They were on the center of the platform, the eggs symbolic of the beginning of life, the central part of all existence that matures to all living things: the bull, the boar, the lizard — all the creatures provided by the Heavens and the sun, a unity of one acting in perfect harmony.
This was truly the cradle of mankind, she considered, where life began as the simple tool of an egg, a single celled organism, which grew beneath the watchful eyes of heavenly gods.
She was ecstatic.
Here were the first indications of religion. The planetariums, the placement of the pods, the sculptures beneath their respective constellations, were symbolic but primitive suggestions. But Alyssa quickly realized that it was like children taking their first baby steps away from the cradle.
Mankind was learning.
Obsidian Hall stood in front of a wall of pictograms.
On a fifty-foot stretch, the wall depicted images of people with elongated skulls. Other depictions showed men riding in chariot-like vehicles with long trails of fire blowing out from the aft end.
“The Chariots of the Gods,” he commented. “How… quaint.”
Nevertheless, the depictions upon this wall were key recordings of Man’s first images of his place in the universe about eight thousand years before the Egyptian pyramids where even a consideration. Such a priceless artifact of recorded history, even by the pieces, would hang well in one of the rooms aboard the Seafarer. He placed his palms against the wall. There were so many priceless artifacts to choose from.
He stood back and re-examined the wall in its entirety, a pictogram story of pagan gods with bulbous heads trekking across the sky in fire-fueled chariots.
Eden, he thought, held many wonders.
John Savage stood behind Alyssa with his hands clasped behind the small of his back. It was wonderful, he thought, to see her so enthused and so happy. It was like a father watching his child enjoy an event, the happiness of someone else also his own and something shared.
He took up beside her. And then he rubbed his hands over the surface of one of the pods. It’s like glass,” he said. “It’s so smooth.”
“They pose as the center of life,” she said. “The miracle of birth from a single cell. The concept of life from the moment of conception. The true beginning of mankind.”
“Are you happy?” he asked her.
When she faced him, he saw the gleam in her eyes, the fascination of a new world written all over her face by the expressions she wore. “You have no idea what this means to me,” she said.
“Maybe I do,” he answered.
And then: “Ms. Moore!” She took a step away from the pods. It was Butcher Boy.
“There are several holes along the floor. Is it something we need to be concerned about?”
She nodded. “What you’re looking at are drainage holes,” she told him. “They’re common in pyramids established in areas known for flashflooding and are most common with pyramids in Mesoamerica. To see something like that suggests that the area had huge amounts of rainfall at one time.”
“So it’s nothing to worry about then? No shifting of walls or flying daggers?”
“You’ll be fine,” she told him. And then she returned to the pods.
“How deep are those holes?” asked Savage softly.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“They maybe our only means of escape,” he replied. “If we’ve exhausted our usefulness to Hall, then he may see fit that we be terminated. I’m sure he doesn’t want us telling the world that he ordered Noah’s killing. Or that he admitted to having Montario murdered.”
She could feel her excitement ebb.
“I’ll toss my lamp inside to gauge the depth,” he said lightly. “Be right back.”
Alyssa stood between the pods, a hand on one, her other hand holding her father’s photocopied scripts. She held the pages out from her. “At least we got this far,” she commented.
Savage stood over one of the drainage holes. The maw was completely black, almost fathomless. With an easy motion when no one was looking, he tossed the lamp into the hole.
He expected it to fall forever, the light turning into a mote, then gone.
But the light landed approximately ten to fifteen feet down. More amazingly, it landed in water and drifted another few feet into its depth. However, the current was soundless.
He stood over the hole, taking periodic glances at the people milling about the chamber, then watched as the lantern was slowly carried away by the drift.
All currents, he knew, had to lead somewhere.
He smiled.
“Ms. Moore.”
Every time she heard Hall’s voice, she could swear that her skin crawled. “What.”
“Have you seen the pictograms?”
“I’ll get to them.”
“I believe your father stated in his journal that you would question your faith should you find the truth. Perhaps the surrounding walls tell a significant tale he might have referenced. A most interesting narrative, I would think.”
“My father never made it this far. He was only hypothesizing from the ancient script from the walls above. He also said this place was a burial chamber. But as you see, it’s not.”
“Could you afford me a moment of your time then?” he asked her. “I’m deeply interested in the wall’s narrative, of the history behind the scenes sketched.”
She agreed to interpret. Silently, they made their way to the wall. The thought of having to talk to Hall sickened her at the most basic level, that of growing nauseous.
“Please,” he began with his arrogant tone, “explain these images to me.”
The imagery was basic and covered the world from primitive tribal caves to the pyramids in Egypt to the pyramids in Mesoamerica. The bulbous cranial shapes represented the head binding technique of ancient royalty. The chariots emitting flames from the aft suggested a royal patron on his journey to a heavenly-bound afterlife. It was theorized that the flames were actually depicted drawings of a comet’s tail or meteorites burning up in the atmosphere, giving the impression that the fire trails were preternatural when, in fact, it was a matter of magic that was really science not yet understood.
“It was believed that Nefertiti’s head was created by head binding,” she said.
“Head binding?”
“It’s a form of a permanent body alteration where the cranium is intentionally deformed. It’s done by distorting the normal growth of an infant’s skull by applying force by binding his or her head between two pieces of wood to create the conical shapes. And it’s done when the skull is most pliable when the child is about a month old and continues for approximately six months.”
He studied the image further. “Really?”
“The earliest examples of intentional cranial deformation date back as far as 45,000 BC in Neanderthal skulls. Intentional cranial deformation of Proto Neolithic Homo sapiens dated around the twelfth millennium BCE were discovered inside the Shanidar Cave in Iraq. There’s a plausible and scientific explanation for everything,” she finalized.
“Yet you believe in the afterlife.”
“That’s my personal view, yes.”
“Then I’m curious,” he continued. “Why would your father say that you might lose your spirituality if you discover the truth when all this has a plausible explanation? Was he wrong? A man of such renown?”
Their gazes held firm. And then: “Are we through? Did I answer your questions?”
His wry grin flourished at the edges. “Most of them,” he said. “But not all.”