by Martha Carr
“This isn’t a simple necklace.” He ran his hand nervously through his hair.
Dean Muston, the chair of the History Department at the University of Chicago, Illinois who had been at the university for as long as anyone could remember, was bored and annoyed. He dangled the heavy gold necklace over two fingers as the lavender stone, carved into a diamond-shape with an ‘O’ inscribed in the center swung back and forth.
A younger professor, Richard Randolph, sat nearby at a long table cluttered with unfurled maps and research books. Only the wooden legs were visible underneath all of Somers’ research.
Randolph was trying to give Somers encouraging looks but he knew it wasn’t going well and only managed to wince, alternating occasionally with a pained smile.
“Clearly,” said Dean Muston. “The gold alone has to be worth something. I’m not so sure about this stone. It’s far too gaudy for my taste but live and let live.”
“No, no!” Somers said, a little too loudly, especially since he was talking to his boss and hoping for a favor. His usual bad start. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered, “I get a little excited.”
The dean glared at him, still dangling the necklace. “If I insulted a family heirloom,” he said, sarcastically, “I apologize.”
“I think what Professor Somers meant to say was there’s more to this story. That’s actually an ancient relic.”
“Yes, exactly,” said Somers, pacing again.
“You are quite good at burying the headline, Somers.” Muston let the necklace fold gently into his palm. He pulled out a jeweler’s loupe and looked at the thick, braided chain more closely. “Doesn’t really look like gold, but doesn’t look man made either. Interesting. What’s the backstory? Not you, Randolph. I want to hear it from Somers.”
Randolph grimaced, trying to get Somers’ attention.
Somers walked to the table and shuffled papers around, moving maps out of the way, looking for his notes.
“Don’t do it. Don’t say anything about magic,” Randolph whispered, but Somers had waited for this moment for too long. It had been ten years since he was a graduate student and first discovered the evidence that told him there was more than one dimension. Earth was just one of them. Even better, the rules of science could be bent in a thousand different ways that no one on Earth could imagine.
Some might call it magic, but Somers refused to.
“There’s no such thing as magic,” he hissed. “Fools say that about things they can’t explain.”
“What’s that about magic?”
“Nothing at all about magic.” Somers found his notes. There was a coffee stain on the corner of the page. The stain had bled through, sticking several of the pages together.
“Magic is a distraction for children or ancient civilizations that needed a quick explanation for everything. We are scientists,” he said, spitting a little as he shouted the last words. “We know better than that, and look for how everything fits together organically. In ways that can be reproduced, proven, tested.” He carefully peeled the pages apart, and jabbed a finger at a map,
“Here, see, the green shows places where people live longer with far fewer health issues. Santa Barbara is one of them. So is Austin, Texas, or here in the Mediterranean and in Sweden. This is where it all started. Where I first saw the connections.” He was talking faster and faster.
He was cruelly aware how short Dean Muston’s attention span was from past encounters. He was known to walk out mid-presentation without saying a word. His way of saying no to a project.
“You found the necklace in one of these places?” asked Muston.
“No, not exactly. That’s where I started hearing stories about Earth’s history, ancient stories. They talked about giants, and humans with wings and beings that used light to conjure up objects. String theory taken to a natural conclusion but used thousands of years ago.”
“All of this from Santa Barbara?” Dean Muston stood up from where he had been leaning on the edge of a desk, straightening out his tie.
“Not giants, like different creatures, of course. There’s a scientific explanation or an early confusion but that’s not the important part anyway. It’s the portals,” Somers blurted out, desperate to keep Muston’s attention.
There were too many years of being treated like a middling archaeologist who was too unimaginative to come up with original ideas. Or worse, someone lost in their own fantasy who couldn’t even make it in the middle of the pack. This was going to be his moment.
Randolph fidgeted with the maps on the table, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. He had known Somers since graduate school and wanted to be there for his friend without tanking his own career. Somers wasn’t making it easy, or even doable.
“I really need to get back to work,” said Randolph, standing up so abruptly he bumped the table, sending several of the maps to the floor. He knelt down trying to gather them but Somers stopped him.
“You’re tearing one of the maps. Stop!” He pushed Randolph’s arm away. “I will get them. You don’t understand, this is years of research,” he said, carefully rebuilding the pile on the table.
“Portals?” Muston walked over to stand behind Somers, looking over his shoulder at one of the maps. “What is an Oriceran?”
“It’s like it sounds, like a door but it’s really more of a tear or an opening in the universe. Like a black hole but without the gravity. We believe in black holes, right? Not magic.” He scooped up the rest of the papers, placing them gently on the table.
“But these doors, these portals work according to certain rules. They’re not at all random and instead of being out there,” he pointed toward the ceiling, “somewhere in space, they’re here. Here on Earth.”
“You’re saying there’s a door in Santa Barbara,” said the dean, “that has managed to go unnoticed by all of California, and this phenomena gave you this necklace.”
