by RJ Corgan
“Don’t worry if you don’t get it right away,” Tony added. “Just don’t let the rocks outsmart you. Remember, it’s not rocket science.”
“No, but it does take patience,” Marcus reminded him with a glare. Turning back to the group he continued. “Nadia, you get the first section, Kea will photograph it while the rest of us go downstream mapping out one section at a time. Once you’re done, please come show us, then we’ll move you to another section.”
“And in the grand tradition of geology humor, may the quartz be with you!” Julie called, receiving a chorus of groans.
The volunteers dispersed with not a little grumbling. The measuring poles clattered as they were dragged unenthusiastically against the cobbled ground. Marcus led the way downstream, counting off ten-meter intervals, while Tony showed the volunteers how to take a sample.
Meeting Nadia at the first station, Kea noticed her sour expression.
“Just place the rod there,” Kea gestured, taking out her digital camera.
Nadia stared at the grimy wall of irregular black rock as Kea took photographs. “It just looks like mud to me.”
“True,” Kea smiled. “I do sometimes have difficulty explaining why I picked ‘mud settling’ as my field, particularly when everyone else is studying more exciting things like exploding volcanoes.”
Nadia looked Kea up and down. “Well, I guess it wasn’t for the fashion.”
Kea pursed her lips and glanced at her own weather-beaten waterproof trousers and tattered jacket that had survived six years of fieldwork. “Since you’re young, I’m going to let that slide.” She stepped closer to the wall and traced out the slivers of rock with her finger. “If you take the time, you can see that every thin layer is like a page in a book. Each one was laid down by a different process. It’s up to us to figure out which one. The size of the grains, the position of the rocks, and the thickness of the layers all indicate conditions in the past.”
“I still don’t really see it,” Nadia said sadly. “I mean, I can see that there are different layers and that some have different sized grains in them but...”
“It takes some getting used to,” Kea reassured her. “Half the time, I can’t figure out how some of these features were formed. But that’s what I love about this place, the variety of processes and finding things I don’t understand.”
Nadia considered that for a moment. “Always something new?”
“Exactly,” Kea answered with a smile.
“I get that... but…” Nadia grinned.
“But what?” Kea struggled to hide her exasperation with the young woman.
Nadia shrugged. “It still bores the crap out of me.”
***
Kea found Tiko perched on a small boulder at the next section, her feet tucked beneath her, sketchpad in her lap. A lunch bag was propped up against her knee. She munched absently as she drew the rock face, taking bites of something that looked all the world like a cigar with a length of string sticking out of it.
A hundred questions raced through Kea’s mind as she approached the young woman. What did you see? Why did you wait so long to say anything? What really happened? She felt her heart rate increase, anxiety threatening to overwhelm her. Calm, remain calm. Kea blew out a long breath. Try a different approach, one that doesn’t lead to throttling a volunteer.
“’Allo,” Kea said in greeting. She sat down on a rock across from her. “What’s that?”
Tiko looked up, startled, her mouth full of food. An expression of relief washed across her face when she registered Kea’s approach.
“I’m sorry,” Kea said, holding up her hands in surrender. “Only me. Are you okay?”
Tiko nodded, smiling around a piece of cigar, or at least a stub of something long and tan colored. Now that she was closer, Kea could see that it was dusted with flour or fine sugar. Tiko pulled a similar object out of her bag and offered it to her, a peculiarly long piece of white string dangling out of both ends.
“Churchkhela,” Tiko said, holding it out again.
Kea sensed this was meant as an explanation. She accepted the gift with a raised eyebrow.
“Dried grape pressed together. With walnuts,” Tiko explained around a mouthful. “Churchkhela.”
Kea examined it again and realized the knobby bits along its length must be the walnuts. Taking a bite, she found the texture tough but one that softened the more she chewed. “Very tasty.” She took another bite. “How are you finding our cooking so far?”
“You... try.” Tiko smiled politely. Whatever had been troubling the young woman, talking about food seemed to calm her. “Cooking for so many people... is difficult.”
