Travelers (Stars Edge: Nel Bently Book 1)

by V. S. Holmes

  Mikey nudged her shoulder with his. “There you go. I never want someone to hate you.”

  Nel glanced over. He yelled at me because he doesn’t want a student to hate me. “You’re perfect, you know. A perfect fucking human.”

  NINE

  “Dr. Bently!” The shout echoed across the site. Nel rubbed the bridge of her nose. All she really wanted was to finish the maps. “One second, Henri!” She rotated the protractor and made a mark to designate the location of the newest open unit. A few dozen flakes, a base or tip here and there. It was precious little for a site so perfect. Finally she rolled the map up again and rose with a groan. Henri crouched in the 1 meter square pit to the north of B-grid. His frown curled his unruly black brows together.

  “What's up?”

  Henri sat back on his heels and pointed with the tip of his trowel. “I think I got something.”

  A sharp edge of rock jutted a centimeter above the surface of the level. It was a rich red brown. “I think it's a point.”

  Nel grinned. Diagnostics always got her going. “I think you're right.” She jogged back to her pack and found the tupperware she used for her smaller excavation tools. She nudged Mikey with the steel toe of her boot. “Henri's got something. Gather the gang.”

  She crouched at the edge of the unit. “Did you touch it with your hands?” When Henri shook his head she handed him a set of nitrile gloves. “Put these on. Excavate it carefully and pop it in this bag.” She laid out a clean artifact bag and paper envelope. “Once you're through, record where it was -- distance from the south and west walls and its depth.” His speed, or lack thereof, exasperated Nel, but this time she was glad he was so meticulous. Tell them what they do right. She cleared her throat. “I'm glad you were the one to find this. You're very careful, and I know you'll do it properly.”

  Henri glanced up with a quiet smile before turning back to his task. When the rest of the diggers arrived Nel reiterated her instructions. “The gloves protect the tool from the protein on our bodies. We'll send it to be tested for protein residue. It'll tell us what the tool was used on.” Her gaze swiveled back to Henri.

  After several minutes of careful picking, Henri cleaned away enough soil that the rock was perched on a pedestal of dirt. He tipped the potential tool carefully into a gloved hand and held it up with a triumphant smile. “What do you think of that, Dr. Bently?”

  She quickly tugged on a set of gloves and brushed the rest of the remaining dirt away from the stone. The spear point was almost as long as her hand, the flaking curving in from the razor edge. I bet Mikey could shave off his beard with this. The stone was a rich golden brown. “This is fucking beautiful.” She held it up for the others to see. “Gang we got a perfect diagnostic! Dinner and drinks on me at Padrito's tonight!”

  •

  Chile pepper and corn flour wafted from the open wall of the restaurant. Music and the smell of food and ocean were the layered paint beneath the artwork of the night. Nel shoved her hands into her pockets. The diggers trailed after her loudly, attention turned inward.

  Chad sidled up to her. “This one's tough on you, huh?”

  She made a face.

  His eyes were kind, but pointed. “Why do you think Martos sent me here? Is it just Los Pobladores?”

  “It’s complicated, Chad.” She sighed. “First thing I saw when I set boots on the soil was a trashed site. That’s not ‘just’ anything.”

  “They’ve trashed you before.”

  She glared at him, but there was no venom in the expression. “You’re still in the field. You have no excuse to think vandalism is anything less than shitty.”

  “You’re right. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it, though, and it’s never been my site. Looters still piss me off. They take anything?”

  “Nothing. They didn’t even fuck the strats up.”

  “That’s bizarre. They told you why they care?”

  “Other than the this-is-our-land-get-off part, no. But the thing is they’ve never claimed these sites to be their ancestors' before. I don’t know why they suddenly started.”

  He wrapped an arm around her shoulders with a sigh. “I don’t know either, Nel.”

  She stepped aside with him as he held open the restaurant door for the crew. “I don’t really want to dwell on it, alright? Let's just tell war stories for the noobies.”

  “Deal.” He grinned.

