Thursday, April 21, 2011

Part 2 Chapter 17: Hearts of Iron

2481 C.E.
UMOJAN EXPEDITIONARY FLEET
HIGH ORBIT OVER PLANET 2481fNO09

Boris was overseeing the re-forming of the expeditionary fleet after they had exited warp space. The track that had gone cold in front of their eyes had re-emerged. Thanks to Chester's inquisitiveness and ingenuity the combined fleet had found a new goal once again.
That night, when the mission seemed doomed and nobody knew where to go now, when the Terrans and the Protoss were confused and in a dead end and the Zerg were still relentlessly moving on somewhere out in space, hope was rekindled. Chester's fortunate idea, born in the dead of night, had awoken every more knowledgeable man that night and had arrived like the longed for burning answer that cometh at unawares.
And then hope vanished when they found out that the system was within Zerg-controlled space. The Protoss did not have a clear idea of how far the Swarm's influence was reaching through space, but they knew where a sort of boundary existed between their sector and the systems that the Zerg had taken. The supposed planet was away from the main combat zone between them and Zaraldis, but still on the enemy side of the barricade. Going there meant that the combined fleet would alert the Zerg of their presence and probably lure enemy forces to the site. Possibly before the exploration of the site was over.
And so, Zaraldis decided to risk. The Protoss half of the fleet was to attack the big hive cluster in local space, where the Zerg were expected to warp jump into 2481fNO09 from. While the Terrans found and secured the temple, the Protoss would keep the Zerg pinned down until the planet was checked. For as long as they could, the Protoss would harass the Zerg, after which their fleet would return to this planet where they would see the results of the Terrans' inspection and decide on what to do next.
Concern over the new troubles had settled in the Umojan expeditionary fleet. The unknown was rising between them and their objective, great and menacing. No one felt the burden of this stronger than the commander himself. Paskirov saw all the possible unpleasant ends of their campaign So he could do nothing else than just ignore the fears and move on with the operation. Quietly prepared for the worse, he calmly gave the orders, knowing that this way most of the statistically probable results would surpass his expectations anyway.
The fleet exited warp space close to the coordinates of 2481fNO09. The Umojans, in their feeble Terran ships made of metal and carrying that mediocre technology, were alone once again against the Zerg.
The fleet was preparing to enter the planet and the ships were in formation when suddenly the electronics went crazy. On the bridge of the Andronikos, all the consoles flashed in disorder and the lights vacillated in power for a couple of seconds. Then, they died and everything turned pitch black.
A second later, the reserve power kicked in and the bridge bathed in the red light of the auxiliary lighting. Boris was terrified. Not a malfunction. Not now!
'What is going on?' he shouted at the operators who were switching to the reserve power while the officers were walking around in confusion.
'Sir, it appears that something overloaded the power system of the ship. We don't know what it is yet, we have to contact the engine compartment.'
'Call for help from the other ships,' Boris ordered. 'Tell them that...' he began but stopped when he looked out the window at the Hreimdar and three of the Wanderer-class ships in space outside the battlecruiser.
'...we may need to wait for the antennae and the fleet transmission receivers to power up...' the young operator explained in his seat, but Paskirov wasn't listening.
He grabbed the binoculars, which he had considered rather useless and fanciful until now, and zoomed onto that part of the fleet. The other ships, too, lacked the normal bright lights.
'Sir?' a lad from the command of the Andronikos approached him.
'Not now, kid, we have a problem here,' Boris said hurriedly and went to the people on the computers to find out what was happening.
***
What had happened, it was understood, was that the ships had stood in the way of a powerful surge of solar wind. The charged particles had overwhelmed the defense systems of the ships and all possible power was automatically diverted to the anti-radiation shields of the ships and away from all other systems, causing a blackout and damage to the power grids.
'Can we get the ships going?' Paskirov asked the main engineer of the flagship.
'If we start running this or any other right now, who knows how it will malfunction. There's lots of bad wiring now, inside them, and it needs to be checked and replaced. To make sure all systems have their energy and run as good as old.'
Frigid seriousness permeated the admiral's face. 'How long will it take?'
'A couple of days,' the bearded man shrugged.
'You mean that for a couple of days we are stranded here in space, unable to do anything?' Boris was getting nervous.
'Er... Yes, sir, I'm afraid so. We can only try to fix it all as fast as possible so as to be back on the move again... Finding that special artifact and all.'
