“Affirmative,” Max said. “The Nighthawk was present in a northern polar orbit during all major flares of the aurora borealis. It was also present over the South Pole during the major and minor flares of the aurora australis, otherwise known as the southern lights. Its positioning indicates direct emersion within the vortex point of the Earth’s magnetic field.”
“Vortex point?” Priya asked.
“Where the lines of the Earth’s magnetic field converge above the North and South Poles, before they dive down into the Earth.”
By now, Priya had picked up on his tone. “Do you know what they’re doing?”
“Testing a theory,” he said. “A very dangerous theory.”
She looked at the schematics again, running her finger across the imaginary Penning traps. The term itself gave her the answer. “They brought something back. Didn’t they?”
Hiram nodded. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “And it’s something far more deadly than any satellite could hope to be.”
30
La Jalca Canyon, Chachapoya ruins
By dusk, the cooking fires had been stoked and several long wooden tables set for a communal meal. Urco introduced Kurt and Emma to the rest of the volunteers and insisted that their arrival was cause for celebration.
Before the food was served, Urco led the group in a traditional invocation. “It’s a Chachapoya prayer,” he explained. “It cautions us not to begin the feast until all the guests are present and accounted for.”
“Another way to remember the people whose world you’re excavating?” Emma asked.
“Precisely,” Urco said. “We even live like them. In ancient times there was far less trade than today. Each society, each village, had to be self-sufficient. And so are we. We catch rainwater in barrels, grow manioc in the southern section of the clearing. We have the llamas in the corral.”
“Adorable animals,” Emma said.
“I wouldn’t get too attached to them,” Kurt whispered.
“Why?”
“I think you’re about to eat one.”
She looked ill for a second.
“You can’t be self-sufficient in everything,” Kurt said.
Urco disagreed. “I assure you, we are. As are all the villages our volunteers come from. I tell you, the rest of civilization could cease to exist and we would never know it.”
“I can understand the desire to live that way,” Emma said. “But wouldn’t all the effort put into growing crops and raising animals be better used here, at the dig site? If the food was shipped in, it would leave you more workers to handle the other chores.”
“The road to civilization is both long and treacherous,” he said. “Both in the real and metaphorical sense. Being self-sufficient keeps us from being dependent on that road in any form. And since I’ve recently heard that it was closed . . .”
Kurt laughed and took a drink of water.
A moment later, the food was served: bread made from manioc flour, some type of diced vegetable and what looked like venison. The aroma was heavenly.
“Enjoy it, my friends,” Urco said. “As soon as we’re done, I’ll show you what you came to see.”
Kurt nodded, buried the impatience he felt and enjoyed a hearty and unusual dinner. As things were cleared away, Kurt and Emma went back to the Range Rover to collect a few items they would need and then rejoined Urco near the bank of solar panels. “We use these to power our modern equipment.”
“So you’re not dependent on civilization,” Emma said, “but you are beholden to the sun.”
“True,” Urco replied. “But the sun is far more reliable. Five billion years and counting. Something tells me modern civilization will never match that.”
“So this is where you were when you saw the light in the sky?” Kurt asked.
“Yes,” Urco said. “I came up the trail from our tents and checked the flashlights. We were going to look into a newly discovered cave that day, so we needed as much light as possible. Satisfied that everything was fully powered, I came over to this stand where our video cameras were connected to their chargers.”