  The tables at the back were already pushed together for them. Nel slid into a corner seat, letting Chad take the head. She scanned the specials absently as the others settled around the table and poured drinks. She didn’t really need the menu — she had memorized it by the second week last year. It was her favorite restaurant in the area and was worth the price. Besides, Emilio always made a point of checking in with their table. “Don’t worry about drinks, we’ll grab some at the bar later, if you want to join us.”

  “I’m sure they’ll go out to the club.” Mikey reminded.

  The awkward chuckles were enough of an answer and Nel shrugged. “Suit yourselves, just remember the morning comes early.”

  “You’re one to talk.” Chad responded. “Let’s get the chapalele and the empanadas to share.”

  “Awesome.” Nel folded her menu and leaned forward. Conversation slowed and the students' eyes turned to her. “How many archaeologists does it take to screw in a light bulb?” It was a joke from a coworker back when Nel had done CRM and it was her personal favorite.

  Their heads shook, slightly bewildered stares passing between them. Annie leaned back, a slight smile playing across her mouth. “How many, Dr. Bently?”

  Nel’s coy smile curled into a wicked one. “An infinite amount — one to screw in the bulb and all the rest to talk about how, one time, they screwed in a bigger bulb under worse conditions.”

  Chad snorted into his beer and after a moment the rest of the crew began to laugh.

  “They'll figure out the truth soon enough, Chadley.” Mikey chuckled. “Seriously, it never gets old.”

  Henri glanced over. “Chadley? Is that your full name?”

  Chad's brows rose. “I had this tradition, see, when I worked in offices. I’d learn who the most gossipy person was, and when we were alone doing a project, I’d confide that my name was not actually Chad.”

  “What is it?”

  “My name is actually Chad. I’d tell them my name was Chadley, but I hated it so much that I never used it. I’d ask them to keep it quiet then watch over the next few weeks as the rumor of ‘Chadley’ circulated through the entire office.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Boredom, what else,” Mikey interjected. “There’s a reason why he works the field now.”

  Chad rolled his eyes and pulled a cigarette from the pack rolled into his shirtsleeve. “I liked tracking the gossip. You tell one, Wise-guy.”

  Mikey shrugged. “I had a fairly tame career. I’m making up for it by working with Nel.”

  Nel rolled her eyes and threw her napkin at him.

  “The past two years have been the most lively yet.” He swatted Nel’s projectile away and raised his hand in surrender. “Okay. There was this one site during undergrad. It was out in the boonies and was super windy. There were these wild goats everywhere. One night there was a storm, and when we got to the site the next day, there were all these dead goats that had been blown off the cliff and onto our site. There was one in my unit even.”

  “Bullshit,” Nel accused.

  “Honest to God.”

  “You’re atheist.” Nel pointed to the bottle of table wine. “Hand me that, will you? Your story’s driven me to drink.”

  Plates heaped high with fish and meat arrived a moment later. Most of the crew had adopted the tradition of ordering everything to share. Nel laughed to herself. It helped them try everything, but also provided a full stomach for the drinking later.

  She ushered a piece of empanada onto her plate and dug in. Acrid fla
vor exploded in her mouth and she fought the urge to gag.

  “Fuck, Nel, you okay?” Chad's hand hovered at her elbow.

  She spat the mouthful into her napkin. “Yeah, just tastes like ass.” An oily black knot nestled among the beef and peppers. She teased it out with her fork. “It's cloth or something.” She spread it out and her stomach writhed further into a knot. A dead, mangled mouse sat in the center covered in a mixture of clotted blood and sauce.

  “Must have fallen in when they were cooking,” George hypothesized. “I used to work in kitchens and man, food isn't as clean as we think.”

  “Not now, George.” Mikey's voice sharpened uncharacteristically. “What is it, Nel?”

  “Bad publicity and some vandalism I can deal with, though it never makes me happy. I feel like I have to watch my back every second.” She shoved back from her seat fast enough to knock it over. “I'm sorry guys, we're leaving. Now.”

  Emilio caught it before it clattered to the ground. He frowned. “Bently, my dear, what happened?”

