped, still halfway between taking his coat off and reluctantly putting it back on again. “I don’t get paid enough for this! Here, take my keys, you can go and get it.”
A few moments later, the passenger burst through the small door again, this time holding a satchel against his chest.
“Time for a drink,” he said.
“In this place? I think machine coffee is about as good as it gets!”
They walked towards the second door hastily and the passenger pressed the intercom button once.
“Coffee it is then,” he said.
Seth Mallus, dressed in an immaculate black suit, crisp white shirt and light blue silk tie, sat in a large executive chair at a large executive desk. In front of him, a letter-size notepad sat exactly perpendicular to the edge of the desk. A Mont Blanc pen lay on the pad, aligned to the margin, in which the day’s date had been written neatly and underlined: November 9th, 2045.
“Dr Patterson, how are things progressing?” he said to the dishevelled man who sat opposite him in jeans and short-sleeved shirt.
Patterson had been in the facility for barely half an hour, the time to quickly dry off, change and grab a terrible coffee, before their meeting had begun. He brought his hand to his chin and played with his beard briefly. It was well kept, but the silver-grey hue added at least a decade to his fifty-six years.
“Here are the latest transcripts, with the translations.” He slid the paper across the table. “They are consistent with the other transcripts; whatever happened to these –” he hesitated before saying the word, “– people, there was nothing they could do to stop it.” He flicked through his notes. “There is a lifetime of work here,” he gestured to the small folder on the table in front of him.
Mallus leaned forward in his chair and fixed his eyes intently on the man. “A lifetime can be long or short, Dr Patterson. You have been studying these texts for years now. How long will it take before you find out what I need to know?”
He swallowed hard and tried to avoid the steely gaze. “Some of the material is very clear as you’ve seen, but most parts make no sense at all. Context is everything, and in this regard I need assistance from someone more specialised in the field.” He put his hand on the folder and opened it. “Otherwise, it would take at least another two years for me to decipher it in its entirety, if at all.”
“Then I will need to find you some help.” Mallus paused and looked across at the transcripts in front of him. “We have experienced some unexpected setbacks that have already subjected this project to a great deal more risk than we anticipated. I need to be sure that you understand how important it is that this work remains secret, Dr Patterson.” His cold eyes met the scientist’s across the table. “I know how you academics work, and I know that you like to bounce ideas around the community. But for this project, the community is comprised of you and me. Do not seek contact from anyone else, I will send someone to you,” he ordered.
“Sure,” he muttered, “I understand.”
Mallus relaxed his gaze. “The cliché tells us that time is money, but you will understand more than anyone that in this case, a lot more is at stake. You will get the help you need, and in return you will provide me with the answers I want, quickly.” He smiled and leant back in his chair. “And as for getting our hands on more context,” he continued, “we’ll just have to keep our fingers crossed, won’t we?”
Dr Patterson nodded his head in agreement as he moved his eyes slowly across the hieroglyphs on the pages in front of him.
“On a positive note,” he said happily, “the Mars mission is bearing fruit. They have uncovered a jetty of some sort, which I think you’ll find interesting and may help you further.”
“A jetty?” Patterson queried.
“Indeed. I would suggest that you make your way through to Mission Control straight away.”
After Patterson had gone, Seth Mallus browsed through a series of résumés on his computer display.
He wasn’t happy bringing more help in: keeping things running smoothly was a trial at the best of times, and the last thing he wanted was more questions. For that reason he wasn’t about to openly put an advert for the post in the local paper, either.
How on earth had he ended up with Henry Patterson? All that time ago in the corridors of the Peabody Museum it had seemed a good bet. He had certainly delivered what had been asked of him, and in return Mallus had given Patterson the single most important discovery in human history.