She acknowledged, signed off, and fell in behind. 'Tell me about Carson,' she said.
'You'll like him. He's retired army. One of those gifted amateurs who are a tradition in archaeology. Like yourself.' His tone was light, but she understood he was quite serious. 'He's Henry's administrator and executive officer.' He looked squarely at her. 'And his pilot. If Frank weren't around, Henry would have to behave like a manager. As it is, Frank does all the routine stuff, and Henry gets to be an archeologist.'
'Carson doesn't object to that?'
'Frank likes the arrangement. He's a little rough around the edges, and he has a tendency to overreact. But he's easygoing, and he can get things done without ruffling egos. He enjoys the work. The organization could do a lot worse.'
Carson's vehicle was starting to descend. 'Downtown Oz,' said Hutch. The blocks were a little higher here than they were out near the wall. Other than that, the sameness was deadening.
There was a central square, anchored on each corner by a squat tower, or by the ruins of one. The square was about a half-kilometer on a side. A fifth tower, a unit shorter than the others, had been raised in the exact center. Each was as quadrilateral as everything else in Oz.
Richard was half out of his seat, trying to get a better look. 'Tilt this thing a little, will you? My way—'
Hutch complied.
Two towers were piles of rubble. A third, on the southwest, was scorched. Burned black from the base up. The fourth was almost untouched. 'There,' Richard said, pointing to the black one. 'Tell him to land there.'
She relayed the message, and Carson acknowledged. 'What are we looking for?' she asked.
He looked pleased. 'How much do you know about the symmetry of this place, Hutch?'
'Not much. Just that it's there. What's to know?'
'Put a few square kilometers on the screen.'
'Sure.' She brought up a view centered on the middle tower.
'Now. Pick a target. Anywhere.'
'Okay.' She zeroed in on a cluster of oblongs forming a letter H. They were approximately two kilometers north.
'Draw a line from the group directly through the central tower. And keep going.'
On the opposite side of the screen, the line touched another H. At the same range. 'It's a reverse image,' she said.
'Surprised?' Richard couldn't suppress a smirk.
Yes. The records she'd examined hadn't mentioned it. 'Maybe it all has religious significance. Some high- tech species doing penance. That make sense?'
'Not to me.'
Carson's shuttle was almost down.
Hutch turned the short-range scanners on the complex. 'The central tower is nine units high, defining a unit as our basic block, four point three four meters on a side. The outer towers are ten. Like everything else here, they're solid. There's no evidence of any interior space.' Carson landed, and she started her own descent. 'Funny: you'd expect the central tower to be the tallest of the group. Not the shortest. They just don't think the way we do.'
Carson had parked close to the edge. Hutch's lights touched the Temple shuttle. It was streamlined, intended for heavy atmospheric use. That meant a sacrifice in payload capacity. It was flashier than Alpha in another way too: the Academy had begun painting its spacecraft and CATs in an effort to shore up morale at remote field sites. The vehicle on the rooftop was a bright blue and gold. The Academy's colors. Probably another one of Adrian Hart's decisions.
She rotated the shuttle to bring the passenger's hatch inboard, toward the center of the roof. Give her preoccupied boss as little opportunity as possible to fall over the side. Carson climbed out and waved. She blinked her lights, and sliced down with easy skill, tread to tread.
Richard released his restraints, and reached back for his Flickinger harness. Hutch struggled into her own, pulled it over her flight jacket. Air tanks were okay. She activated the energy field, and helped Richard with his. When they were ready, she decompressed the cockpit.
Carson's military background showed. He wore crisply pressed khakis and a baseball cap, stenciled Cobra II, with a coiled serpent and lightning-bolt logo. His name was prominently displayed over the left breast of his jacket. He was a big man, broad in the shoulder, waist beginning to thicken. In the style of the time, he was clean-shaven, with black hair cut short and just beginning to gray. He stood waiting, legs spread, hands clasped behind his back.
Pressure went to zero, and both hatches swung open. Richard was not precisely clumsy, but Alpha seemed to have been designed with athletes in mind. To debark, it was necessary to climb out onto a stubby wing, and descend via handholds in the fuselage. Variations in gravity tend to confuse any passenger, but particularly someone like Richard, who was well along in years, and had never been light on his feet to begin with.
Carson appeared below the wing, and stood by, but made no actual move to help the older man. That was prudent: Richard did not like being helped. But he was there if needed. Hutch approved.
When her passenger was safely down, Hutch dropped lightly beside him. She clipped a tether around her left wrist and attached it to the shuttle. Take no chances on a rooftop in this gravity.
Richard was already on one knee, examining the charred stone. 'What happened to this place?' he asked Carson. 'Does anybody have any idea?'
'None. Nobody has been able to put together even a reasonable hypothesis.'
'Maybe the construction ship blew up,' Hutch suggested.
Carson frowned. 'Doesn't seem like the kind of damage that would come from a single blast.'
Richard got up and walked solemnly toward the edge of the roof. Carson moved as quickly to his side as the low gravity would permit. Hutch stayed a step behind.
'Spooky place,' she said.
Carson smiled. His expression suggested he could see that someone might think so.
Richard did what people always do in high places. He leaned out and looked down. A plunge into the street, even from this height, wouldn't be fatal, unless you landed on your head. But you would sure as hell develop a limp. 'Careful,' said Carson, staying close.
'Is there a team currently working here?' Richard asked.
'No. There hasn't been any kind of presence in Oz for months. We pulled everybody out after we got the Temple deadline.'
'There's not much traction up here,' cautioned Hutch.
Richard stared out over the city. 'Did you ever find any wreckage? Any trace of whatever was here?'
Carson shook his head. No.
'Anything at all left behind? Footprints? Marks in the ground—?'
The two spacecraft stood against the endless cubes and oblongs. Their fuselages and wings and pods were all rounded. A red guide lamp mounted between Alpha's treads blinked softly. Cabin lights in both vehicles spilled out onto the seared rock.
'There's nothing. Wish there was, Doctor.' Carson glanced at Hutch, and returned his attention to Richard. 'Did you want to see the quarries? Where the rock came from?'
'No. Thank you. What else here is worth seeing?'
'There's an inscription.'
'Inscription?' Richard's interest soared. 'Why didn't you say something before? The Abstracts don't mention it.'
'The Abstracts are a year old. We've been a little too busy to monkey with updates.'
Richard rubbed his hands together. An expression of beatific pleasure lit his features, and he waved an arm, a gesture which was too sudden and sent him reeling sideways and over the edge. Hutch and Carson both grabbed for him. They weighed so little in the low gravity, which was about one-tenth standard, that they'd all have gone down had Hutch's tether not taken hold. Richard let out a whoop, and they scrambled for balance, but he never missed a beat. 'Thanks, Frank,' he said. And, after righting himself: 'What does it say? Have you been able to read it?'
'Not a word,' said Carson, looking apologetic. 'But you'll find it worth your time.'