  “One of your fucking cooks is trying to kill me is what.” She growled the words through her teeth as discreetly as possible.

  His lips thinned in displeasure, dark eyes meeting hers for a moment before he jerked his head at her seat. “Stay. I'll make you something fresh myself.”

  She faltered, glancing at her crew sidelong. If it was just me, it'd be one thing, but they're roping my students into this. This was as much an attack on Emilio as on her diggers. “I can't Emilio, but thank you. Some other time.”

  The students had gathered their things. Nel watched as they filed out the door before following. The walk to the house was silent. The door banged shut behind them and Nel cleared her throat. “Hey, guys, one sec.” The students paused, some halfway up the stairs. Annie looked like she was about to vomit. “I'm really sorry that happened. I know half the time I'm this pissed off stranger who grades your papers, but I do care and I want you to be safe here and have a good time. If you guys get hungry later come find me, okay?”

  Sally offered a weak smile. “Thanks, Dr. Bently. I doubt any of us are in the mood for food, though. Have a good night.”

  Nel watched them retreat up the stairs. When the last door closed, she glanced over at Mikey. “You're quiet.”

  “You're scared.” Mikey fished three beers from the fridge, popping the top on hers before handing it to her. “I haven't seen you scared in a long while. Angry, sure, but scared?”

  She glanced at Chad, who watched them from the doorway. “It wasn't random trash that fell in a meal.” She pulled out the cloth that had wrapped the mouse and spread it on the counter. The center was stitched with Los Pobladores' logo. “I'm worried. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd rather vandalism. They're involving the students and I'm done with that.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “I'm ready to go to the cops.”

  Mikey pulled her into a tight hug. “Let's see how the next week goes. We can talk to the police then, okay?”

  Nel nodded, but her stomach was still churning. No matter how many times she rinsed her mouth with beer, her tongue tasted only motor oil and rotten flesh.

  •

  Nel absently pulled up Los Pobladores’ site again. She wasn’t tired. It was torture, reopening a wound a hundred times just to see if it hurt less. She flicked through the pictures of their protests, half expecting to see her dig. They wouldn’t put that up. They know that’s a low blow and would only make them look bad. The computer collided with the wall when she shoved it away from her. Her heart raced in her chest as she stared at the most recent photo. It was dimly lit and in selfie style, though the other person had been cropped out.

  The caption was just as bad: “Bently promises that her destruction of our land and heritage is only a search for where humans can go, not out of respect or love of our culture and people.” Leering up at her from the computer screen was Nel’s own plastic-fake smile.

  TEN

  Nel swung into the driver's seat of the Jeep. The clatter of screen doors and field boots on the stairs heralded Mikey’s approach. Each season they gave the crew a long weekend and took a Friday drive through the wilderness, looking for raw material. Usually they could pinpoint either a trade route or an actual source. Nel was bargaining some of her questions might have answers by the afternoon.

  “Why do you get to drive?” Mikey’s eyes were tired and bloodshot. He gripped his French press travel mug like a lifeline.

  “Because you look like death. You drive back. You get water?”

  “Yep.”

  “Field pack.”

  “Yep.”

  “Sunscreen?”

  “Ugh.” He tottered back inside only to reappear a minute later with sunscreen and his wallet. “K. Ready.”

  She pulled out onto the road, swaying easily with the lurching car. There was something primal about a bumpy road. Maybe it was her roots in the back-woods or that every site had class 6 roads, but they spoke to her soul.

  “North or south?”

  “North. Scant shit in the south. Plus, we can stop for lunch on the way.”

  “Gah, only if you pay.”

  He waved his wallet. “That’s what rich backers are for. Can’t expect us to find any rocks at all without good food.”

  Nel made a show of peering along the boulder-studded roadside. “Nope. No rocks here.” She drove with one hand, fumbling with the Jeep’s sound system. “Alright, since I’m driving, I choose the music.”

  Mikey groaned and slumped into the seat. “I was hoping to nap.”

  “Bullshit, you’re on lookout.”

  Nel grinned wolfishly and slid an old cassette into the slot. “No better way to wake up than to Jay Z’s melodic philosophies.”

