The Rock (11 page)

"Maybe just the satellite's dish is damaged and that's why you didn't get a bounce back," Hawkins offered.

"Even without the dish we would have gotten some sort of signal off the body of the satellite itself, a radar image." He pointed at the screen. "There's nothing out there where Voyager should be."

Silence settled over the room as each person contemplated what that meant. After a minute Levy slid her chair back from the keyboard. She didn't even appear to have heard what had happened to Voyager as she turned to the other members of the team.

"I think I have some answers to the questions raised by the second transmission."

"Have you broken the code?" Hawkins asked.

"We don't have the entire message. Actually," she said, "I think there are several messages, one of which was directed to us but the main part of which was directed elsewhere."

"Give us what you do have," Hawkins said.

Levy tapped the screen. "It's very strange. I think the part that slides up and down the microwave scale--from fourteen twenty to sixteen sixty-two megahertz-was actually a lead in and out to the main transmission-sort of like tuning a radio. I think the key message was in the blank parts."

"How can that be?" Lamb asked, confused.

"Well, I think--and it's only a theory--that the message is getting skipped about in time, somehow." Seeing a blank look on the others' faces, Levy continued. "When you transmit a message, you have several options in order to make it difficult for someone else to intercept and decrypt: You can vary the amplitude, the frequency, the message itself. But the best way would be simply to not have the message intercepted in the first place. If I had a way of transmitting where I could bounce the message back or forward a little in time, it would make it impossible for the person listening to pick it up."

"Is that technology possible?" Hawkins asked.

"We don't have it."

"Do the Russians?"

"Possibly, but not likely," Levy said. "Remember, that this is only speculation on my part."

Her eyes took on the unfocused look that Hawkins was getting used to. "The key to it all is that microwave transmissions are made up of atomic matter. This makes the possibility of being able to skip them about in time infinitely likelier than achieving the same end with larger objects. In fact, it is quite well accepted in the scientific community that there are a myriad of tiny wormholes-which are essentially time tunnels, or what you often hear about in science fiction as a warp tunnel-at the subatomic level.

"If you could surround the core of your message with negative energy matter, it would keep it intact through the hole. And since negative energy matter can be generated relatively easily, the real key to the problem is to generate a tiny wormhole--and of course to have a destination. Basically you would have a miniature tunnel through space, which means a small degree of time-shifting, since the message is not following a normal spatial path.

"The significance of such a message, though, is not that we can't intercept it in the first place, but rather that it is essential for an advanced race that is spread over the cosmos to be able to have what we would consider almost instantaneous communication over vast distances. Even at the speed of light a message from the nearest star system--Alpha Centauri--would take over four years to make it to our solar system. But if you could make use of these wormholes, you could get your message to your intended audience almost instantaneously across vast distances."

Levy halted, noting the way everyone was staring at her. "Well, that's what I think might be happening here, and not only can't I prove it but even if I could, there's not much you or I could do about it because we don't have the technology to receive it." She idly tapped her fingers on the desk. "If we did, space travel at a speed greater than light would be the next logical step, and we can barely put a satellite up into space. This technology is light-years ahead of what we have here on Earth now."

"Do you have any idea what such a transmitter would look like?" Hawkins asked.

"No. But, as I said, it would certainly be different from anything we've ever seen. Of course it might be so small that it could be easily concealed or it might be larger than the Great Pyramid. I have no idea. I only know the subatomic theories involved."

"You said that there was a part of the message that you think was directed to us," Fran noted. "Did you get that part at least?"

Levy nodded. "At the very beginning and the very end--beginning at fourteen twenty and sixteen sixty two megahertz, where it would be likely that we would be listening, there were two words in the same digital form as the first transmission. It took me a while to decode it, because even with just the two words expressed digitally, the frequency was shifting. The binary code was spread over ninety megahertz in each case."

Hawkins restrained his impatience with great difficulty. "Could you please tell us what that message is?"

Levy turned and hit one key on the computer and pointed. Hawkins looked at the two words.