“Forget the necklace!” he shouted, grabbing it away from the dean. “The portals are what matter. The necklace is just a means to an end. The portals are these openings that are connections to a different dimension. Much like a black hole, right? That’s the theory but this is real!” He jabbed a finger at the dean. “Right?” He looked back at Randolph for support, but he was carefully looking elsewhere.
“I’ve heard these stories in Wales, Egypt and even England. The same stories, the same details,” he said, clapping his hands sharply. “There was a time, thirteen thousand, eight hundred years ago, give or take a decade, when these portals were open all the time and the laws of physics on Earth were entirely different.”
“You mean magic,” said Muston.
“Yes, okay, some would call it magic but it’s really just physics redefined, don’t you see? And all of it operated on a set of very defined rules, still does.”
“But the portals closed at some point,” said Muston. “The only reason I’m still here and listening is because this is the most creative thing you’ve ever come up with, Somers, and I’m wondering what kind of favor you’re going to ask to go along with it. Best excuse I’ve ever had to skip a board meeting.”
“All the portals closed but before they did, great things were accomplished on Earth. Like building the pyramids of Egypt, or Stonehenge! We all know there’s a commonly held theory that the pyramids were the work of the Old Kingdom society that rose to prominence in the Nile Valley between four and five thousand years ago. The same with the pyramids of Giza. But, you know, there’s a lot of research that shows that can’t be true. That they’re a lot older, they have to be. Like nine or ten thousand years older than that. Same with Easter Island. When I was studying in Egypt we did radiocarbon testing that called the earlier tests into question. I repeatedly tried to get the same conventional results but the tests showed that the structures had to be older.”
“I remember your testing, but no one else was able to reproduce your findings,” said the dean.
“Not true! Several others got the same r
esults but no one would listen! Even though the Turin Royal Canon that lists all of the pharaohs suggests I’m right.”
“Most well-established archaeologists do not believe in the Turin King list. Besides, more than fifty percent of that list is lost and what we were able to reconstruct was from well over a hundred different pieces. Not entirely reliable.”
“That list was deciphered by Frances Champollion, the modern father of Egyptology. You know it talks about an Egypt that’s thousands of years older, ruled by half human, half god creatures who were called Shems Hor, companions of Horus. What if they weren’t gods,” he implored, “but different species who travelled through a portal? Then, there’s…”
“Please don’t bring up the Manetheo texts,” said the dean. “They’ve been debunked.”
“No, they’ve been ignored when they didn’t fit neatly into the established timeline. It doesn’t mean they’re wrong. The Manetheo texts were written in Greece. They called them demi-gods. The coincidence is amazing. The same details.”
“Then there’s the ostrich egg,” said Randolph timidly from the background. He was still trying to help his friend.
“Yes, yes!” said Somers, shaking Randolph by the arm. “The ostrich egg that everyone agrees predates the pyramids of Giza by over three thousand years, found in an ordinary tomb that has a depiction of the pyramids painted on one side. How is that possible if some of this, I tell you, all of this, isn’t true? Look, the human beings back then seem to have known about these rigid rules surrounding the portals. That as the portals closed they would have the ability to use physics to their advantage…”
“Magic.” The dean nodded his head, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
Somers plowed ahead, determined to lay out the rest of his story. “…but it would lessen with each passing year till it reached a valley when this energy was at its lowest before it started climbing again. Some referred to them as seasons, and the portals being wide open was called summer. Others named the time periods after precious metals, like a golden age. They knew the fall season of their age, or a silver age was coming and while they could still use magic, they built the pyramids. Not as burial grounds but as focal points to gather energy and hold it, like a giant battery, for as long as possible.”
“This is all very old, tired ground, Somers.” Muston rose wearily. “I’m afraid it’s even failed as a good distraction.” He turned to go.
“The pyramids have something in common with that necklace, that relic that you saw. The portals still exist but they’re smaller, weaker and occur only in a handful of places around the world. But they’re there.”
“You can show me one of these portals with this necklace. This is some kind of divining rod for the door.” Muston shook his head
“It’s more like a key to open the door. It stores this ancient energy like a battery that can be recharged. Didn’t everyone think that electricity was bunk when Franklin said it could be harnessed? Or how about planes? All crazy science. Magic, the devil, or something that just wasn’t discovered yet.”
“You seem very sure of yourself. Okay, I’ll play along.” The dean looked down at his phone, checking the time. “I have a few minutes left. What’s on the other side of a portal? You’re talking like there’s something specific.”
“Another world, similar to ours but where the levels of energy have remained high. They call it Oriceran,” whispered Somers, his face flushed.
“They, who is they? One bit of information from you only leads to ten more questions. Now, we’re talking about aliens all of a sudden. You should have been a writer, Somers. Maybe you too, Randolph.”
Randolph squeaked and sat down hard in his chair.
“I have proof.” Somers took a deep breath. “I can show you a portal.”
“Great,” said the dean, standing up straighter. “Okay, I’m ready, show me one, but be quick.”
“It doesn’t work like that.” Somers’ voice had taken on a slight whine.
“Of course it doesn’t.” The dean turned to go. Randolph fidgeted noisily in his chair, motioning to Somers to say something, twisting his mouth left and right, clearing his throat.
