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Stela (iii)

                                                                            An Old Soul


The drone from the engines of the twin-otter played on the edge of Connor’s hearing, his attention squarely on his laptop and the e-mails he had received over the past couple of weeks. E-mails regarding the archaeological site, or rather his archaeological site. He needed to keep his mind occupied for the duration of the flight. He absolutely hated flying in small aircraft. Flying in any aircraft unnerved him but the small planes really bothered him. He had considered getting drunk before boarding the plane but decided the hangover wouldn’t be worth the misery. Besides, he needed all his wits about him on this trip. It was a two-hour flight from Iqaluit in Nunavut to the Southern tip of Greenland followed by an orientation session from his second in command, Taylor Coleridge.

He peered out the window for a few moments to take in the beauty of the rolling seas below. At 6000 feet the icebergs looked like little white specks on a big blue canvas. Only these little specks were probably bigger than a house, seen at eye level, that big and much more. Connor could only begin to guess how cold the water was down there with all those ice cubes floating in it. He wondered how long he could survive in the water if the plane crashed….

His attention drifted back to his e-mails once more and he opened one. To: Connor McRae, Professor of Archaeology, Simon Fraser University, Vancouver B.C, blah, blah, blah, blah. It was from an associate of his at UBC, Carla Olson, another professor of archaeology. She had originally been in charge of the dig until her unfortunate “accident”. Connor chuckled quietly to himself. Bombing around the Greenland countryside while drunk and driving a quad was definitely unfortunate: unfortunate for her, her leg and the quad, not to mention the countryside. The e-mail outlined in detail the findings of the preliminary work she and her team had conducted at the site. This particular e-mail was dated June 10, almost 11 days ago. It dealt with her research proposal, the gridding of the site and the 20% random sampling done before her untimely roll- over.

He closed the e-mail and opened another one dated June 14, the day after Carla’s accident. This one was a forward to him from Carla. It was originally sent to her from Taylor Coleridge, her former second in command of the site. The random sampling was completed and hadn’t yielded anything of particular interest. However, Taylor, while taking a walk by a small creek a few hundred meters outside the camp, stumbled upon a small surface artefact on the edge of the site. It was a small, weather worn object resembling a…well, the description was rather vague and so was the picture of the artefact. Judging from the photograph the object looked like a lump of black shiny glass. Regardless, the picture sent shivers down his spine and he couldn’t wait to see it. The airplane lurched abruptly and dropped rapidly for a few moments. Connor’s heart raced wildly at the adrenaline rush from being frightened. After a few seconds his stomach slowly settled back down into its normal resting place. Bloody air turbulence! The co-pilot looked back through the cockpit doors and grinned at Connor, giving him the thumbs up sign. Bastard, Connor thought, he probably did that on purpose. Settling down he continued to read the e-mail. This was the really interesting part. Further down the creek embankment Colridge found the outer edge of a rather large object -- the best initial description for it.

Connor opened a third e-mail from Carla he had received yesterday, June 20th. Excavation revealed the object was in fact huge and circular. It was 12 meters across in diameter, 3 meters high and made completely of stone, with what was described as a “silver metallic material” one centimetre wide along the outer edge. They had found a smaller, more complete version of Stonehenge. But it had to be impossible. Stonehenge lay several thousand kilometres to the South and there was little known about the ancient site. Who built it? When was it built or even how it was built? There was even a theory floating around that Stonehenge was a replica of the female sexual organ. Connor chuckled at that and looked up as the plane started a slow turn. He felt his ears start to plug as the plane began its slow descent for landing. He shut down the laptop, stowed it away in his carry-on bag, and waited for the plane to land.

Connor’s thoughts drifted from his upcoming fieldwork to the two days prior to his departure to Greenland. More specifically, he remembered his last Karate class the day before yesterday. Having just obtained his black belt a few months ago, his Sensei felt the need to teach him and a few others a “lesson”. Teaching class was fine for Connor but showing off because you’re a black belt is considered poor etiquette. Sensei had been a little more ardent while demonstrating moves to those in the lesser belt class, using him as a model of course, and he was still feeling the bumps and bruises from the experience. He felt more than a little embarrassed by the whole ordeal and tried not to dwell on it too much. He grimly recalled his Sensei’s whispered words to him after being flipped to the practice mat one final time. ”What’s the matter Connor, didn’t you see that coming”?
Written by Poetic_Quill (Mister Write)
Published
Author's Note
The continuing stooooooooooory of a quack whose gone to the dogs…
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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