Steph Bennion - Paw-Prints of the Gods

“Tell me about the book,” said Kedesh. “The Isa-Sastra . Is it genuine?”

“It’s a fascinating thing,” Ravana told her, wondering how much to reveal. “When I first heard the story of how extraterrestrials supposedly brought it to Earth I found it difficult to take seriously. But it’s certainly in no script I’d seen before coming to the dig. What’s interesting is that the way it is written makes it possible to interpret the basics from scratch, even with no cultural or linguistic references to work with.”

“It sounds like you’ve been studying it a while.”

Ravana hesitated. “Administrator Verdandi at Newbrum wanted an inquest into the Dhusarian Church,” she said. “Her office confiscated the book as evidence. It was rather naughty of me, but before I handed it over a friend of mine helped me scan the entire thing, including Taranis’ notes, so there’s now a holovid file of it on my slate. So yes, I have had quite a bit of time to look at it since.”

“That was sly,” Kedesh murmured approvingly.

“Taranis had been studying it for years,” Ravana told her. “He’d deciphered the basic script, but really had barely scratched the surface. I got hold of the official interpretation from the net, the one used in the books given to members of the Dhusarian Church. It’s obvious he wildly embellished what decoded fragments he had to create the translation.”

“Fwack fwack!” chided Stripy.

“Thraak,” agreed Nana.

“That’s religion for you,” Kedesh remarked. “If it is the real thing, I’m amazed it can be read at all. The programme Artorius kindly dropped into our heads is also quite incredible. I assume Taranis’ research on one led to the development of the other.”

“It’s all very clever,” Ravana admitted. “The book starts with a series of diagrams that anyone with a bit of chemistry knowledge would recognise as elements from the periodic table. Each has numbers in both binary and their own script, which Taranis worked out uses a system in base twelve. This then goes on into mathematics and physics, so that numbers and words in the book’s script can be defined through basic concepts in distance, movement and time. What Taranis struggled with but I spotted straight away is that the equations use Planck units, which are universal constants.”

“Sounds a thrilling read.”

“Then there’s short sections on biology and geography with yet more diagrams. Finally, there’s a tricky section that I think tries to bring it all together to explain verbs and the finer points of the grey’s language. Taranis didn’t get far with that; having tried to go through it myself, I’m not surprised. However, he must have made quite a bit of progress for someone to develop the implant translation programme.”

Kedesh gave Nana a thoughtful look. “What do you know of this?”

“Thraak thraak!”

“Fwack fwack,” added Stripy.

“So the book sounds genuine, but you have no idea who created it?”

“It never occurred to me to ask the greys,” mused Ravana.

“Maybe it was an attempt at first contact,” Kedesh remarked. “That would bowl anyone over. So is that all it is? A teach-yourself-alien phrasebook?”

“Fwack!” retorted Stripy.

“I wasn’t being patronising!”

“The rest is what Taranis called the sacred texts,” replied Ravana. “The fabled Book of the Greys! From the bits he had translated, it seems to be a history of their civilisation. This is where the so-called prophecy about Falsafah is written.”

“I take it you’re not a believer. Can you remember what it said?”

Ravana frowned. “That’s the weird thing. Artorius recited a few lines of it earlier and said the nurses had taught it to him, though I’m not sure why. But there was also this other phrase that was so odd it stuck in my mind.”

Kedesh gave her a questioning look. “Which is?”

“Paw-prints of the gods,” she said. “Or at least, that was Taranis’ translation.”

The hours slipped by. At one point, Ravana thought she saw a flash of silver and a pair of yellow eyes lurking in the shadow of a nearby dune, but with innumerable doubts still clouding her mind was reluctant to mention it to anyone else. Eventually, the thin black line of the gravel track appeared on the horizon, unnaturally stark and straight amidst the endless rolling sands. Artorius became ever more sullen and punctuated his complaints about the constant rocking of the transport with noisy grumbles about the lack of food in his stomach. Kedesh reluctantly agreed to stop for a rest once they reached the road.

They parked on the edge of the road’s low embankment, facing west ready for the next leg of the journey. Artorius waited at the table, his expression that of someone unwilling to fetch food for himself when there were others quite capable of getting it for him. Ravana, having been handed a box of rations from Kedesh, barely had time to examine the contents before Artorius snatched it from her to rummage for what he wanted.

“What a rude little boy,” commented Kedesh. “Anyone else want tea?”

Ravana nodded assent, extracted the box from Artorius’ grubby hands and retrieved a selection of packs for Kedesh, the greys and herself. Everything in the box was a vegetarian dish, which no doubt accounted for Artorius’ disappointed scowl. She was handing the box back to the boy when a loud beeping noise was heard from the cockpit. The communication console had come to life and a screen showed a code number and a graphic of a silver shield. Ravana looked closer and scowled. Upon the shield was the word: ‘POLICE’.

“It seems Artorius’ rudeness is contagious,” murmured Kedesh, coming to her side. “Why do people always call when we’re just about to eat?”

“You could ignore them,” Ravana suggested warily. “Pretend we’re asleep?”

“And turn down a chance to chat with Que Qiao agents? The local police are the big fish in a lonely pond and do not take kindly to being ignored.”

“What’s happening?” asked Artorius, his mouth full of food.

“Shut up and eat your dinner,” Kedesh told him. “No, wait! Ravana, take him and the neands into the back and find somewhere to hide. If they catch sight of you on holovid it will lead to all sorts of awkward questions.”

Ravana caught the look in the woman’s eye. She quickly rounded up a protesting Artorius and herded him and the greys into the transport’s small washroom, then squeezed in after them. She pulled the door closed behind her, careful to leave a small gap. Ravana watched as Kedesh lowered herself into the driver’s seat, clearly perturbed.

Kedesh reached for the console and pressed the switch to accept the call. The image on the holovid screen promptly changed to show the fierce Arabic features of a woman wearing a distinctive blue headscarf. From the way the view occasionally juddered, Ravana guessed the Que Qiao agent was calling from a moving vehicle.

“My dear Ininna,” greeted Kedesh, her voice steady. “We meet again.”

“Kedesh!” snapped the caller. “By the mighty Allah, why are you still on Falsafah? We have made it clear you have no jurisdiction here!”

“I missed my flight. Thought I’d take in the sights while I wait for another.”

The woman pushed back a stray length of dark hair and scowled. “There’s been a lot of odd activity in the area these last few days. It’s too much of a coincidence to find that you’re still around,” she said irritably. “Our transport will be with you in ten minutes and I expect you to be ready to receive visitors. Understand?”

“I’ll come to you,” Kedesh told her. “Do you have any tea?”

“You’ll get what’s coming to you. Don’t try running out on us again!”