'Right, right. Very well. Begin affecting repairs now, I'll inform the fleet,' he murmured and left to the bridge.
The fleet was aware of the issue at hand. The science vessels and the Wanderer-class vessels had suffered almost no problems and power shortages after the storm, unlike the battlecruisers or the
Enteos where repairs were clearly necessary. So, all available men on the flagship were ordered to participate in the repairs.
Everybody contributed. From the lowest ranking serviceman to the top officers, people were standing next to the exposed cabling and the metal panels that were the walls of the corridors, looking at the engineering equipment and testing connections between their spot and that one floor above, where a similar group of people was observing a similar tangle of cables and sophisticated apparatuses usually hidden behind the walls of the battlecruiser.
The time was passing slowly and tediously. Men who were fit for battle felt awkward doing mundane and tedious prophylactics to parts of the ship that they never before considered important. Boris knew that at least Williams would not have any doubts about the disaster, but the prevailing worry with the status of the mission further exacerbated the worries. He was looking at all this, helping the chief engineer in keeping things in order. But the situation already seemed to take its toll on the men's morale, even though assistance was scheduled to come from other ships in the small fleet soon.
'Ah, Vice-admiral Ferguson,' Boris exclaimed once Ferguson came to the dimly illuminated bridge.
'Yes, sir?'
'Ferguson, you are now in charge of the whole thing. Help them not stand in each other's way.'
'Yes, sir. What will...' the vice-admiral began, but stopped, fearing he would irritate Paskirov.
'What will I be doing?' Boris looked at him, trying to show understanding.
'Y-yes.'
'I've got a little work to do. Give the men a hand. I may have been a bit rough on everybody after the Protoss joined us, and the good officer is close to his troops... I will go do some manual labor, this should cheer the crew up.'
Ferguson leaned back. 'Wow, I'm glad to hear that, sir... Oh, well, I'll be going then.'
'Yes you will. The chief engineer is somewhere at the top levels of the hammerhead, see him,' Boris said and left the bridge.
For the next few hours, he toiled alongside the men, carrying tools and wires around and serving as a minor service boy. The crewmen were seeing him, with the coat of the uniform taken off, and his example inspired them. Everywhere he went, the Terrans who saw him worked ever harder, trying to please their commander in the joint effort.
At evening break, most of the checking was done and some of the damaged grid was repaired. Boris was about to sit on the table at one of the non-officers' dining halls and eat when one of the gunners came by and called for him.
'Admiral, one of the engineers wants you in the reactor chamber.'
'Hm? What is it?' he turned.
'I don't know, sir, he just said he needed the admiral to come,' the man replied.
'Right, I'll be right there. Sorry, boys,' Paskirov said and headed to the Colossus reactor that powered the enormous battleship.
The hall that housed the huge heart of the Andronikos was dark and gloomy. The dulled sounds of the machinery and Boris' footsteps on the metal floor were the only things that could be heard. In the middle of the six-meter tall room there was an enormous steel dome painted red – the reactor. For an observer down on the floor it seemed as if it was the only thing in the hall, greedily occupying the whole space and pushing the various pipes and ramps on the walls and above it aside.
'Hello?' Boris said loudly. His voice briefly echoed before the noise of the machines' life devoured it.
'Are you the admiral?' a voice spoke.
The boldness of the tone struck Paskirov but he immediately regained tolerance and spoke in a friendly tone, 'Yes, I am. What is it?'
'Come over here, sir, you might want to see this,' said the voice of the man who seemed to be behind the reactor.
Boris walked towards the source, wondering what new adversity had struck the fleet. The feeble Terran technology had already probably become laughing stock for the Protoss – if they could laugh – and these malfunctions and technical difficulties were shameful for his whole race. Surely, the carriers did not have such problems when they were flying in outer space and flew into a stream of particles or whatever from a nearby star...
'Where are you?' Boris stopped at the other side of the room, looking for the man. 'Look, if you want me to assist, you better tell me what's going on here, because I have work to do.'
'If you come up, sir, I'll show you. I'm in the control cabin right now,' the voice was heard from the ramps above Boris.
He hurried to the nearby ladder and climbed up to the first level catwalk, then turned left to get to the mobile ramp towards the other side, where the cabin overlooked the whole room from above the door and the guy was supposed to be.
