Looking at those Incan ruins, he’d vowed to live it well.
Staring at what was left of this strange, ancient place, he wondered what had gone wrong.
There was some property to the stone all around them that gave it a subdued glow. It was light borrowed from the flashlights, he was sure, subsumed and then given back as a surprisingly sharp luminosity. He’d shine his flashlight at one spread of stone, move it aside, and the stone would glow for a long while afterward. It helped them light their way. It helped them see where they were going.
This wasn’t part of the ship on which they had been. This was a building, a grounded structure built into the rock of the land. It was a ruin, yet one that was remarkably well preserved in places.
Fleeing though they were, Hoop couldn’t help staring around in wonder.
They’d entered through a badly damaged area, climbing over piles of rubble, some of the fragments the size of one of their boots, some five yards across. Anything could have been hiding in the shadows. From what they could see, nothing was, or if it was it remained hidden.
They soon found themselves on a curving, sloping path that led upward, and kicking aside dust and gravel Hoop could make out the fine mosaics that made up the paving. Swirls of color, unfaded by the immensity of time. Curling, sharp patterns, features he could not make out, splashed shapes that fought and rested in harmony with each other. He suspected the mosaic told a story, but it was too smothered with dust for him to make it out. And perhaps he was too short to appreciate the full tale. Those dog-aliens might have seen it better, with their longer legs, higher heads.
This was amazing. An alien civilization, an intelligence the likes of which had never yet been discovered in almost two centuries of space exploration, and many hundreds of star systems entered and charted.
“I don’t think I can process any of this,” Lachance said. “I don’t think I can think about it all, and run at the same time.”
“Then just run,” Hoop said. “You okay there?”
Lachance was still lugging Sneddon, slung across one shoulder so that he could still access his charge thumper with the other hand.
“All that time in the Marion’s gym is paying off.”
“Tell me if—”
“You’ve got enough on your mind.” And Lachance was right. Ripley still clung to Hoop’s arm, and though her eyes were open and he could see that she was taking some of this in, she was still bleeding, stumbling, fading in and out. They’d have to stop soon. Patch her up.
Baxter and Kasyanov were helping each other, arms slung over shoulders like casual lovers.
The curved path rose around a massive central column, like the largest spiral staircase ever. The huge building’s ceiling was high, damaged in places but still largely whole. Their flashlights lit some of the way ahead, and the glowing property of the stone helped level the illumination. But there were still heavy shadows in front of them, hiding around the bend, concealing whatever waited.
Hoop remained ready.
Doorways led off from the central spiral. There were intricate designs around these, beautiful sculptures showing dog-aliens in what must have been tales from their civilization’s past, real or mythical. He saw the creatures in groups and ranks, at war, bathing, creating an obscure form of art, exploring, and in some carved spreads they seemed to be interacting with other, even stranger looking creatures. There were star charts and the representations of aircraft, spacecraft, and giant floating things that might even have been living. This made him think of the buried vessel they had just left behind, and the implications…
They were staggering, yet still too dangerous to muse upon.
Concentrate, Hooper! he thought. Don’t look at the fancy decorations around the doors, think about what might come though them!
The curving, rising path ended in another vast open space. Huge columns supported a solid ceiling so high that the lights barely touched it, yet the material still became subtly luminous, retaining some of the light they aimed upward. They were creating their own starry sky, soft splashes of color and light retained and shining back down at them, if only for a time.
Around the nearest supporting column, upright objects cast long shadows.
“Is that them?” Lachance whispered. They all paused, panting from the climb up the spiraling ramp, some of them groaning softly from their wounds. Ripley was relatively alert again, right hand pressed tightly across the wound in her stomach.
“No,” she said. “Too big. Too still.”
“Statues,” Hoop said. “At least I hope so. Come on. We’ll stay near the wall, look for another way up.”
They kept close to the edge of the wide-open space. In truth the size of it scared Hoop. He’d rather move through corridors and tunnels than this inhuman cavern, where the lights couldn’t reach the other side and shadows might hide anything. But keeping close to the wall did something to hold back the agoraphobia.
As they closed on the massive column and the statues arrayed around its base, some of the detail became clearer. There were a dozen figures standing on high stone plinths. Several of them had lost limbs, one of them a head, but others remained virtually whole. They were all dog-aliens, with their stocky legs, strange torsos, bulky heads, and yet each was distinct. Some carvings wore different clothing that almost covered their bodies. Others stood on their hind legs and reached for the sky, or pointed, or held their limbs up as if gesticulating. Even their facial features were diverse. Hoop could see carved areas around the plinth’s bases, and he assumed it was their written language. Maybe these were famous persons—rulers, teachers, or explorers.
“No time,” he whispered, because he knew everyone would feel as fascinated as him. “Not now. Maybe we’ll come back. Maybe we’ll send someone back.”
“They’d just die,” Ripley said. She seemed stronger now, as if becoming used to the pain, but he could still see the dark dampness of blood across her suit, and a sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“We need to get you patched up,” Hoop said.
“No, we—”
“Now.” He refused to argue. Two minutes to bind and treat her wounds might save them half an hour if it meant she could walk under her own steam. “Guys, eyes and ears open. Ripley… strip. Kasyanov?”
Kasyanov gently laid down her plasma torch, wincing from the pain in her own terribly wounded hand, and unclipped her waist pack.
Ripley started peeling off her slashed and bloodied suit. Hoop flinched back when he saw the open wound across her neck, shoulder, and upper chest, but he didn’t look away. The edges of the wound pouted open, skin tattered, flesh and fatty layers exposed. Revealing them to the air made Ripley woozy again, and she leaned against him as the doctor set to work.
“This will hurt,” Kasyanov said. Ripley didn’t make a sound as Kasyanov sterilised the wound as best she could, washing out dark specks of dust and grit. She injected painkiller into six locations, then sprayed a local anaesthetic along the entire extent of the gaping cut.
While the anaesthetic went to work she tugged down Ripley’s suit to below her waist and examined the stomach wound. As Hoop glanced down he caught Kasyanov frowning up at him.
“Just do your best,” Ripley hissed.
Hoop hugged Ripley to him, kissed the top of her head.
“Hey,” she said. “Fast mover.”
Kasyanov treated the stomach wound, then stood again and started stapling the gash across her shoulder. The staple gun made a whispering click each time it fired. Ripley tensed but still didn’t make a sound. After fixing the wound closed, Kasyanov taped a bandage across it and sprayed it with a sterile solution.