WELCOME DEBRA

"Is this someone's idea of a joke?" Batson demanded.

Levy shook her head. "No. That format is the same as the one used on Voyager and the first transmission." She pointed at the computer. "That's the Rock talking." She smiled dreamily.

"It's just saying hi."

Hawkins reached into the desk drawer behind him and drew out several aspirin. With a swig of water he downed three.

THE ROCK 

Central Australia

22 DECEMBER 1995, 0700 LOCAL

21 DECEMBER 1995, 2130 ZULU

Hawkins watched the dusty terrain float by underneath as the helicopter banked slightly and then leveled. The other members of the team were peering out the side closer to them, looking at the sprawling Australian outback. The low-lying dunes that stretched to the horizon were an off-red color with an occasional sprinkling of rocks. It reminded Hawkins, though on a far larger scale, of west Texas, where water holes and places of civilization were few and far between.

"We'll see the Olgas in a minute or two," the pilot announced in their headsets. "Once we get over them you can see the Rock straight out on the horizon."

The seat bottom pushed up against Hawkins as the pilot increased altitude. A series of strange rock formations appeared ahead, like large isolated stones set on edge in the desert floor. "There's thirty-six of them," the pilot commented as the hodgepodge assortment of rocks drew close.

The domes and pillars of the Olgas passed by quickly and then they had their first glimpse of Ayers Rock looming on the horizon. "It's beautiful," Hawkins heard Debra Levy whisper into her mike.

The sun was bouncing its rays off the eastern face, coloring the rock bright red. It looked like a hunched whale beached upon a flat plain of sand. It appeared totally improbable--a massive monolith rising out of what was otherwise, for miles around, flat terrain. As they drew closer, the color mellowed out to a lighter shade of red. From the distance it had looked deceptively small, but as the miles decreased, the Rock expanded to fill up more and more of the horizon until finally it was the entire horizon. The pilot gained altitude to crest the top.

Hawkins leaned over and looked down as the helicopter came to a hover, a thousand feet directly above. The humped side shape changed to that of a striated, cuddled-up fetus from the top. The surface was streaked with the results of millions of years of erosion by wind and the scant rain that falls in the desert. The streaks ran in parallel lines, looking smoothly cut from this far up, but as they descended, the convoluted dips and ridges that pockmarked the lines could plainly be seen.

The closer they got to the Rock, the more it surrounded Hawkins's consciousness. He'd seen larger and more spectacular views from a distance, but up close Ayers Rock was overwhelming. He found it hard to believe that this was all one solid rock, looming over the desert with a six-mile base. The most immediate thought one had on seeing it was to wonder how it had gotten there in the middle of the desert.

The sides were steeply sloped, dropping to a narrow fertile band all around the base. The rock itself was non-permeable, so any rainfall poured off onto the surrounding sand, allowing growth there that would never have survived beyond a hundred feet from the base.

On top, in the center where the Rock was almost flat, large canvas covers were stretched, marring the beauty of the whole. Hawkins knew that the mine shaft and their new home were underneath that. The canvas was an attempt to partially defeat satellite investigation.

"We've got a helipad right on top, so I'm going to put down on that," the pilot informed them.

Hawkins saw the staked-down VS-17 panels marking the metal grating pitoned into the rock that made up the landing zone. He'd also noted the strong military presence in the area despite the attempts at hiding it. Brown camouflage nets dotted the desert around the Rock in a scattering unrecognizable to the nonmilitary mind. Hawkins overlaid the fields of fire from the positions in his mind's eye and nodded--Tolliver had deployed his men well. As they were about to touch down he spotted men hidden in the crevices of the Rock itself with shoulder-fired heat-seeking antiaircraft missiles at their sides-a supplement to the larger, tracked antiaircraft systems spread out on the desert floor. He'd also spotted the ring of Australian troops outside of Tolliver's perimeter, put there to keep away the curious and the media. Two Australian Cobra gunships were circling about to keep aerial sightseers away.