While the ramp was moving back, suspended on the chains over the large dome, it suddenly stopped. Boris grabbed the rails to keep balance and looked around in surprise.
'Right, I can't come to you now, it seems... They should think of repairing the ramps, too, tomorrow...' he began, but a harsh, colder voice interrupted him.
'Don't move!'
Boris looked around and a dark figure in the distance, on the ramp leaving the cabin grabbed his attention. An object in the man's right hand shone for a moment and Boris discerned a pistol.
'Who are you?' he froze.
'Hello, admiral. How have you been?' the man began slowly, with a mocking courteousness.
'What do you want, soldier?' Boris tried to bluff power and pretended to play tough. He touched his right leg with his left – his miniature pistol was down there. But it was useless now that the other person had reserved the right to shoot first.
'Don't you recognize me?' the foe began. 'It is me, Captain Richardson.'
'Richardson! Take that gun down!' What could Richardson possibly want of him now?
'Oh, no, sir, I won't. I won't repeat your mistakes and take my guard down. Like you did with the negotiations with those traitorous Protoss.'
'The Protoss are our friends now, you know it! Our quarrel with them died with Xentus and we are allied against a common enemy,' Boris was feeling uneasy.
'Lies!' Richardson shouted and his cruel voice echoed in the empty dark room. 'This mission is doomed! You are taking us all to our deaths!'
'Calm down, I'm not...'
'Be silent! Puppet of the aliens!' Richardson growled and his voice was stained with rancor. 'I know you! Confederate agent! You want us to fail, don't you? You want us all to die!'
Paskirov was growing really worried with the situation, but could do nothing.
'You and your accursed Protoss friends... You all just want to feed this fleet to the Zerg, looking for a nonexistent piece of someone's imagination, destroying the research of the Umojans. You want to fight these impossible battles and play these cunning games so that in the end your Confederacy will conquer the whole Koprulu sector for itself and rule over free systems like Umoja.'
'No, I...'
'Yes, you do!' Richardson was getting fierier. 'I know you. You killed McNorman and claimed the admiral title for yourself. You silenced me and all others who spoke the truth. You killed my cousin Bracknell down on those brutes' wretched homeworld while doing the dirty deals between you and Xentus. But no more. No more will this fleet suffer to endure your feigned incompetence and hidden malevolence and egoism. I will put an end to this!'
'You are out of your mind,' Boris almost screamed.
'Oh, no,' the captain turned calm again, 'I am not. Perhaps you want me to look like this, by humiliating me in front of everyone and demoting me and silencing Bracknell. But I have seen it, “admiral,” and nothing can stop me now. This fleet is going home.'
'No! You can't turn us back! Not now! Nobody will listen to you!' Boris realized that Richardson was out of his mind.
'Silence!' the he shouted. 'Admiral, this is the end.' He entered the cabin and on the dim light of the screens Paskirov could see him doing something to the machinery. The sound of thick pieces of metal scratching against each other drew Boris' attention and he looked down. One of the box-like things lined around the bottom of the reactor was opening and its lid was moving aside.
'What are you doing?' he was worried and confused.
'Look in, admiral. This cavity leads to the interior of the reactor, where the nuclear fuel gives the whole ship energy. Now, the interior is no longer the sealed environment and the radiation that is contained in there will escape. Towards you!'
Boris looked down at the vent of sorts that led into the reactor. A small red lamp from beneath the lid had activated and was illuminating its quadratic throat, but Boris saw nothing more. Could the madman be wrong? Or was it simply invisible?
'The best thing is, the radiation alarm and the geiger counters do not work. I will not sacrifice others and in fifteen minutes this will close, but it will be too late for you! You will be dead and it will all have looked like an unfortunate accident. The power surge and the reactor, an unlucky combination for some people... Anyway. That's all. Enjoy the last moments of your life... Admiral.'
Richardson just turned away and moved to the exit to the corridor. With all haste Boris reached for his own firearm and raised it towards Richardson's back. Then, with the fastest aim in his life, Paskirov pressed the trigger and the bang from the little pistol echoed in the reactor chamber. Richardson fell on the ground.
Damn bastard, Boris thought. He was left hanging in mid-air, with the gateway to the deadly interior of the battlecruiser's power supply open. He swore and looked around.
How could he escape? Every second was vital. But he was in the middle of the room. There was a good three meters drop to the smooth sides of the reactor enclosure shell. The nearest catwalk was a couple of meters away. The basic controls on the movable ramp were broken. How?