  Mikey sighed and gazed dismally out the window. Nel snorted and grooved in the seat, pounding one hand on the wheel. She would be putting up as much of a fight when it was his turn. No one should listen to that much gospel. Ever.

  She interrupted rapping about having 99 problems, “Alright, we’re looking for that pink rock.” She tugged a map of Chile’s geography from her pack in the back seat. “See if you can get any ideas. I’m going down Route 1.”

  Mikey spread the map out on his lap. “Right. Rocks.”

  Nel bumped onto a side road. They’d never be able to see anything from the highway. She turned north and jerked the shifter into fourth.

  By eleven, they’d crossed forty miles and had seen every kind of rock except pink. “You ready to break for lunch?”

  “If it means I don’t have to hear Gorillaz one more time, I’ll say anything.”

  “Careful, you might regret that.” She grinned and spun into a pull off. “You take over, I’ll figure out what’s closest.” She slid the GPS from its case and climbed up onto the roll cage. “I swear our site is bugged, Mikey. This thing works fine everywhere else.”

  “Woooo, maybe it’s aliens.”

  “Shut up, Mulder.” Nel balanced on the steel bars, waving the GPS in the air. “Access code to me!” After a few moments, the device beeped into life. Nel tapped away at the screen, looking for any nearby restaurants. “La Merluza is a good 40 minutes away. There’s a joint down Route 1 just outside of El Hueso and then a hole-in-the-wall a bit further down the road. Never heard of it.”

  “Hole-in-the-wall sounds good. Close?”

  “Yeah, but you know the roads.” Often it took an hour to go four miles. Mikey finally found the tape he wanted and popped it into the radio. “Ready when you are.”

  Nel hopped down and showed him the GPS. “Didn’t even know there was a turnoff up there.”

  “Probably newer.” He backed carefully out of the turn off and trundled onto the road again. His grin turned sly as he cranked the volume.

  Nel kept her mouth tightly shut. Why someone who staunchly disbelieved in God loved southern gospel, she would never understand. “Turn left up here.”

  Mikey slowed,
blinker invisible in the bright sun. The Jeep lurched and rattled down the slope. The empty road was old, the pavement closer to gravel. It was cut into the bedrock and Nel rose in her seat.

  “Where did those boulders come from?”

  “Honestly, it looks like the stuff from Alaska.”

  “Yeah, they probably just carried it the whole way. For generations.”

  Mikey rolled his eyes at her sarcasm. “People have done far stranger things.”

  “Yes, your music is a fine example of that.” They rounded a bend and her eyes widened. “Shit.”

  Mikey slowed the car to a stop and cut the music. “I guess we found our answer.”

  “Holy fuck.”

  “Right? You bring the camera?”

  Nel couldn’t look away, and it took her three tries to hold the camera right-way-up. Just off the roadside to the left was a wall of familiar red stone. A gorge burrowed into the cliff face, becoming a winding tunnel. Rusty-black veined the stone. The road curved past the tunnel, two hundred meters of steep embankment between the edge of the road and the rock face. “Wanna check it out?”

  Mikey grinned. “Duh.” He slid the Jeep onto the side of the road. Loaded down with packs, water, and the camera, they jogged across the road. “I think we’ll have to just slide down on our asses.”

  Nel’s whoop interrupted him as she swung over the guardrail and boot-skated down the gravel slope. Chile’s landscape was a study in opposites — the lush forests and the Atacama. This was one of the green pockets. A river wound through the bottom of the canyon, an emerald snake in a desert of pink rock. A dozen flowers sweetened the air, and the muttering of the water drowned out the sound of the wind off the road far above. She edged into the canyon, running her hands along the wall. “Seriously, this is beautiful.”

  Mikey slid to a halt behind her. “How have we never heard about this?”

  “It’s off a back road. Locals probably know all about it, but it’s not like this is a tourist destination. Probably wasn’t even visible from the road until last year’s quake.” Nel followed the river deeper. It wasn’t strictly a tunnel; gaps in the stone roof above shed dim, filtered pink light onto the clear water.