The Second Ship by Richard Phillips Read Free Book Online Page B

information that had already presented itself before going a further. Certainly the computer link theory cried out for investigation. Still, Jennifer had already been inside the next room and Mark was not about to be slowed down, so her theoretical musings would have to wait.
    While not as spacious as the room below, this one bled beauty. It reminded Heather of the Museum of Modern Art at the Smithsonian in Washington DC. Abstract table shapes, as though blown from a glass blower’s pipe, grew from the floor, still pulsing with the colors of the melting flame.
    Several of the tall slender shapes pulsed in rhythm with their own heartbeats, each alive with cascading colors.
    Heather touched one of the structures rising from a single pedestal, the feel as soft and smooth as baby oil. As the pressure of her hand increased, the material molded itself to match the shape. No doubt if she lay atop the thing, it would cradle her body in complete comfort.
    “What do you think? Medical Lab?” she asked.
    Jennifer paused in her examination of one of the delicately curved, lamp-like objects. “Some of these are definitely responding to our body readings, but who knows? I tried to focus a question about this thing, but all I get is a sequence of the strange symbols, some warbling sounds, and imagery of the light patterns shifting. I don’t have enough information to make any sense out of it.”
    Mark walked over to a doorway into the wall opposite of that where they had entered. Standing before it, he concentrated for several moments. Nothing happened.
    “Hmm. Hey, Heather. See if you can get this one to open.”
    Heather moved up beside him and pictured the doorway open. A sequence of three-dimensional symbols floated across her vision, so real that she actually reached out to touch one of the iridescent shapes, her hand passing through the space where it appeared without feeling anything. The door remained closed.
    “That’s odd.”
    Jennifer joined them, having no more success than either of them had enjoyed. “There must be some security code that allows access to this area.”
    Mark shrugged. “Or it’s broken. Either way it doesn’t look like we’re getting in there today.”
    Heather’s head shot up. Today. What time was it anyway? The question brought a cascade of symbolic imagery into her head until she reached up and pulled off the headset.
    “Mark. What time do you have?”
    Mark glanced down at his sports watch. “Two thirty-eight.”
    Heather began striding toward the exit. “Oh my God. I promised Mom I’d be home by three. I’m already late.”
    Jennifer and Mark both followed her, returning their headsets to where they found them.
    Together they made their way out of the ship, retrieved the small model plane, including the small piece broken off the right wing, and passed out through the holographic veil that hid the cave entrance. Then, blazing a trail back through the thorn brush, they made their way up the ridge to where they had left their bikes.
    By the time they repacked their equipment and completed the ride back to their houses, four o’clock had come and gone. Agreeing amongst themselves not to divulge any of what they had discovered that day, at least until they had taken time to discuss all possible consequences, they parted.
    Heather opened her garage, lifting her bike to the twin hooks hanging from the ceiling. Then, after a brief pause to collect her thoughts, she stepped through the door. She had reason to fret. Just inside the foyer stood her mother, arms crossed, eyebrows arched, awaiting an explanation better than she expected to receive.
    “Mom, I’m so sorry. We were flying Mark’s new model airplane out on the mesa when a wind gust crashed it into the canyon. By the time we found it I was already late. I rushed back as fast as I could.”
    Her mother’s expression showed this explanation was about what she had anticipated, something less than satisfactory.
    “Heather, I know how