“Never a truer word...” Kea dreaded the daily ritual. Except for fajita night, of course. That was sacred.
Obviously worried that she had offended, Tiko added, “You must try some Georgian cheese. I will make khachapuri, cheese bread.”
“I’m not sure where you’d find Georgian cheese out here.” Kea stared at the deserted plain that surrounded them.
“Not find,” Tiko laughed. “Cheese in suitcase. I bring here with me.”
It took Kea a moment to process that statement. “You brought cheese... in your suitcase?”
“Of course,” Tiko sounded confused. “Only a couple of blocks.”
“Well, let’s not share that with customs.” Kea tapped the side of her nose. “If anyone asks, we’ll plead the language barrier.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out something she’d been saving since the trip to Reykjavík. She held it out to Tiko. “Fair-trade.”
“Sorry?” Tiko stared at the object, confusion on her face.
“Peanut butter cup,” Kea explained. “At least I think it’s fair-trade. Chock-full of preservatives, color dyes, and other awful things, but they are also rather wonderful.”
“Thank you.” Tiko carefully stowed it away in a pocket as if Kea had just presented her with a precious stone.
“Now then,” Kea scooted closer to have a better look at Tiko’s pad. “How’s the sketching going?”
Tiko turned her notebook so that Kea could see her drawings. The outcrop was beautifully rendered with deft lines and fine detail. Sometimes the skills of the volunteers astounded her.
“That’s fantastic.” Kea tucked her own notebook deeper into her jacket pocket, out of sight. “You’ve captured it perfectly.”
“Yes...” Tiko agreed. It wasn’t a boast, just stating a fact. “But what does it mean?”
“Aha!” Kea picked up a trowel and escorted Tiko over to the section. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
Kea tapped a layer of the cliff with the trowel. “See these cobbles?” Trapped within the fine sediment were small, elongated rocks that leaned against each other like toppled dominoes. “Each pebble has a long axis, an intermediate, and a short axis. By measuring, and averaging, the direction of the axis, not only can we infer the direction of flow when it was deposited, but also the conditions.”
Tiko smiled politely, waiting for Kea to continue. It was the same look Kea used to give her grandmother when, in the later stages of dementia, the older woman vehemently insisted the family dog was a German spy.
“Okay, let me see...” Kea knelt on the ground and picked up some loose stones and spread them randomly over the sandy soil. “When the rocks are laid down by a stream, over time the water will orientate the long axis of the rock parallel to flow.” She held a compass over the rocks and showed how to measure the long axis of the stones relative to magnetic north. “When there’s a flood, however, there is usually a short burst of activity.” She swept her hand across the cobbles, rolling them. “During all that turbulence, the clasts become poorly sorted. As the rocks are rolled along, the long axis of cobbles will orientate perpendicular to flow direction, a bit like logs of timber. By doing so, we can use our understanding of imbrication to discover the conditions that created them. See?”
Tiko ran her fingers across various patterns on the rock face
as if skimming Braille. “I speak Georgian, Russian, French, and some English.” She turned back to Kea, a mischievous grin on her face. “This is the first time I have read Earth.”
Kea snorted, despite herself. “Don’t let Julie hear you say things like that.”
“Why?” Tiko looked at her curiously.
Kea pursed her lips. “She’s not the biggest fan of cheese.”
Tiko was silent for a moment then smiled. “More khachapuri for you!”
Kea couldn’t help but grin at that. Then, in a softer voice, she asked, “How are you doing?”
“Tired, I think. Yes, tired.” Tiko stared blankly at her notebook, as if not registering what was on the pages.
Kea hesitated for a moment, then decided honesty was the best approach. “I heard that you saw something that day.”
Tiko’s gaze remained fixed on her notebook as Kea spoke, her shoulders seeming to hunch protectively around it.
“And it seems to me that if you really had seen such a thing, you would have mentioned it to us much earlier….” Kea reached out and placed a hand on the notepad. “Tiko, did someone force you to say that?”
