By Alan J. Wahnefried
Dr. Trevor Smythe-Barnette looked up as a gust of hot air burst into his tent, ushering in the inevitable barrage of sand particles, and his right-hand man, Karthick, with it. The building stress that threatened to crush the archeologist dissipated as he entered. Karthick had dug with Smythe-Barnette for several years and understood the doctor’s methods. At the moment, Karthick’s biggest concern seemed to be getting the sand out of his coal-black eyes.
“Ah, Karthick! I’m nearly done packing,” the archeologist exclaimed.
“It’s been another successful excavation season, Dr. Barnette. You have a lot to pack.” Karthick began to stack the archeologist’s baggage by the tent entrance. “You found some interesting artifacts and inscriptions.”
“Yes, yes.” Smythe-Barnette gathered the last of his papers. “We should be able to expand our hieroglyphic lexicon. And I have several challenging papers to prepare…”
The doctor’s mouth twitched under his abundant sideburns as he stopped and stared at his research.
“But you’re disappointed that we did not find solid evidence of extraterrestrials,” Karthick spoke quietly, though no one was present to overhear.
Smythe-Barnette was an exceptional archeologist with solid academic credentials. He was also a firm believer in extraterrestrials but was careful when he discussed UFOs. “We did find some possible evidence of extraterrestrials. Those inscriptions are open to multiple interpretations—”
“Doctor,” Karthick interrupted gently. “We’ve emptied most of the tents and loaded the trucks. The crew wants to return home.”
“Everything is ready, Karthick,” Smythe-Barnette said with a sigh. “Go ahead and strike the tent.”
“Very good, sir.”
“What are your plans for the off-season, if I might ask?”
“Nothing unusual.” Karthick smiled. “I’ll spend time with my family.”
“Are you going to write your doctoral thesis? I don’t understand why you don’t have your PhD.”
“It’s simple. I like what I’m doing.” Karthick shrugged. “I go on excavations. I draft and edit scholarly papers. I do real archeology. Funding requests, grappling with bureaucrats and politicians, or the alley fight called ‘peer review’ are not my problem. You give me credit on many of your papers and pay me well.”
The doctor laughed. “I see your point. You’ll be back at the university within the month?”
“Yes. And I’ll have the papers we discussed drafted by then.”
They shook hands and went about their work.
“Karthonius! You’re back,” Base Commander Sequeria exclaimed.
“The season in Egypt is over,” Karthick replied. “It’s good to hear my right name again.”
Karthonius wasn’t sure what to expect from the new base commander. He’d only just arrived at the start of the dig season. Rumor said Sequeria was a nitpicker.
“How did Smythe-Barnette fare this season?” the commander asked.
“He found some inscribed tablets and other artifacts.” He started to shrug but checked the informal reaction. “If he can get them past the bureaucrats, multiple museums will be clamoring for them. We’ll be drafting several papers this winter.”
“You know what I’m really asking,” Sequeria said.
Karthonius chuckled. “Of course. Some of the tablets he found can be interpreted as referencing extraterrestrials. He’s a true believer but won’t risk his professional reputation without solid proof.”
“I presume you destroyed the tablets.” The commander began to drum his fingers on his datapad.
“I couldn’t. They would have been missed. If I blow my cover with Smythe-Barnette, it will be a lot harder to intervene when there are discoveries that point to our existence.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Sequeria reluctantly conceded. “What are you going to do?”
“Smythe-Barnette trusts me to draft his scholarly papers. I’ll draft one that dismisses the possibilities of extraterrestrials,” Karthonius began. “Next, I need to draft articles for the supermarket tabloids describing the tablets and alleging a coverup. I’ll submit the articles to the tabloids under a pseudonym shortly after Smythe-Barnette starts working through peer review. Those will scare off the professor.”
“Is that the best distraction you can devise? There must be a better way.”
“This distraction has worked for over four thousand terrestrial years. Why change it?” Karthonius retorted. “This planet has little to offer us besides the sodium chloride. The ancients found a plentiful source of salt in northern Africa. Our forebearers created the distraction to keep locals away from our base in the Sahara by projecting holograms into the Nile Valley about five thousand years ago. You’ve seen those funny pictures of people with animals’ heads? The natives took the holograms to be gods. We gave them some suggestions about moving stones and walked away. Their imaginations did the rest.”
The commander mulled over Karthonius’s response.
“And we can’t forget the other distraction,” Karthonius continued. “I need to fuel the climate change fires.”
“What?”
“Those sandstorms we use to obscure our ships’ movements,” Karthonius replied. “For terrestrial centuries, the ships were easily hidden by small, localized storms. Since the natives developed radar and satellites, we’ve needed to make those storms larger and more intense. People are looking for explanations for the increased intensity. I need to write articles blaming the stronger storms on climate change.”
They laughed.
“I hope you have some real food,” Karthonius shifted the discussion. “Terrestrial sustenance barely passes for survival rations.”
“We got a fresh shipment last week,” the commander replied. “Calumbrian bison and Northussian goat. Even better, we have several varieties of nectar.”
“Sounds like home cooking! The papers can wait. Let’s eat.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
interesting premise… good thing the et’s have human form.
Having the Prof’s assistant be an alien is a nice concept.
Loved this! I have these kinds of debates with my wife all the time. Thanks for your true answers!
I agree. Good food first, work later. Fun story!
Neat idea.
That was a great story. I wonder what Karthonius’ true form looks like.