Cadmus raised a surprised eyebrow. “Can you put any dates to that?”
“Optical dating in the south of the trench falls within a similar range to the rest of the site,” Govannon told him. Quartz within the glass, bleached by ancient sunlight, once buried had slowly baked in the background radiation of Falsafah’s desert sands. Optical dating, or optically-stimulated luminescence, was a way of using the resulting atomic changes in the quartz to estimate how long the mysterious structure had lain undisturbed beneath the sand. “The dates suggest the desert encroached within a thousand years or so after it formed. We’re talking about events a hundred thousand years old, so it’s hard to be accurate.”
“After it formed?” asked Cadmus. “After it was built, you mean.”
Govannon ignored the interruption. “However, there was a disturbed area to the north above your so-called arch, see?” he continued. “Optical dating suggests it was exposed to sunlight a mere twelve thousand years ago. It’s curious, but the infill was localised and cuts through two metres of sand. There’s also signs of more recent activity.”
Cadmus’ eyes narrowed. “The cylinder you mentioned?”
Govannon shrugged. “It may have been buried by one of the students as a lark.”
“I understand you even accused Xuthus of carving those symbols,” said Cadmus, shaking his head sadly. “I think you know your students better than that!”
“You have your theories,” Govannon replied softly. “I have mine.”
“Yet we have but one site report to compile,” the professor replied. “Which, as I said, needs to be updated before we meet the ship. Hopefully, my superiors have had time to chew over the last instalment and are ready to give us permission to open that door.”
“Volcanic vent!”
“Whatever,” sighed Cadmus wearily. “Just write your damn report.”
Xuthus shifted uncomfortably upon his kneeling pad, which did little to ease the throbbing pain in his back that had been building all morning. He had scraped away at a section of wall for what seemed like hours and the screech of trowel against glass that so annoyed fellow student Urania was no longer funny. His overalls were crumpled, his pale skin was streaked with dirt and sweat, his hair felt disgusting and his knees hurt almost as bad as his back. He tried to tell himself he was fortunate to live in Bradbury Heights, where the city’s academy allowed sixteen-year-olds with the right aptitude to start university two years early, but archaeology was not as fun as he had hoped.
Xuthus and fellow student Urania were working in dome three, where a series of shallow trenches had uncovered a right-angled stretch of wall and a number of fossilised tree stumps in regular rows. Urania knelt a few metres away, engrossed in cleaning one of the black stumps near the wall. She was an attractive dark-haired woman who wore her long hair in a loose ponytail and her overalls tightly belted. Like Xuthus, Urania had started her archaeology studies that year, though was five years older. Her parents, aerospace workers from Rio de Janeiro, were struggling to find regular work in Newbrum and Urania juggled several part-time jobs to fund her dream of becoming an archaeologist. In contrast, Xuthus and Hestia came from wealthy, middle-class American families who owed their good fortune to the Que Qiao pharmaceutical companies in Bradbury Heights.
“Had enough?” Urania asked, glancing up from her own task.
Xuthus grinned, captivated as always by her smile and lilting Brazilian accent.
“This is boring,” he said. “I want alien bones, long-lost treasure!”
“You’ve been watching too many holovids,” said Urania and gave a little laugh. “Most archaeology is back-breaking and tedious, especially when you get someone like Aberystwyth Jones who doesn’t trust automatic excavators.”
“Why do you call him that?” Xuthus asked irritably. Doctor Jones had chastised him for using his nickname, but annoyingly still allowed the girls to do so.
“He’s from Aberystwyth,” said Urania. “It’s a joke! You must have seen the movies. Indiana Jones and the Golden Fleece of Sirius was on Ascension Freeview last month.”
“Aberystwyth Jones,” muttered Xuthus. “Hilarious.”
“Here’s the man himself,” she added, pointing over Xuthus’ shoulder.
Doctor Jones, Professor Cadmus and the ungainly figure of Hestia had just entered dome three. The tunnel-like walkway to the west led to dome one, which contained a pair of habitation cabins, another series of short trenches and an airlock leading south into the small hangar containing the life-support plant and the expedition’s transport vehicle. Dome two was to the north of dome one and it was here that the mysterious inscribed arch and star chamber had been found. Xuthus could not help feeling jealous that it was Hestia and not himself whom Govannon had asked when looking for an extra pair of hands.
“Aberystwyth!” called Urania. She raised her trowel in a mock salute.
Govannon waved back. Xuthus perked up at the prospect of a break from the hot, sweaty conditions and a tedious morning’s archaeology in the trench. Today marked the end of week six of their ten-week expedition and the day they got to leave the dome for their fortnightly trip to meet the ship. The excursion was a welcome change of scenery, while having fresh food and a proper shower in a cool air-conditioned spacecraft was a rare luxury between each two-week spell under the domes. What he was looking forward to most was the chance to speak to his mother and father back on Ascension. The expedition’s tiny fusion power plant was not up to supporting an ED transmitter on site and so there was a general rush to use the one aboard the ship whenever it was on Falsafah.
Professor Cadmus, Doctor Jones and Hestia arrived at where Xuthus and Urania were busy in the trench. Hestia made straight for Xuthus’ area and greeted him with the smile of a best friend, which annoyed him no end. She had acted this way ever since Christmas, when his family had joined hers at their ski resort cabin in Kirchel, where an unfortunate series of events led to Hestia saving him from being eaten by a mad mechanical wolf. In his eyes, being rescued by a girl was embarrassing, which did not make them friends.
Urania, having glanced at the time display on her wristpad, took their arrival as a cue to stop work and climbed to her feet, trowel in one hand and kneeling mat in the other. As the academics walked slowly along the edge of the shallow pit, Xuthus noted that while Doctor Jones appeared genuinely excited by the work he and Urania had done in the trench, Professor Cadmus seemed almost bored. Govannon paused above the fossilised tree stumps and gazed along the neat row Urania had uncovered. Each jagged stub was half a metre wide and some had visible growth rings.
“Good work!” he declared. “That’s incredible evidence of climate change, see. It puts me in mind of the fossilised forests found in Antarctica after the thaw.”
“I suspect the plantation had ritual significance,” remarked Cadmus. It was a stock explanation much beloved of archaeologists when confronted with a mystery. “The stumps appear to be arranged in a very regular pattern.”
“Coincidence!” snapped Govannon.
“Perhaps trees on Falsafah were just better behaved,” said Urania, giving Govannon a sly wink. “Born with a natural instinct to stand in queues, like you English.”
“I’m Welsh!”
“What about the wall?” asked Xuthus, feeling his own hard work was being unfairly overlooked. “If it was an orchard, perhaps the wall was to keep people out.”