Kea knew she was reaching, pushing too far. She waited.
Tiko remained silent, her body language hesitant, like a cornered animal.
“Okay.” Kea eased back to give her some space. “If you ever need to talk, just stop by my tent, anytime.”
Tiko nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “Talking is not always so good, I think,” she said slowly. “But thank you.”
Kea patted her on the shoulder before taking photographs of the section and heading off to the next volunteer. Kea felt deeply troubled. The young woman who had enthused about Georgian cheese bread only moments before was gone.
As she walked, Kea wondered if Tiko was merely hesitant to get involved or was afraid of something. Or someone?
***
Kea wasn’t surprised to see Fernando at the next section. The dapper Puerto Rican had been following Tiko around the camp the last couple of days like a smitten schoolboy. He stood at the cliff face, meticulously scraping loose sediment into a plastic bag. The filled sample bags were lined up at his feet, neatly labeled in handwriting that would have made a calligrapher weep with envy. Even as he dug into the cliff face, his dapper clothes seemed to somehow repel the fine dust that erupted in a cloud with each scoop.
Kea looked down at her own dirt-smeared waterproof jacket and marveled at how someone could remain so clean out here. It seemed almost unnatural. “How’s it going?”
“So far so good.” Fernando sealed the bag. He took out a permanent marker and labeled it as instructed with the date, section number, and distance measured from the bottom of the section. “It was entertaining to see you guys so excited this morning.”
“Yes, well, this only happens so often.” Kea waved a hand at the section. “We have to take advantage of these opportunities when they come along.” She paused. “Although I do apologize if our enthusiasm was... out of place.”
Fernando seemed to take her meaning. “In some ways, I barely knew him.”
Kea couldn’t help but shake her head. “It seems like no one did.”
Fernando sealed another sample bag. “I work remotely, so I never met him until the other day.”
“It’s hard to imagine,” Kea replied distantly.
Fernando looked at her oddly.
“I just meant that my department is so small.” Kea nodded downstream where Marcus and Tony were conferring. “It’s hard to imagine working with people and never meeting them.” Then again, Kea thought as she stared at Marcus, sometimes the pros could outweigh cons.
“Telework’s pretty standard in tech,” Fernando said. “No commute, you get to just do your coding. Plus, you don’t have to deal with all the office crap.”
Perhaps Fernando has his own version of Marcus, Kea thought. “So, what’s it like now?” she ventured. “With all of you actually together all in one place?”
“Joyous,” Fernando answered drily. “Bruce is dead, and the rest of them don’t seem to give a damn. It’s wonderful.” Catching her wounded expression, he added, “Sorry, forgot you two were friends.”
“It’s fine.” She understood that sort of anger. In fact, she felt better that at least one other person from T3 had verbalized it. “I take it you worked with him?”
Fernando nodded. “Same division. Didn’t have to go the way he did.”
Kea noted that his tone seemed to shift from frustration to one of regret. “You don’t sound too surprised though.”
“Yeah, well…” Fernando appeared to struggle to find the right words. “He’d had a rough time lately.”
Kea waited, but he didn’t offer anything else.
What is with these people? Doesn’t anyone gossip in the workplace anymore?
“Rough time?” she persisted. “At home or work?”
“Both really,” Fernando appeared reluctant to go into detail. “Startups can be brutal. They take all you have, your savings, your nights, your weekends… It’s all a gamble, hoping to either make it rich fast or get bought out by a bigger company.”
“Either of those options in T3’s future?” Kea asked.
“We were close to getting bought out a couple of months ago, but it all fell apart at the last minute. Bruce took it hard, but it hit Max harder. It was his deal. He got pretty angry.”
Kea pictured Max’s giant form and booming voice in a full-on rage. The Hulk phrase, ‘You won’t like me when I’m angry,’ echoed in her head. “That can’t have gone over well.”