He had an idea. The ramp was suspended on chains. Boris began swinging it sideways, hoping to move it closer to the nearest catwalk. With great effort he managed to make it swing farther and farther. Then, as the ramp was going so high that his head was touching the ceiling, he jumped forward.
Boris fell on the steel catwalk with a loud thup. He hurriedly retracted his left leg, which was sticking in the air, on the catwalk, terrified of the height, and just lay down for several seconds, breathing heavily from the effort.
Then, he rose. He ran towards the door to the corridor where Richardson was supposed to be. The traitor was gone.
Boris was still in the cabin, thinking what to do. The captain could not have gone far. But going out in the corridor meant giving him a chance to shoot first. Boris looked around.
He grabbed a portable device that measured some unknown scientific variable but still had glass on its display and held it out in the hallway. He looked at the reflection of the left side: there was nothing. He then turned and looked at the reflection on the right side: Richardson was crawling away, holding his left shoulder with the pistol still in his right hand. There was no time to lose.
'Freeze, traitor!' Boris jumped outside in the hallway and aimed at the captain. 'I'm still alive.'
Richardson stopped. For a second he stood still under Boris' nervous aim, then he tried to quickly fire at the armed admiral. But that was a stupid mistake and Boris, already in position, fired first. Richardson collapsed on the ground, bleeding to death.
Boris lowered his pistol and tried to decide what to do. He reached for his radio – thankfully, it was still on his pants, although his coat was back in the cafeteria – and held it for a second, thinking whom to call first.
'Answer it, Michael!' Boris was trembled by the adrenaline rush. After what seemed as an eternity, Williams' voice was heard.
'Sir?'
It felt to Paskirov like a lifebuoy for a drowning man.
'Mike! Williams! Richardson was here! He tried to kill me!'
'What?' The news had broken the cold orderliness in the ghost's voice.
'That's right! I'm just outside the reactor chamber, third level of it, I believe. I shot him dead. He tried to kill me, he opened the reactor or something. He was armed, a pistol of some sort.'
The ghost said nothing for a few moments. 'So, are you fine?'
'Yes, I am. I just escaped, I was stopped in the air on one of the platforms. I need you to come here and help me get rid of the body. Go to the medical sector and find a body bag, we'll dispose of him.'
'Sir, yes, sir,' the ghost discretely replied and Boris turned the radio off.
He put his pistol back on his leg and made sure he looked normal again. He felt fine, and perhaps Richardson's idea to kill him had been deprived of enough sense to work by his madness.
Boris was sitting on the floor waiting for the ghost when suddenly he felt nausea. He turned sideways but it quickly overwhelmed him with strength and he found himself on the cold steel floor, turning slowly and drunkenly, while the world around him was twisting and warping. He felt terror at the sight and at the headache, as if caused by his very brain being stretched alongside the rest of the universe. What is happening to me? he thought.
After some time, he opened his eyes and saw Williams over him, slapping his cheeks and trying to bring him back to consciousness.
'Boris!'
'Ugh, what happened?' Paskirov was trying to regain consciousness.
'I found you rolling on the floor in some sort of delirium, are you alright?
'I'm not sure. Where is he – the body?' he tried to stand up but the world around him twisted as idf trying to escape him and he lay again.
'Packed up, as you ordered. The blood is still here, though.'
'Right. Good. Good job. I'll call someone to clear it up, we'll be fine. Give me a hand to stand up, will you? What time is it?'
'Twenty-one thirty hours fleet time,' the ghost replied while pulling Paskirov.
'Good. The cameras don't work, so nobody will know what has happened.'
'Are you going to tell anybody else from the fleet, Black One?' Williams inquired.
'No, no. They don't need to know about disloyalty against me. Or madness. It may hurt the morale, I can't risk. I think I'll see Chester, though. And, I'll tell Summers, too, once Mr. Genius tells me if there's something wrong with me.'
The two grabbed the bag and headed to the nearest garbage disposal silo, then to the docking bays.
'If someone asks where I am, tell them that I've gone to Chester to see something about the starmaps,' Boris told Williams while walking aboard the dropship. 'The blood is mine: I cut myself and had to wait for you to bring me bandages, because... I didn't want to bother anyone else.'
'Roger,' the ghost said and turned to walk off the vessel. He moved away while it powered up, then returned to his cabin while the dropship flew out into open space and towards the Amerigo where Chester was moved.
