The Dig by Alan Dean Foster

More than anything, it reminded him of pictures he’d seen in books on mythology. A recumbent griffin, he thought, though designed to walk on two legs instead of four. Furthermore, no terrestrial bird had ever possessed a head like that. As for the wings, they were stunted and protruded from the back in sets of three. He wasn’t sure they were wings. They might have been external gills, some kind of vestigial ornamentation, or a sex attractant.

Mounting the platform, the reason for the sculpture’s extraordinary detail became clear. It wasn’t a sculpture but a corpse. Something about its aspect, something in the face struck him with singular force.

He felt he had finally found a Cocytan.

CHAPTER 15

He couldn’t be sure, of course. In life it might prove as ravenous as the monsters he had only recently escaped. But he didn’t think so. The features were somehow too sensitive, the fact that the upper limbs lay relaxed by the side of the body instead of being contracted against it, all contributed to the feeling of intelligent repose.

There was one way to find out. Dare he chance it?

What if it was nothing more than another mindless eating machine, a different sort of guardian awaiting thoughtless resurrection so that it could keep this chamber clean of intruding vermin such as himself? In the end it was the absence of predatory cutlery such as prominent teeth or claws that decided him. It might spit poison or jump on prey with both feet, but it did not have the countenance of a feral hunter.

Digging into a pocket, he removed one of the life crystals. The pale-green efflorescence was as strong as ever. Mounting the platform, he studied the calm, strong face for a long moment before placing the crystal carefully in the center of what he supposed to be the chest. As it melted into the broad torso, he retreated to a respectful distance. This time he was ready to dash back into the tunnel should the revived subject exhibit any hostile tendencies.

Both eyes flicked open simultaneously. They were wide, intelligent and intensely inhuman. Low took another step backward, marveling at the pace of resurrection. However long the entity had lain here, upper limbs laid neatly at its sides, face turned mutely heavenward, it had taken the fabulous crystal only moments to initiate the process of revivification.

How long, he found himself wondering as it rose to a sitting position? A year, a hundred, a thousand? It pivoted slowly on its hips to survey its surroundings, methodically taking in the details of the chamber, the ambient light and the ceiling overhead. Eventually, its gaze settled on the room’s only other occupant. Those extraordinary eyes met Low’s. Neither human nor Cocytan blinked.

Confusion, jubilation and excitement reigned in equal measure among the assembled perceivers. They were helpless to influence the course of events, which had taken a turn not even the most optimistic among them had foreseen, so their frustration nearly exceeded their elation. So strong was the outpouring of perception that several times Low found himself looking over his shoulder in search of an unseen presence. Though a million and more returned his attention, there was naught for him to see.

No longer did he have to speculate about the revived’s level of intelligence. This was no mindless guardian that gazed back at him, no blindly ravening carnivore. The tripartite wings fluttered against the alien’s back, serving some purpose other than flight. They could no more raise that impressive mass off the ground than could Low’s arms if he flapped them until he dropped.

When the creature—the Cocytan, Low corrected himself— showed no inclination to advance, the Commander took a hesitant step forward. “Sorry for waking you up.”

The being’s beak parted, and sounds emerged. They might have been music or mating grunts for all Low knew. If they were language, it was quite beyond him. Though it was oddly guttural and utterly incomprehensible, he listened closely in hopes of divining some meaning. In this he failed completely.

He spread his hands wide, hoping the gesture might be understood. “It’s no good. I can’t understand you.”

In response, the Cocytan gestured with one arm and spoke again, more softly and less commandingly this time. Double lids half closed. What this portended remained hidden from Low. He was no more adept at reading the Cocytan’s gestures and expression than he had been at deciphering its language. Assuming it was speaking and not ululating some arcane postresurrection life chant, he reminded himself.

Robbins, now, with her experience with the Mayan glyphs and her knowledge of language in general, might have done better. Certainly she couldn’t do any worse. Low spoke only a smattering of German and Russian and was fluent in nothing save math.

Unfortunately, Robbins was still wherever she was, leaving him on his own.

“Excuse me just a minute, will you?” Anticipating failure, he nonetheless removed his tiny pen communicator from his belt. It would only work if the receiving unit was activated. There was nothing to lose by trying. He lifted the communicator slowly, to show that it was harmless. The Cocytan tracked every movement. While not as imposing or threatening as the eels or the outer guardians, it was seven feet tall, broad at the shoulders, and plenty massive enough to inflict some serious hurt if it were so inclined. Low was careful to do nothing to alarm it, though it didn’t act as if it could be easily alarmed.

Without much hope of success, he activated the unit and tried to contact Robbins. Would she ever remember to turn the damn thing back on?

“Just trying to get in touch with a friend of mine,” he explained cheerfully. Alien eyes continued their probing. Curiously, angrily, indifferently? He could not tell. “She wandered off some time ago, and I’m probably not going to be able to get a hold of her because I haven’t been able to since we split up and I’ve been trying ever since to—”

“Boston? Boston, is that you?” The voice was distorted by distance and intervening structures, but it was instantly recognizable. Mightily surprised, Low could only gape at the tiny built-in speaker. As for the Cocytan, its gaze might have flicked in the direction of the communicator for a second or so. Low wasn’t sure.

He smiled wanly. “Guess I was wrong.” Thumbing the tuner, he tried to eliminate the static. “Maggie, where are you? Where the hell have you been and what have you been doing?”

“Trying to find you,” she shot back. “I’ve been all over these little islands.”

So the scientist’s supposition had been correct. “I guess we kept missing each other. Well, it’s time to end the waltz. We have company.”

“Company? I don’t understand.”

While Low spoke, he kept a wary eye on the Cocytan. It looked relaxed seated there atop its platform, silently studying both visitor and surroundings.

“At my instigation, one of the locals has decided to put in an appearance. If it’s upset at having its sleep disturbed, it’s keeping it pretty much to itself. We’ve been trying to communicate, but his knowledge of colloquial English about equals my mastery of Cocytan.”

“An alien? Are you serious? A real, live alien?”

“No,” Low replied sarcastically, “it’s a special effect. It’s sitting right here in front of me. We keep yakking at each other, without much result. It was dead, but perfectly preserved, and I revived it with a life crystal.”

“Life crystal? What…?”

“I’ll explain everything. Where are you now?”

“Well, you know how those glass balls take you from the central island to the others? It’s not hard to figure out; the machine does all the work. I crawled into one and it carried me to this huge tower.”

Low nodded absently. “Brink and I have visited all but one of them. Can you describe your surroundings?”

“Sure.” She proceeded to do so. “The place is full of mounted machinery and transparent cases. Some of them are lit from within. Most don’t respond, but one or two react when you touch them.”

The museum spire, Low decided. “I know where you are. I’ll meet you back in the big chamber on the central island. I don’t suppose you’ll be able to make any sense out of what this creature is saying, but you can’t do any worse than I am. If you’d like to give it a try, I’ll bring you back.”

“Oh, I think I’ll be able to talk to it,” she chirped brightly. “No problem. It’ll be fun to try it out.”

Low did a double take. “Try what out?”

“The Cocytan language, of course. At least, I assume it’s the local language. Where did you think I’d been all this time? I’ve been studying it.” She spoke as casually as if she’d been browsing a Berlitz over coffee and danish.

“How’d you manage that? Brink and I couldn’t even tell the written glyphs apart from the control surfaces.”

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