Authors: Michael Siemsen
Matt thought Dr. Meier was starting to sound too much like his dad.
“Whatever.” Matt slid his iPad over and refreshed his in-box. One new message appeared from [email protected]. He tapped the message with the subject “FW: Artifact.”
Scrolling down, he saw that it originated from Peter Sharma, his original “handler” at NYMM. Seemed he was still working in England.
The attachment opened, and Matt leaned in to look at it. It looked like a tall wall of variegated sediment, excavated by pick and shovel or perhaps a backhoe. Someone had drawn a red circle over the digital photo, but there didn’t appear to be anything to see there. He went back to the e-mail and opened the second attachment. Now, here was something interesting.
“Are you still there, Matthew?” asked Dr. Meier.
“Yeah, I’m still here, just looking at the pics. What is it?” It looked like a piece of window screen, but with extra stitching on one side and some kind of flap on the top.
“There are many theories as to
what
it is, but its function is not the focus of interest at the moment. The few who are even aware of its existence are far more keenly focused on the
when
. Your competitors say it is older than one hundred and fifty million years.”
“My
competitors
?” Matt replied with incredulity.
“Yes, your competitors: potassium and argon.”
“Ah, funny man. I thought I only had to compete with carbon fourteen.”
“C fourteen doesn’t provide dates past about sixty thousand years. You should really read up a bit more on your peers.”
Matt stared at the photo as the questions filled his head. He opened the third attachment. It was another photo of the object, but much larger and shot from a different angle. He could zoom in on this one, and did so until it blew up to pixel level, then pinched out one level.
“So, how long have civilized humans been around?”
Dr. Meier leaned back in his chair and gave a thumbs-up to George, who stood beside his desk, watching eagerly.
“Pertinent question. Well, we could have a long discussion on the dawn of civilized societies, Matthew, but I think a key point right now is when the Bronze and Iron Ages took place. You see,
Homo sapiens
hadn’t figured out the whole metal extraction, smelting, and mixing thing until then.”
“Okay, so when was that?” Matt answered, annoyed at Meier’s smug tone.
“Nine thousand years ago. Simple pottery before that; the oldest fired-clay pots we know of are from fourteen thousand years ago. That would be about the extent of human technology anywhere in the world.”
“And the potassium thing said it was more than a hundred and fifty
million
years old?”
“Well, they couldn’t actually date the fabric itself. The estimation is based upon the minerals it was embedded in.”
Matt’s skepticism set in. Anyone could say they found a hammer buried with a Stegosaurus. But, he supposed, these researchers like Pete Sharma wouldn’t be pursuing this if it were that easily dismissed.
“Okay, so if I were to believe that it was as old as the stuff it was found in… that’d be saying what? That humans were more advanced at a way earlier date than everyone has believed so far?”
“Well, Matthew, there’s a rather important fact that you’re missing here.”
There was that smugness again. This call would be ending soon.
“What’s that, Doctor?” Matt said with a yawn.
“That the earliest humans—and we’re talking
really
primitive and not that bright—didn’t exist on earth until only a couple million years ago. You recall your work with Lucy?”
Matt remembered the tiny lump of bone they had handed him. As usual, he had been able to “experience” only the scientists who had discovered it. He had never been able to pick up emotional imprints from people or their remains. But from what he recalled, they had said it was three million years old. So the fabric in this photo was from, say, a hundred and forty-eight million years—give or take a week or two—before the oldest known human ancestor?
“So this is from aliens then, you’re saying.”
“We have no idea, Matthew. But it would be pretty interesting to find out, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, I suppose it would. All right, I’m interested enough. Go ahead and ship it to me, and I’ll have a go at it when I’ve got a chance.”
“Obviously, there are some pretty important people for whom this item’s security and protection are of great importance. It cannot be moved from its present location.”
“Okay, so you’re asking me to fly to New York? London? I’m about to go to Tahiti, so maybe I’ll stop by on my way back.” Matt’s call-waiting tone bleeped in his ear. He pulled the phone away to see who was calling—it was blocked. “Look, Doctor, I have another call I need to take.”
“Matthew, this might be the most important discovery in the history of mankind.”
“Okay… well, then have you considered that maybe it’s too high-profile? Since
you
brought it up, you remember what happened when you had a seventeen-year-old brought in to examine that Lucy skeleton? We obviously couldn’t talk about what I might have to offer in the investigation, so it not only made the museum look stupid, it also put way too much attention on
me
. I’m not interested in being tested, mocked, talked about on the news, or called for interviews. Let everyone’s imaginations run wild with this thing. It’s probably a piece of some knight from the Crusades’ chain mail that fell in a crack. A few earthquakes later, there you go—he was hunting
T. rex
.”
Silence on the other end of the phone—obviously, Meier was having a word with the someone again. Then he returned. “This is quite humorous, Matthew. I… uh… I don’t think you could realize just… hah! Well, it really just reemphasizes how much we need you on this.”
“What exactly is so festive, Dr. Meier?” Matt moved his thumb over to the end button on his phone’s screen.
“Well, it’s just… that there have been some key scientists all over this mystery since its discovery, and, well, you pretty much just stated—actually,
exactly
stated—the best theory they could come up with to date. Right down to the source era of the Crusades. Quite impressive, despite the flippant manner in which it was expressed. And off the top of your head, too—hah!”
Matt had the sneaking feeling his ego was being stroked, but what the hell—it was working; he did feel rather impressed with himself.
“I’ll tell you what, Doctor, I need to check this voice mail, but I’ll think about it and call you back. But listen, nothing’s changed with the rules about me, yeah? No one knows anything unless I approve.”