“But it will,” Somers said abruptly. “In just a few days the necklace, the relic, will release its energy and then another portal can be opened. Opened right here!” He was trying to regain confidence he felt just moments earlier.
The dean turned back for a moment.
“You’re talking about the department’s centennial celebration, aren’t you?” Dean Muston paused, eyeing the nervous Randolph who was pretending he was elsewhere, and Somers who was trying to look calm, his left eye twitching.
“No,” he said firmly. He turned and moved swiftly toward the door, and said over his shoulder, “Be glad you got invitations that I can’t take back.”
“Why didn’t you tell him about going over there?” asked Randolph. “Why didn’t you show him the pictures on your phone? That’s what sold me.”
Somers sat down behind his desk, his hands between his knees. “These days, anything could be explained away as a trick. He would think it was clever but he wouldn’t believe me,” he said, dejected. “Why would he believe that I was minding my own business, grading papers when a hole opened up and the bar scene from Star Wars was recreated in my office? Different creatures in hoods asking for my help. Even I thought I was crazy at first, having a stroke.”
“What changed your mind?” Randolph asked, running a finger over the map.
“On my first visit when they just wanted to talk I managed to take this.” He opened a cabinet to show a tall white flower growing out of reeds in a small clay pot. “It was just a seedling when I took it and it did this in just days.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.” Randolph stood there in awe, staring at the flower.
“The petals follow the golden ratio, like a rose, but there’s more petals and the petals can close individually, and reopen in sections. Doesn’t need sunlight or water. I tried giving it a little water at first and the plant shook it off. Literally shook the water off! I half expected it to spit it back at me.”
Randolph leaned in to inspect the flower more closely and it bent away from him every time he drew too close.
“Not too fond of you,” said Somers. “It just wants music. Like it’s fed by sound. I discovered that by accident.”
“Like penicillin. A happy accident.” Randolph leaned toward the flower from a different angle, watching in amazement as it drew away. “I’m even getting rejected by flowers now.”
“Hates Beethoven, loves Mozart and the Beatles. Played a little Smashing Pumpkins and almost killed it. Since I got the playlist right, I’ve had to repot it several times. It keeps on growing. The dirt is more for show. I don’t think it needs it but I’m not sure. I’m not even sure if Earth dirt would be the same as Oriceran.”
“I get why you didn’t show the dean your pictures, but this would be hard for anyone to deny.”
Somers slapped Randolph’s hand hard before he could pluck one of the petals. “Owwwww, fuck you Somers!” Randolph rubbed his smarting hand. “What could it hurt? You can’t think it’s got some kind of intelligence!”
“Randolph, you cannot believe what I saw in Oriceran,” Somers said in a hushed voice. “There was a palace that seemed to hang in the sky and one moment it was there and the next, poof! There was nothing. I swear to you, I thought I saw a tree with eyes watching everything. But then, for a second…” he snapped his fingers, “the tree moved and I realized it was a kind of man with bark for skin standing at the edge of a dense forest.”
“What did the hooded guys want with you?” asked Randolph, finally letting go of his hand, shaking it a little, not quite willing to let his hurt feelings go.
“They wanted my help.” Somers stood up straight, thrusting his chin out. “My help,” he said, sounding proud and even a little surprised. “Saw my papers on ancient Egypt and the age of the pyramids and th
e testing I did and for once, someone knew I was right.”
“That’s creepy. They can watch us from over there. Like an alien NSA.” Randolph crossed his legs tightly, and shivered.
“I don’t think they’re bothering to watch us now,” said Somers, irritated. He was tired, so tired. Ever since he had to kill that prince he hadn’t slept well.
I just wanted the necklace. I needed proof. It was an accident, he thought for the thousandth time. I’m not a killer.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to forget the look in the prince’s eyes as he died. Somers had never so much as balled up his fist before that moment.
“I am not some kind of crackpot!”
“Nobody said you were,” said Randolph, startled. “At least nobody here.”
He wanted to tell Randolph everything. The hooded creatures ambushed him just outside the relic room, waving their hands around, shooting out sparks and fireballs pulled Somers across the floor, back into their clutches.
He still wasn’t sure why they hadn’t killed him right where he stood. They seemed to be panicking more than he. No one even noticed that he had pocketed the necklace. He even managed a picture or two with his phone as they dragged him along, capturing their faces twisted in grimaces.
“Waste of time,” one of them had said.
That’s when he saw the man that looked like a tree watching them as the creatures dragged him down a different path to a clearing, opened up a hole in the world and tossed him through it, right back into his office.
Only a little bit later on Earth. He checked every clock he could find to be sure. Almost no time had passed. It was amazing. He was free with no one following him. Those creatures had made it clear they just wanted him gone.
So be it. I’m sorry it happened but there are bigger things to think about. The portals will be opening again. I could lead the way. The thought exhilarated him. Maybe things were finally changing for him. It was an accident. He shook his head as the image of the dying prince crept into his thoughts again. No one can find you. There were no other witnesses.