'Evening, sir, I heard you wanted to see me,' Chester welcomed him to the ship.
'Yes, I did. Relax, I'm still Boris. Take me to your cabin, there's something I need to tell you on the way there.'
'Sure,' the scientist replied and a while later, while they were in an empty hallway inquired, 'so, what is it?'
'You may find it hard to believe this, but Richardson tried to kill me,' Boris whispered and saw the Umojan look at him in disbelief. 'He lured me into the reactor room of the Andronikos, then kept me above the shell and opened it or something. Then he tried to escape, but I shot him.'
Hearing this, Chester jumped several meters away. 'He what the reactor?'
'He opened it or something connected to its interior, why?' Boris was getting uneasy with the scientist's reactions and further walking away.
'He opened it?' Chester was trembling.
'Yes, he said he was, and there was a hatch that opened beneath me, one of those things that run around the dome,' Paskirov explained and slowly approached him. 'What's wrong?'
'Stay away! Please, keep distance!' Chester was terrified and grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher and held it in front of him. 'Don't irradiate me!'
'What?'
'You are most likely contaminated, man. That thing, radiation, gamma particles, you are irradiated!'
That didn't sound encouraging. 'What does this mean?'
'This means that you will suffer,' Chester said without a hint of compassion. 'For how long were you exposed?'
'Fifteen minutes? Or twenty... Approximately,' Boris could feel his insides turn.
'Follow me! We need to go to the medical sector. And maintain damn distance!' the Umojan said and ran away.
Boris followed him through different corridors until they reached the sterile white walls of the medical sector. From a distance Chester guided him in a glass chamber of sorts with some white consoles on the outer side. Boris sat on the bed while the automatic door closed and the scientist moved behind the computers.
'Okay, let's see... Oh, dear.'
'What is it, doctor?' Paskirov asked.
'Nothing good, certainly. Are you sure you want to know? I heard that medical ethics requires of me to check that, so...' Chester was looking grim from behind the glass panels.
'Go ahead.'
'You have five to seven days of life left.'
Boris' pupils dilated. He stood still on the bed, wishing this were all a bad dream.
'There's no treatment,' the Umojan broke the silence.
'So, I have a few more days to live,' Paskirov said quietly after a while.
'Yes, you do. Your cells are permanently damaged. They cannot replicate. You will be fine for several days, tip-top shape, because you still have enough of them to keep you going, but after that they will need to be replaced – and there will be no replacements. You will die a painful death. Let's leave it here.'
Boris felt stripped of all the quotidian desires and facing eternity, facing the end. The bright white light of the medical room of the science vessel devoured the machines, the bed, the Umojan and everything else in the background and he stood perfectly still in its indifferent glow. He slowly began remembering his life, his youth on Tarsonis, his stupid brother and demanding militarist uncle, his admission to the military academy...
'Will I be able to do my job as an admiral?' he determinately broke the silence. If he had a pittance of time left, he would at least fill it with the most appropriate content.
'Yes, yes. Until the symptoms start showing. You will be coughing blood and so on. But until then you are good as new,' Chester said from behind the console. 'It's called the walking ghost phase... Yea, just details.'
'Am I a danger to the others?' Boris spoke in an even tone, reminiscent of Williams.
'No, you aren't. You were harmed by the radiation, yes, but you do not emit any, so you are absolutely harmless to the others. You can still help if you want.'
'Ah, you heard,' Boris smiled.
'Yes, I did,' Chester replied trying to sound casual. 'Nice of you do drop by, we thought you were liking it on the wings of victory. Alright, sorry,' he corrected himself when the admiral looked the other way.
'No, you were totally right. I was haughty. Bad for the morale and all, I know. Whatever. Is the Amerigo all ready?'
'A-ffirmative, cap'n. I heard we were waiting on the battlecruisers.'
'The Enteos, really. Anyway, I better get going. I have work to do.'
Boris walked out of the room, returned to the dropship and once back in his battlecruiser, he returned to the bridge. He didn't know why he came here, to the empty dark bridge where only two operators were keeping an eye over the stats of the Andronikos during the night shift. He ignored their salutes and let his legs take him to the row of windows that stretched through three of the four walls of the most important room for the flagship.
