Incursion: The Rift - Episode Twenty-Three
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| Read Mycroft's Trial By Fear |
Niki raced to keep up with professor Foster as he strode toward his office. His six-five height gave him a stride nearly twice hers, and he was in a hurry. His gray hair, not excessively long but longer than typical of most men his age, almost billowed with each step. That, coupled with his full gray beard, always reminded Niki of Tolkien's Gandalf.
"About my paper?" Niki said, out of breath by the time she finally caught up with him outside the door to his office.
"Paper?" Foster looked around, then down, seemingly surprised she was there.
"My paper on IndoPacific climate change?" Niki reminded him. "You said you weren't sure about it."
"Did I? I don't believe I did. Why would I say something like that?"
"I thought -"
"No time for that now. Important meeting. Very important. They're waiting in my office. We'll discuss your paper later."
Niki set her jaw. "Yes, Professor." She turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Foster called after her.
"You said -"
"Yes, yes. But I told you, we have this meeting."
"We? I thought -"
"Come along. I want you with me."
Niki followed the professor into his office. The room was small, smaller than that of any other faculty member with the professor's tenure, but Foster never complained. A larger room would simply have given him more room for clutter. Every horizontal surface was covered with papers and books and -- of course -- artifacts that should have been behind protective glass in a museum.
Also in the office were two people, looking distinctly impatient and uncomfortable. One was a man in a dark gray suit, slightly overweight, mid-forties, with a receding hairline. The other was a woman, not much older than Niki, with short blond hair and wearing a denim miniskirt and thin white cotton blouse that clung to her in the humidity.
"Professor," the man stood and extended his hand. Niki didn't think his smile extended to his eyes. "Devon Cross. I'm very pleased to meet you." He spoke with an American accent. Cross and Foster shook hands, and then Cross motioned to the woman with him. "This is my associate, Michelle Rogers." She didn't stand, but merely held out her hand to the professor. Foster took it and, like a gentleman, bowed slightly.
"Niki Flynn, one of my students," the professor introduced Niki. She shook hands with Devon Cross, but only nodded to the woman as they eyed each other for a moment.
"Have you had a chance to review our proposal?" Cross asked.
"I have," Foster answered, picking up a thick courier envelope from his desk and waving it. "It's crap."
Cross forced an uncomfortable smile. "I think if you examine it more closely -"
"Human history doesn't go back that far. Recorded or otherwise. Myths to the contrary. Draw whatever conclusions you like, but our civilization is only a few thousand years old."
"You're right."
"Then how can you expect -"
"Because this has nothing to do with human history, Professor."
Foster stopped for a moment, his eyes closed. Then, looking at Cross again, he asked, "Are you suggesting ... what I think you are?" He opened the envelope in his hands and pulled out a bound sheaf of papers.
"The ruins we're asking you to find do indeed predate human history, by several thousand years."
"How is that possible?" Niki asked.
Cross glanced at her, then turned back to Foster. "Perhaps we should discuss this privately."
"Nonsense," Foster waved his hand. "If I'm going to undertake this expedition, I'm going to need help."
"I'm sure you'll find Ms. Rogers quite capable."
Foster made a quick assessment of the woman, spending a bit too long, Niki thought, on her legs. "We're talking about a dig in the middle of the outback, not an afternoon at the spa."
Niki almost laughed but managed to hide her reaction in a cough. Michelle Rogers simply smiled and shifted in her chair, managing to expose more of her legs.
Cross continued. "We're also prepared to provide whatever additional support you require. Transportation. Equipment."
"And permits, I hope," Foster said. "One thing Australia shares with the good old US of A is a less-than stellar record when it comes to doing right by our indigenous people. I don't want to piss off anyone by trampling all over a sacred burial ground."
"You'll have everything you need," Cross promised. He waited, apparently expecting another objection. When none came he said, "Can I assume this means you've accepted the proposal?"
Foster didn't respond at first. He looked again at the sheaf of papers in his hand. "Yes, I accept," he said finally. He put his hand to his forehead. "I must be bloody insane."