I’m not afraid of spiders, she thought grumpily. But robot spiders? That’s just wrong.
If she had still been keeping score, that probably would have been strike three for Hodges, but she wasn’t, not after learning about Norfolk.
She had never regretted walking away from Tam Broderick’s offer to join the Myrmidons. She was an archaeologist, not a secret agent, and besides, the last thing she needed was to be working alongside Maddock again. But that didn’t mean she was apathetic about the threat posed by the Dominion.
Still, they weren’t going to show up here. She was sure of that.
“Looks like it’s working just fine,” she told Hodges. “Send it in.”
Hodges spoke into the mic again. “Shelob, end diagnostic.” The robot’s legs retracted and it crab-walked over to stand in front of its master. Hodges picked up one of two joystick controls wired to his computer and spoke again. “Initiate manual guidance.”
The robot began moving again, only now it was responding directly to Hodges’ will. It walked toward the small hole Jade had excavated and proceeded within.
“Shelob, light mode.”
A light flashed on inside the rocky niche, and Jade saw the interior of the access tunnel appear on the computer screen. The robot continued forward at a plodding but relentless pace, and in less than a minute, reached the junction with the vertical shaft, which appeared as a dark hole in the center of the image. Jade had peeked through during her excavation but there had not been much to see.
She had tried to convince Acosta to let her go in. She was an average climber, maybe not ready for Yosemite, but more than capable of making this ascent. Ever since that business in Germany, she had made a point of always bringing climbing gear along wherever she went. Acosta however steadfastly insisted that the initial survey be done with the robot. Jade suspected the reason for this had more to do with Acosta’s fascination with technology than a desire to preserve the site. Similar remote surveys conducted by a competing team the previous year had revealed previously undiscovered passages under the nearby Pyramid of the Feathered Serpent, along with a collection of mysterious metallic orbs, the significance of which were still being debated. Robots and futuristic technology was sexy. Old fashioned archaeology? Not so much.
Shelob advanced until the camera was looking directly through the hole, shining its light into the dark vertical shaft beyond.
“Here’s where my girl will show you what she’s made of,” Hodges said with a triumphant grin. He set down the joystick. “Shelob, autonomous mode.”
The camera view lurched forward and then swung around with dizzying abruptness. When the image finally stabilized, it showed what looked like an ordinary tunnel shaft, but Jade knew the camera was now facing directly up. The robot was making the ascent without any input from Hodges.
The next few minutes were interminably long as the robot shuffled up the six-foot wide vertical shaft. In the glow of its high-intensity light, the smooth, perfectly round walls gave the impression of traveling through an old pipe. After the first twenty feet or so, the texture of the walls changed from ordinary bedrock to a more uniform surface that was unnaturally smooth and blood red in color.
“Painted limestone mortar,” intoned Acosta. “Remarkably well preserved. We’ve moved above the foundation and into the interior of the pyramid. The exterior would have been painted similarly and adorned with murals.”
Jade noted the absence of decorative artwork and wondered again at the reason for this well shaft that seemed to lead nowhere and which had been sealed off by its builders. Acosta’s speculation about it representing a passage to the Underworld was plausible enough, but Jade was beginning to wonder if they weren’t perhaps moving in the wrong direction.
A few minutes later, the end of the tunnel came into view. The light shone past the mouth of the shaft, and reflected off the domed ceiling of a larger chamber. The robot paused there for a moment as if allowing the people watching the video feed to appreciate the view.
“She’s trying to figure out how to climb out of the shaft,” explained Hodges. “It’s a little tricky, but she knows what to do.”
“Can you reorient the camera?” Jade asked.
“Sure thing.” Hodges picked up the second joystick and as he toggled it, the view began to change. Jade could now see more of the curving ceiling, including uniquely stylized images rendered in bright yellow and green against the red background.
“That’s the Great Goddess!” Acosta exclaimed, pointing at the screen.
Jade recognized the image, a spider-like figure that was believed to represent a deity unique to the Teotihuacan culture, in Mexico at least. “That might explain the vertical tunnel” she said. “The Great Goddess is believed to be the spirit of the Underworld, as well as a symbol of creation, similar to the Spider Grandmother in Southwestern Native American lore.”
“More spiders,” Professor said in a stage whisper.
“But no Quetzalcoatl,” replied Jade, matching his tone. “So much for that bright idea.”
“I did not realize the ancient Americans worshipped a spider god,” Dorion said.
“Spiders show up in a lot of cultural traditions on the North American continent, sometimes as a trickster—”
“You mean like the West African spider god Anansi,” interjected Professor.
“Yes, but more often the spider is seen as a creative or wise force. Her webs are the ideas that hold the universe together.”
Dorion pondered this for a moment, then asked, “Is there a connection to Arachne of Greek mythology?”
Jade was surprised at the physicist’s insight. “Not a direct connection, but you find a lot of these archetypes throughout history. Spiders have always been seen as magical creatures for their ability to spin intricate webs. It makes sense that ancient peoples began to see them as a symbol of creation.”
The conversation fell off as the robot succeeded in lifting itself out of the shaft, giving them an unrestricted view of the chamber. There were more murals, many with familiar themes, but nothing else — no artifacts and certainly no evidence of human remains.
“Well,” Acosta said after a long silence. “It’s not everything we could have hoped for, but it is certainly a remarkable find nonetheless.”
Jade wasn’t ready to admit defeat however. “Send the robot down the shaft,” she told Hodges, and then turning to Acosta, added. “What if this was a sacrificial well? We might find a lot more at the bottom than at the top.”
“Like a Mayan cenote? But why would they seal it off?”
Jade didn’t have an answer for that, but Acosta evidently did not require convincing. “Mr. Hodges, can you take us down?”
“No problem,” replied the robotics expert, and then amended, “unless you need to go more than a hundred meters. That’s the limit of Shelob’s cable.”
“It’s much more likely that we’ll hit groundwater and have to turn back. But since we’re here, we may as well have a look.”
Water, Jade knew, would not necessarily mean it was — metaphorically speaking — a dry hole. The Maya made extensive use of sacred cenotes — limestone sinkholes — for sacrificial purposes, and some of the greatest troves of Mayan artifacts had been discovered therein. There was a growing body of evidence to support the idea that the Teotihuacanos had performed ritual human sacrifice, though not of the heart-wrenching variety that would later be performed by the Aztecs, but not all offerings were blood sacrifices. The Maya would throw valuable artwork into cenotes — jewelry and golden sculptures — to appease their gods.