“Yes, of course, Matthew. Now don’t wait too long getting back to me…”
Matt hung up and took a deep breath. It may have waited 150 million years—what was another few weeks?
He checked his voice mail and listened to the message from FedEx. Apparently, they were trying to deliver a package to him, but the street name they had was Jasper Avenue instead of Kaspar Avenue. He called to sort it out.
By the time he was finished with his deliveries and some cleanup, Matt had stopped thinking about Meier’s photos. He was back to his vacation plans and the prickly task of finding a suitable guest to join him.
G
ARRETT
R
HEESE AWOKE TO AN INSISTENT
tapping on his trailer door. How long had they been knocking? His workers wouldn’t dare—not even Enzi. What time was it? The light outside suggested a little past sunrise.
The tapping grew more insistent, and an unfamiliar voice called his name.
“… we need to speak with you.”
Kenyan accent, speaking impeccable English.
“Just a moment,” he replied as he stood up unsteadily and shucked on a pair of khakis. Sneaking a peak through the blinds, he could see a gray government SUV and three men poking around. One was clearly the driver; another wore a plain black suit but with epaulettes on the shoulders, apparently with bars of rank. Military? The third man, also in a suit, carried a large belly, several chins, and a shiny black walking cane. He must have been the door rapper.
Rheese had had to report the find to the Ministry of the Interior, in accordance with the terms of his license to excavate in-country, but there had been little fanfare in response. They had requested a daunting stack of paperwork, including the standard no-export agreement to ensure that they not lose any treasures from the national patrimony. But what was this visit about? A change of heart on the value of the find, clearly. Perhaps they wanted to seize the artifact and conduct their own incompetent research.
Rheese finished tying his boots and slid his pith helmet over his head. About to turn the door latch, he had a thought and went to his safe. Suddenly, the overwhelming interest of others had changed his perception of the artifact’s value. He turned the key, locking the safe, withdrew the key from the lock, and searched for a suitable hiding place. Not on his person—they would check. Indeed, if they really wanted it, they would tear this trailer apart from top to bottom. There was only one place they wouldn’t want to look.
The loo.
The key disappeared into the dark blue liquid and clinked onto the metal bowl. After a quiet flush, Rheese pocketed a stack of American hundred-dollar bills from his briefcase, then swung open the door to greet the men with feigned delight.
“Lovely morning, good sirs. How may I be of assistance?”
The fat fellow with the cane spoke first.
“Dr. Rheese, good morning to you. I am Kenneth Odumbe, and this is Ohun Modi from the Ministry of the Interior. We have come to—”
Rheese cut him off. “Yes, yes, of course, gentlemen. We all have our grandchildren and our gray hairs. Let us not have this carry on until they are in college and the hair is all gone.” He lifted the pith helmet to reveal his glistening pink pate, and retrieved the sheaf of bills from his pocket. He shook hands with Mr. Odumbe, then with Mr. Modi, leaving a folded stack of bills in each eager palm. He glanced at the driver, who appeared to feel left out, and shook his gloved hand as well, giving him a single hundred. Stepping away, he smiled at them but then noted something off in their expressions. The well-nourished Mr. Odumbe was holding the cash as if it contained something foul-smelling. Rheese then looked at the ministry man, who looked equally confused but was counting the bills nonetheless.
“Very well, then,” said Rheese with a chipper smile. “I’ll just be returning to my business and you good gentlemen can find your way.”
Kenneth Odumbe’s face turned serious; his hand still held the apparently revolting cash almost at arm’s length.
A bribe wasted?
Rheese wondered.
“Dr. Rheese, I think there has been a misunderstanding. We did not come to collect money from you, though the gift is certainly appreciated.” Into the pocket it went, and Minister Modi followed suit. “We have come to investigate the preservation breach.”
“I beg your pardon?” Dr. Rheese replied.
“Bombo over there, Doctor. He was apparently startled from the Masai-Mara Game Reservation, several kilometers from here, and we are to examine the carcass to rule out wrongdoing. After which we will order the cleanup crew to recover the remains.”
“The elephant! Of course.”
Garrett, you buffoon!
he thought. “It’s right over there, gentlemen.”
“Yes, sir.” Ohun Modi opened a folder and clicked a ballpoint pen to write notes. “We can see that. Did the animal come into contact with you or any of your men prior to the fall?”
“Oh, no, not at all. The bloody thing came crashing through the trees over there and fell straight into the pit. All quite tragic, I thought.”
“So no interaction at all, then, Doctor?” Modi clarified.
“None—that is, not until after it was already at the bottom there, thrashing about.”
“Oh, and what interaction took place at that time?” The fat one glanced back at the carcass, then took a step toward Rheese.
“Well, the thing was clearly in agony, and so we did the only decent thing! I had my site foreman, Enzi, put it out of its misery.”
Don’t say that! Garrett, you blithering git, why did you say that?
Both men stepped toward him now with shocked expressions.
“You did
what
?” asked Modi, incredulous.
“Well, Enzi… the site supervisor… see, we keep a shotgun for the beasties…” He gulped. “Not the
elephantine
beasties, you understand, but the others. And, well, he went over to it and gave it a clean one to the head. It was at peace after that. We had a quiet moment and said a prayer for its soul.”
Silence replaced his lies as the two officials communicated with each other using their eyes and then began to walk toward the lift. Where was bloody Enzi when he needed him? He would have been so easy to throw under the bus, and
he
was the one who pulled the trigger anyway!
“Can you operate this crane device to get us down there?” asked Modi.