Frederick - The Door That Does Not Close

The Door That Does Not Close by Carl Frederick

Assumptions are easy to make, and hard to refine....

* * * *

* * * *

Illustrated by Tom Kidd

* * * *

As he walked closer, the ancient stone structure looked more like a bunker than a Roman temple. Thorvald felt a twinge of collective guilt. If the guidebook was to be believed, that squat monstrosity had been designed by a scientist like himself.

"Sure is ugly," said Roger, walking alongside.

Roger appeared to be about twelve years old. He had blue eyes, blond hair, and wore a polo shirt, shorts, and sneakers. He looked more like a stereotype than a kid. Thorvald had to remind himself yet again that the boy was not of this Earth--or indeed not of any Earth.

"Ugly it may be." Thorvald paused to swat at a mosquito. "But speaking as a physicist rather than an amateur archeologist, this building is impressive. It's survived intact for almost two millennia." He shook his head. "But I've never seen a Roman building like this. It seems ugly on purpose."

"It doesn't look big enough for many hiding places." Roger swatted at a mosquito as well--even though the insect didn't seem interested in him. "You really think the codex is inside?"

"Yes." Thorvald sighed. "I'm afraid so," he added without intending to. Roger, although he could bleed and feel, was actually an android. But the creature that controlled him through telepresence was indeed a child. And although that child was an alien, far off on a spacecraft hovering above Earth, Thorvald had grown fond of him--or it. And once the codex had been recovered, Roger's mission on Earth would end.

* * * *

"You know," said Thorvald, "I've been your tutor for about six months now. I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too, sir." Roger shuffled a foot. "I wish I didn't have to go." Thorvald tousled the boy's hair. He'd done that simple act so often, he no longer felt self-conscious about it.

Roger leaned in like a cat wanting to be scratched.

Embarrassed by the show of affection, Thorvald reverted to his role as a teacher.

"Do you know where we are?" he said.

"Of course." Roger padded a few steps ahead. "Constanta, Romania."

"Ah. But the ancient Romans called it Tomis. This was an important town in the Roman province of Dacia."

"Doesn't look very important, now."

Thorvald gazed around at the desolate countryside and nodded. "Dacia Felix, they called it. Happy Dacia. And the region stayed happy until the Visigoths and Carps overran it." With Roger at his side, Thorvald trudged up to the front of the temple. He carried a flashlight and gestured with it. "The Romans simply abandoned the place. Hard to know why. Some say the evacuation of Dacia marked the start of the disintegration of the Roman Empire." INTRAREA OPRITA, read the sign hammered into the heavy wooden door.

"'No admittance,'" said Roger, "but of course we're not expected to know Romanian. So let's go in."

"You certainly seemed to know Romanian back when we were renting the car." Roger shrugged. "Kids learn languages easily."

"Very funny."

Roger giggled. "Okay. I've got translation software."

Thorvald wrinkled his nose--a sign that he was puzzled. "Are you saying your people have done translation software for every language on Earth?"

"No. But yours have." Roger laughed again. "It's neat having Internet access." Roger bounded up the stone steps. Thorvald followed the boy inside.

The temple, though reasonably intact, still had sufficient gaps in the stonework that they could see their way by the sunlight pouring through the holes. Thorvald tucked the flashlight under his belt. The central chamber, dank and smelling of animal habitation, had the usual assortment of divine statuary scattered around the periphery. The domed ceiling, like an ancient planetarium, depicted the sky at late twilight. Timeworn blues as well as faded reds and ochres served as background to dots of white representing the visible planets and the brighter stars. A massive stone pillar stood in the center of the room. Jutting from the middle of each wall, mythical animals, each clearly representing a point of the compass, stood on smaller versions of the central pillar.

"Boy, it stinks in here," said Roger.

"Strange," said Thorvald, running his hands along the rough stonework. "The proportions are all wrong. The pillar is too massive." He walked around the fluted column. "Must be over five feet thick. And this chapel is so small, there doesn't seem to be a need for a pillar to hold up the building."

"Maybe the building is holding up the pillar."

Thorvald chuckled. "Interesting notion." He circled the pillar again, looking for cracks that might indicate a doorway. "No secret entrance, I'm afraid." He stepped back and looked up at the juncture of the pillar with the top of the temple and then down at the stone floor.

"Now this is odd." Thorvald sank to his knees. "This pillar has no stylobate, no real base; it seems to just extend down into the ground." Crawling around the column, he followed a crack in the floor that completely encircled it. He pulled a ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket and, using it as a chisel, tried to worry some of the grime out of the crack. But instead of coming out, the dirt fell deeper into the narrow fissure.

"You know, Roger, you might be right." Thorvald looked up at the boy. "I think the building is holding up the pillar." He got to his feet and brushed the dust from the knees of his pants.

"This is really neat," said Roger.

Thorvald smiled. "Yes, it really is." He pointed to the top of the column. "The pillar exudes a sense of permanence. But look how those lintels are pinioned. If you could rotate them, I think the pillar would slide into the ground."

"Wow!" Roger patted the massive stonework, then gazed up at the marble ornaments that jutted against the upper lip of the column. "If I stood on your shoulders, I could reach those."

"And, if you could?"

"I might be able to turn them."

"Fat chance."

"Well," said Roger. "I could try."

Thorvald nodded. "Fine." He made a stirrup from his hands and Roger used it to climb onto Thorvald's shoulders. Roger seized one of the lintels and, grunting from the effort, he twisted it. Creaking and scraping against its support, the lintel turned.

"Unbelievable," said Thorvald.

"I'm stronger than I look."

Thorvald stepped a third around the pillar's circumference, and Roger released the second lintel. At the final latch, Roger had trouble.

"What's wrong?" Thorvald gasped out the words. He bore not only Roger's weight, which was slight, but also the surprisingly intense force of the boy pushing against the ancient marble.

"It's the last one."

"Can you do it?"

Roger grunted as he threw his weight into the task. After half a minute or so, he stopped.

"No. I can't."

Thorvald helped the boy to the ground. "It was a good try." He wriggled his shoulders. "I think I'm getting too old for this kind of work."

"I could do it if I had a hammer."

"Well, we don't have one." Thorvald paused. "But there's a tire iron in the car."

"Hey, great!" Roger ran toward the door. "Come on. Let's get it." Thorvald chuckled at the boy's enthusiasm. "I don't know. If I'm wrong about this, we'll have damaged an important archeological site for nothing."

Roger watched him with an expectant look--like a dog waiting for a stick to be thrown.

"Okay, okay," said Thorvald. "We'll get the tire iron."

"You know," said Thorvald, as they walked the half mile or so back to the car, "it's going to be a little lonely for me when you go home. I've always been a scientist and never bothered with family." He sighed. "I really should have married and had a family. You make me realize how important that is."