The helicopter settled with a bump and Hawkins slid open the cargo door. Several troops were there to grab luggage. The team hopped out and followed Lamb toward a large environmental shelter hidden under the canvas covers. To the left Hawkins could see a hastily put-together metal shack with numerous cables running into it--the shaft entrance. The rumble of several large portable generators filled the air. A high-pitched whining noise overlaid the sound of the generators--the drill at work in the shaft.

Sweat was already staining the back of Hawkins's fatigues as they entered the shelter. There was no relief inside; the dry, murderously hot air wrapped him in a blanket of suffocating warmth.

"Sorry about the conditions. We've got some AC units, but when the drills are running we have to keep the power going to them," Lamb explained. "We're having some more generators flown in later today."

A dozen or so metal folding chairs were placed precariously on the hastily laid down plywood flooring. There were three people already in the tent--Hawkins recognized Tolliver. The second had on the uniform of an Australian general. The third wore nothing but a small cloth wrapped around his loins. His skin was pitch black and wrinkled from both age and the sun. He sported a large bushy gray beard and two jet-black eyes that regarded the newcomers with suspicion.

Lamb did the introductions. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is General Anderson. He's the senior Australian representative here."

General Anderson shook everyone's hand with a distinct lack of warmth. He was a large stocky man with a florid face bathed in a sheen of sweat. His thinning hair was mussed and he looked none too pleased.

"And this is Tintinjara. He's the supervisor here at Kakadu National Park."

Hawkins considered the old man. He knew this was a farce--they'd been instructed by Lamb in no uncertain terms to say nothing to any Australians. Lamb was in very bad spirits--the content of the second transmission had not gone over well with him either. Even though Spurlock had validated the deciphering, it was clear to Hawkins that Lamb wasn't putting much stock in Levy or her theories.

It was also obvious to Hawkins that he wasn't the only one who knew this meeting was part of a political play-the Aborigine didn't shake hands, his dark eyes simply taking in each of them one by one as they sat down.

"I've asked General Anderson and Mr. Tintinjara here to give you an on-site briefing on the background to Ayers Rock," Lamb explained. "The Australians are very concerned with what we are doing here and--"

"Extremely concerned and very upset," Tintinjara interrupted. It was surprising to hear an Australian accent coming out of the man's mouth. "This is my people's land and it has been our land for countless generations since the beginning of time. We have filed our protest in the Parliament but that has not stopped what you are doing." His eyes were hard as he stared at Lamb. "It is very nice of you to invite me here. This is my land. You are the guests."

Lamb held up a placating hand. "I understand that. These are extraordinary times and I am sorry we must use extraordinary means to try to deal with them."

Tintinjara shook his head, not buying it. "I do not understand what is going on. You say Uluru has spoken, but my people have not heard."

Hawkins frowned and glanced at Fran. She met his look and shook her head slightly. Lamb nodded gravely. "Yes. But we have heard. And we need to find out who has sent the message."

"Aye," Anderson spoke for the first time. "But drilling into the Rock?" He shook his head. "I've been instructed to go along with you all on that, but I've got to tell you--"

"There will be no trace of what we are doing when we are finished," Lamb interrupted. "We are as concerned as you are about Ayers Rock and its role in your society."

"I doubt that very much," Tintinjara disagreed.

There was a long pause and then Anderson filled the silence. "Well, we must deal with things." He looked at the members of the team. "What is it you wish to know?"

Hawkins knew they had everything they needed in the computer, but it was time for some public relations. He hated this.

"Some basic background information would be helpful," Lamb said.

Tintinjara's face was still, as if he knew the question was bogus. Anderson picked up a file folder from a briefcase next to his chair. "Well, basic stats you probably already know. Highest point 1,131 feet. A mile and a half wide. Two miles across. It's six miles to go around the base." Anderson wiped a hand across his soaked forehead. "It can get up to a hundred and thirty in the summer, which you all are just about in the middle of. That's fortunate in a way, though, because if you'd come in the winter, that would have been peak tourist season. We've had to turn some people away, but not too many. The media are abuzz about what's going on, but we've kept them in the dark also, although how much longer we'll be able to is questionable. We've already caught two reporters coming in out of the desert in a Land Rover, trying to get around the roadblocks.

