Джек Макдевитт - Deepsix

"How do we know these things?" she asked. "Plainfield told me that we still can't read any of the script."

Chernowski refilled his mug, glanced at her to see whether she'd changed her mind and would share some of the brew, and smiled politely when she declined. "We can deduce quite a lot from the context in which the images are traditionally placed. Although questions and doubts certainly remain. Does the turtle represent the god of wisdom? Or is it just a symbol of the divine attribute? Or, for that matter, is it just a piece of art from a previous era that no one took seriously in any other sense?"

"You mean this place might have been just an art museum?"

Chernowski laughed. "Possibly," he said.

The reconstruction had been raised a few kilometers away from the site of the original structure, in order to preserve the ruins.

Some pieces were quite striking. Especially, she thought, the winged beings. "Yes." He followed her gaze. "Flight capability does add a certain panache, does it not?" He looked up at a creature that bore a close resemblance to an eagle. It was carved of black stone. Its wings were spread and its talons extended. "This one is curious," he said. "As far as we can determine, this world never had eagles. Or anything remotely like an eagle."

She studied it for a long minute.

"It often appears on the shoulder of the Almighty," he continued, "and is closely associated with her. Much as the dove is with the Christian deity."

It was getting late, and they retreated to the rear of the nave. Hutch took a last look. It was the first time she'd seen the temple since its completion. "Magnificent," she said.

The rover was waiting outside. She looked at it, looked up at the temple, compelling in its austerity and simplicity. "It's several hundred thousand years ago, Mark," she said. "A few things might have changed since then. Maybe they had eagles in the old days. How would you know?"

They climbed in and started back toward the hopelessly mundane mission headquarters, little more than a collection of beige panels just west of the original ruins.

"It's possible," he admitted. "Although we've got a pretty good fossil record. But it's of no consequence. Better to agree with Plato that there are certain forms that nature prefers, even though we may not see them in the flesh." He got up and stretched.

"What do you think happened to the natives?" she asked. "Why'd they die off?" Pinnacle's dominant race was long gone. Almost three-quarters of a million years gone.

Chernowski shook his head. He was tall and angular, with white hair and dark eyes. He'd spent half his life on this world and had made arrangements to be buried here when the time came. If he was fortunate, he was fond of telling visitors, he'd be the first. "Who knows?" he said. "They got old, probably. Species get old, just like individuals. We know their population was failing drastically toward the end."

"How do you know that?"

"We can date the cities. There were fewer of them during the later years."

"I'm impressed," she said.

Chernowski smiled and accepted the compliment as his due.

Hutch looked out the window at the handful of collapsed stones that comprised all that remained of the original temple. "How much of it was extrapolation?" she asked. "Of what we just saw?"

The vehicle settled to the ground and they climbed out. "We know pretty much what the temple looked like. We're not exactly sure about all the details, but it's close. As to the statuary, we've recovered enough bits and pieces here and elsewhere to make informed guesses. I suspect if the natives could return, they'd feel quite at home in our model."

The archeological effort on Pinnacle was almost thirty years old. There were currently more than two thousand research and support personnel scattered across several dozen sites.

Pinnacle was still a living world, of course, but it was of minimal interest to exobiologists. Its various creatures had been cataloged, its pure electrical life-forms had been analyzed, and the only work that remained now was data collection. There would be no more surprises, and no more breakthroughs.

But there was still a great deal of fascination with the prime species. The temple-builders had spread to all five continents; the ruins of their cities had been found everywhere except in the extremes at the ice caps. But they were gone to oblivion. They were by far the earliest civilization known by humans. And despite Chernowski's boasts, not one member of their species was known by name. Not even, she thought, the name of their prime deity.

Hutch thanked him for the tour and returned to the rover. She stood a few moments, half in and half out of the vehicle, gazing at the circle of antique stones, wondering how much of the temple she'd seen had come out of the imaginations of Chernowski's designers.

The e-suit fitted itself to her like a garment, save at the face, where it formed a hard oval shell, allowing her to speak and breathe comfortably. It afforded protection against extremes of temperature and radiation, and also countered air pressure within the body so that she could function in a vacuum. It felt rather like wearing a bodysuit of loose-fitting soft cloth. Power was derived from weak-force particles, and consequently the suit could maintain itself indefinitely.

When the temple had stood on this spot, the climate had been far more hospitable, and the surrounding lands had supported a thriving agricultural society. Later, the town and the temple had been sacked and burned, but the place had risen again, had risen several times from assaults, and eventually became, according to the experts, a seat of empire.

And then it had gone down permanently into the dust.

Her commlink vibrated. "Hutch? We're ready to go." That was Toni Hamner, one of her passengers. At the moment Toni was directing the loading crew.

A couple of Chernowski's peopk were lifting an engraved stone out of a pit. "On my way," she said.

She set down minutes later beside the lander. Another rover was on the ground, from which packing cases were being loaded. The cases contained artifacts, almost exclusively pieces of the temple, protected by foam. "We've got some ceramics to take back," said Toni. "Including a statue."

"A statue? Of whom?"

She laughed. "No one has any idea. But it's in good condition."

There were two loaders. One was looking at the shipping labels. "Cups," he said. "You believe that? After all this time?"

"John's new," said Toni. "It's fired clay," she told him. "Do it right, and it'll last forever." She was lithe, olive-skinned, happy-go-lucky. Hutch had brought her out from Sol four years before, with her husband. Rumor had it that she'd been maybe a bit too happy-go-lucky. He gave it up and wanted to go home, while Toni made it clear she intended to stay indefinitely. She was a power-flow expert, with an opportunity to show what she could do. Her time at Pinnacle, where she had an opportunity to design and implement her own systems without undue supervision, was priceless.

Apparently Toni had considered the husband expendable.

The cases were heavy, and it was essential to balance the load.

Hutch showed them where she wanted everything, and then climbed into the cabin. Her other three passengers were already seated.

One of them was Tom Scolari, an ADP specialist whom she'd known for years. Scolari introduced her to Embry Desjardain, a physician ending her tour, and Randy Nightingale, with whom she had a passing acquaintance. Nightingale had been a surprise, a late addition to her manifest. The flight home, she explained, would last thirty-one days. Not that they didn't already know.

She sat down, pressed the commlink, and informed the transport officer that she was ready to go.