Outside, there were the countless stars of outer space, scattered on the black canvas of the universe. In the vicinity rested some of the Terran ships, made of metal and inferior to those of the Protoss, but still somehow dear to him. To the left, there was the huge black circle of the planet – they were seeing its dark side. Forty-eight hours from now the fleet would have to already have checked it up and waited for the Protoss to see what to do next. And then, he would probably have to surrender command of the fleet to Ferguson and wait for his end on one of the beds at the medical sector, like McNorman. Hell, the admiralship of this expedition seemed to have a curse hanging over it.
Nah, nonsense. Boris turned to the door and headed for his cabin.
***
The next day the repairs on the battlecruisers were being finished. All the remaining sections of the power grid were renewed and brought back to functionality. All the systems were checked and were deemed ready to serve. There was no mention of the accident with Richardson. The cut explanation that Paskirov provided for the blood was sufficient and nothing registered the radiation leak from the Colossus reactor that blighted the admiral. Richardson's disappearance was attributed to an accident onboard his Wanderer-class ship which had, unfortunately, killed him and an empty coffin was sent into space as part of the burial ceremony.
The whole day felt ephemeral to Boris. Despite for his physical efforts in helping the repairs, at the evening he still thought it was all just a dream. It was as if his mind was refusing to accept that twenty four of the hundred and fifty or so hours remaining had passed beyond reclaiming. Or was it his devotion to doing the job and total obliviousness to all former daily needs that were so characteristic of the careless life of a normal person? He could not decide, nor did that bother him. All that bothered him that evening, when he was at his normal place on the bridge of the flagship, with all the activity around him, was the success of the mission.
In the morning of the 11th of November, fleet time, all ships were ready and preparing to enter the planet. Boris was observing the data of the planet. Average of ten degrees, breathable air, although funny-smelling as expected, aridity... And then no reading of a naturally occurring magnetic field. That was supposed to explain the magnetic storm so close to the planet, where ships were otherwise supposed to be safe. 2481fNO09, named after the year of its discovery and the date as in the fleet calendar – it would be re-named back on Umoja once the time dilation considerations connected to traveling through warp space were calculated – looked like some of the familiar planets in the Terran sector, like Antiga Prime or Mar Sara. It lacked any significant vegetation, it lacked huge bodies of water, and therefore any clouds. There were no particularly tall mountains, nor any deep oceans. Analysis of the biosphere suggested that the blue and green spots down below located around the seas were where most of the flora of the planet was found. All else was just arid.
The ships entered the atmosphere and began the usual triangulation from the sphere's readings. The location of the temple was on the dark side of the planet and after some overflight around the area, the supposed ruins of the temple were discovered in the darkness of the night.
However, the Terrans also discovered an enemy colony fifty kilometers from the temple. It was much smaller than the one on Gawessa, so Boris did not hesitate to order both its quick destruction, and starting the exploration of the complex. And so, the armed forces of the Umojan expeditionary fleet deployed near the colony, with only small elements plus two of the Wanderer-class ships left away to watch over the science team down at the colony. The Terran armor, infantry, ships and chemical weapons poured down on the troubled Zerg like hellfire and left only ruin and ash behind them, but Boris did not enjoy the view. As he was observing one of the advances of the ground force from the bridge, he coughed in his hands and he saw that there was blood. One of the operators saw it.
'Vice Admiral Ferguson, you are in charge of the operation,' he turned away from the screen where the battle was unveiling and called his second-in-command. 'I need to retire and see one of the doctors.'
***
Down at the temple, the science team was very excited. The Umojans had seen nothing like it before. The temple was not a single building in the field. Nor was it several clusters as the rough data taken during the night had shown. This planet housed a whole complex of the familiar ruins, arranged in shapes that the Terrans had never seen before.
On the naked yellowish-brown ground there was a complex of ruins that spanned for over thirty kilometers in diameter. It was ringed by a long circle of structures with colonnades and pyramidal bodies and towers, all made of stone in various hues of gray. Within this circle, there were visible various shapes. Lines, and circles all wound around one another and stretched over many kilometers, twisting on the open field only to meed in the middle. The amazing thing about them was that they were not made of plain road or of double rows of columns, but of more ancient structures. Countless temple-like edifices were aligned in perfect symmetry under the skies, within the major circle. The scientists began taking multiple photos, fearing to stop, like a gold miner is afraid to let go of a promising piece of gold that was found after many hours of labor, as if the complex would somehow disappear that very moment.

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