Fernando shrugged. “Most things don’t go over well with Max.” He paused. “Why are you asking?”
That’s my cue to move on and shut up, Kea thought. “I’m just trying to figure out how things got so bad so fast. You think you know someone…”
Fernando shook his head. “You never really know people. Ask my ex-wife.”
Afraid as to what depths that conversation might delve into, Kea made her way to the next station where Erik and Jon were working next to each other. Despite the dark skies threatening rain at any moment, they had both stripped down to tank tops. Erik’s arms were filled from shoulder to cuff with tribal ink. Jon’s tattoos were just as plentiful but more random and unrelated. A dragon circled one bicep while the muzzle of a pistol hugged the edge of a pectoral.
Stratigraphy, Kea reminded herself. I’m here for stratigraphy.
She coughed to announce her approach.
Erik gave an up-nod with his chin in greeting. “Boss.”
Jon kept his eyes down, and muttered hello.
I feel like I’ve kicked a puppy.
“How goes the battle?” Kea slung her bag down on the gravel and unzipped a pocket, digging for a new memory chip for her camera.
Erik waved a trowel. “Jon here thinks he’s found some of your rip-up clasts.”
“Really?” Kea straightened and hefted her camera. “That’s exciting!”
“He hoped you’d be pleased.” Erik lightly punched his cousin on the shoulder.
“Did he now?” Kea could have sworn Jon’s cheeks reddened, although it was difficult to tell beneath the tan. “Let’s see what he’s found.”
Silently, Jon pointed to a thick rectangular block of dark sediment that seemed to float in a matrix of sand and gravel. It was a meter across and twice as thick.
“I think you’re right,” Kea said slowly. “As you can see, this block of substrate was excavated from the underlying layer and incorporated into the matrix of sediment above, emplaced during the event. Probably by a jökulhlaup.”
She looked up from her camera to see Jon looking proudly at his find. “Definitely well done.” She pulled out her notebook and a sample bag, while the two men stood back and watched her work. “By the way.” She hacked a clump of dirt out of the cliff and poured it into the little plastic bag. “I just wanted to say thank you again for staying. How are you guys holding up?”
“Shame
, him going like that,” Jon said, scuffing the ground with his boot.
“Yeah, a real shame,” Erik agreed, but Kea glanced at him sharply, sensing humor in his voice.
Erik had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry, never could stand the guy.”
Kea fought down the anger gnawing at her stomach lining. She kept her eyes on the sample bag as she labeled it. “You worked with him?”
“Yeah, he was our manager, but not like he did any actual work. Not that I saw. Still,” Erik’s tone softened slightly, “no one deserves to go like that.”
“No,” Kea replied, picturing Bruce’s cold, bloated body. She shook her head as if to dispel the vision. She fixed her attention on the section. This needed to be properly documented. It was paper worthy. “Tell you what, why don’t I finish up these sections and you guys can take a stab at the next ones?”
“Sure thing, Boss.” Erik picked up his backpack in one swift movement and slapped a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Come on man, let the lady do her science.”
Kea watched them walk down the river edge before she returned to the section, although her mind was elsewhere. Did anyone like Bruce?
“Why would you stay at a company where everyone hated you?” she asked the cliff. The only answer was the slow tap, tap, tap on the pages of her notebook as a drizzle began to fall.
***
A spattering rain harassed them throughout the rest of the morning, making lunch a dreary affair. The team huddled close to the cut-bank for the meager shelter it provided, scarfing down sandwiches and cold coffee. Those in need of the bathroom trudged back along the trail onto the elevated sandur to find a damp boulder to squat behind.
Section by section, the team pressed on slowly, mapping the length of the exposure. Under dripping hoods, they sketched on the waterproof pages of the notebooks, their fingers cold and wet. To their credit, none of the volunteers complained. Some even remarked on not being able to remember the last time that they had ever stood in the rain. As they worked into the afternoon, however, the mood of the volunteers began to sour. Even Fernando’s perfect face became streaked with mud and grime.