"The actual rock is feldspar-rich sandstone. It was uplifted from an ancient seabed millions of years ago." He pointed down at the wood planking. "The markings on the surface are the result of eons of erosion from wind and rain. The water hole here is the only active year-round one for hundreds of miles around.

"The first white man spotted the rock in 1873 and named it for Sir Henry Ayers, who was the Premier of South Australia at the time." Anderson inclined his head toward Tintinjara. "There is a movement afoot to change the name back to the original Aborigine name-Uluru. There are strong emotions on both sides about the issue."

Tintinjara took that as his cue to explain his perspective. His voice was a low whisper, almost drowned out by the rumble from the mine shaft. "Uluru rose out of the plain at the end of the creation period. In the beginning--before the world took on its present form--the carpet-snake people came out of the east and settled at the water hole here. Then came the venomous-snake men from the west and they attacked the carpet-snake people. At the close of the battle Uluru rose up, a symbol of all the fighting." He waved his hand slowly about. "Every pit, every outcropping, every mark on this Rock, has a special significance to my people."

"The spot at which we began drilling did not have any particular significance," Lamb interjected. "We have tried--"

"The entire Rock is significant," Tintinjara countered.

Anderson seconded that from his perspective. "Ayers Rock is called the 'heart' of Australia. You're drilling right into our heart, mate, and there's a lot of folks that aren't very happy about it."

Hawkins could tell Lamb was trying to maintain a diplomatic front. If this had been the United States and they were drilling through a Native American burial site, Hawkins had no doubt but that there would be no representative from a tribe present. National security would ensure that. Here, however, they had to try to placate.

"We understand," Lamb said. "Let me assure you that we will do everything we can to minimize any..."

Hawkins tuned out the political role-playing and walked out of the tent. If anything significant happened, the other members of the team would pick it up. He could feel the eyes of several guards on him as he walked over to the metal tower surrounding the drill hole. The marine at the door noted the access tag clipped to his fatigue pocket but still demanded to see Hawkins's ID.

Once inside, the temperature shot up a good twenty degrees from the sweltering heat as two air-conditioner units strained under an impossible load. Four men stripped to their waists were working on a two-story platform that looked like a miniature oil-drilling derrick. One of the men noted Hawkins, searched his sterile uniform for any indication of rank, and, failing that, noted the 9mm pistol strapped in a thigh holster and the look on Hawkins's face. He came over, his black skin glistening.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Hawkins extended his hand. "Major Hawkins. How's it going?"

The man looked no more than twenty-five and seemed surprised at Hawkins's hand being thrust out. He awkwardly took it. "Captain Tomkins, sir. Third BLT Engineers." He glanced over his shoulder as a load of crumbled rock was pulled out of the borehole and loaded onto a small cart and hauled away. "We're over halfway down." Tomkins seemed to be trying to size Hawkins up. "Any idea what we're looking for, sir?"

Normally the inquisitiveness would have bothered Hawkins, but in this case he felt a strong affinity for the captain. "No. Wish I did." He walked over and climbed up the ladder to the platform where the other three engineers were, Tomkins following. Leaning over, he could see the drill pipe disappearing down into a three-foot-diameter hole in the red rock. There were no lights, so he could only see a few feet into the hole. He ignored the whine of the drill, the rumble of the rock shards coming up the small conveyer, and the presence of the men around him. He felt himself drawn to the hole, going down five hundred feet, to what? Hawkins shivered and broke his gaze away.

"How long before you get there?"

"Forty-eight hours, working this way. Whatever 'there' is," Tomkins replied.

22 DECEMBER 1995, 0800 LOCAL

21 DECEMBER 1995, 2230 ZULU