Back To Earth. Danilo Clementoni
automated control system picked it up. If was for this reason that, as young as he was, he had been placed in command of a Pegasus category ship.
There were plenty who would have given an arm and a leg to be in his position. But here he was.
The O^COM intraocular implant caused the newly re-calculated route to materialise in front of him. It was remarkable how an object of a few microns could perform all those functions. Inserted directly into the optic nerve, it was able to view an entire control console, superimposing the image over the one he actually had in front of him. At first, it had not been easy to become accustomed to such wizardry, and more than once the nausea had threatened to become unmanageable. Now, however, he could not work without it.
The entire solar system wheeled around him in all its fascinating majesty. The small blue dot near to massive Jupiter represented the position of their ship, and the thin red line, slightly more curved than the now faded previous version, indicated the new trajectory towards Earth.
The gravitational attraction of the largest planet in the system was alarming. It was essential to remain at a safe distance, and only the power of the two Bousen engines would enable the Theos to escape this mortal embrace.
âAzakis,â croaked the portable communicator attached to the console in front of him. âWe have to check the state of the couplings in compartment six.â
âHaven't you done it yet?â he replied in a playful tone that he knew would infuriate his friend.
âThrow that stinking cigar away and come and give me a hand!â thundered Petri.
I knew it.
He had managed to wind him up and was enjoying it like crazy.
âIâm here. Iâm here. Iâm on my way, my friend, donât get worked up.â
âGet a move on. I've been in the middle of this crap for four hours and Iâm not in the mood for joking.â
Grumpy as ever, but nothing and no one would ever be able to separate them.
They had known each other since their childhood. He was the one who had saved him more than once from a certain beating (he had been much bigger as a child), using his respectable size to intervene between his friend and the usual gang of bullies, for whom he had so often been a target.
As a boy, Azakis had not been sure that he would be the type the more attractive members of the opposite sex would fight over. He had always dressed in a slovenly manner, with his head shaved, a slim physique, and constantly connected to the GCS5 , from which he would absorb vast amounts of information ten times faster than most. At ten years old, thanks to his outstanding academic performance, he had already been granted level C access, with the option to acquire knowledge that was not available to most of his peers. The N^COM neural implant, which provided him with this kind of access, had several minor side effects, however. The acquisition phase demanded full concentration. Since most of his time had been spent like this, he had almost always had an absent look, staring vacantly into space, completely cut off from what was going on around him. The truth was that it had commonly been thought, despite what the Elders claimed, that he was a little retarded.
It had never mattered to him.
There had been no limit to his thirst for knowledge. He had even remained connected at night. Although while sleeping the capacity of acquisition, precisely because of the need for absolute concentration, was reduced to a mysterious 1%, he had not wished to lose even a moment of his life without taking the opportunity to develop his cultural background.
He awoke with a slight smile and made his way to compartment six, where his friend was waiting for him.
Planet Earth â Tell el-Mukayyar â Iraq
Elisa Hunter tried yet again to wipe the accursed drops of sweat from her forehead. They seemed determined to fall slowly towards her nose and drip into the hot sand beneath her. She had already been on her knees for several hours, with her inseparable Marshalltown Trowel6 , gently scraping the ground without causing any damage, trying to unearth an object that looked like the upper part of a tombstone. She had, however, remained unconvinced about this theory from the start. She had been working for almost two months near the Ziqqurat of Ur7 . Because of her reputation as an archaeologist and her expert knowledge of the Sumerian language, she had been allowed to work there. Since the first excavations at the beginning of the XX century, several tombs had been found, but never had an artefact such as this been seen in any of them. Due to its square shape and considerable size, it seemed more like the âcoverâ of some kind of container than a sarcophagus. An object buried there thousands of years before, to protect or hide something.
Unfortunately, having so far uncovered only a small section of the upper part, she was not yet able to establish how tall the supposed container might be. The cuneiform engravings that covered the entire visible surface of the cover did not resemble anything she had ever seen.
Translating them would take her several days and as many sleepless nights.
âDoctor Hunter.â
Elisa raised her head. Placing her right hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun, she saw her assistant, Hisham, hurrying towards her.
âProfessor,â he repeated, âthereâs a call for you from the base. It sounds urgent.â
âOK. Thanks, Hisham.â
She took advantage of this forced break and enjoyed a sip of water, by now almost boiling, from the flask she always carried in her belt.
A call from the base... That could only mean something was wrong.
She stood up, patted clouds of dust from her trousers, and walked purposely towards the tent that served as a research base.
She opened the zip that held the field tent half open and went inside. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the change in light, but this did not stop her from recognising the face of Colonel Jack Hudson on the monitor. He was grimly staring into space, waiting for her to appear.
The Colonel was officially responsible for the strategic anti-terrorist squad stationed in Nassiriya, but his real duty was to coordinate a scientific research programme commissioned and monitored by the phantom ELSAD8 department. This department was shrouded in the usual mystery that enveloped all organisations of this kind. There were few people who knew the precise purpose and aims of this organisation. All that was certain was that the operational command reported directly to the President of the United States.
Elisa did not attach much importance to all this. Her real reason for accepting the offer to participate in one of these expeditions was that she would finally be able to return to the place she loved most in the world, doing the work that she loved. In spite of her relatively youthful age (thirty-eight), she was one of the most accomplished in her field.
âGood evening, Colonel,â she said, wearing her best smile. âTo what do I owe this honour?â
âDoctor Hunter, thereâs no need for affectations. You know very well why Iâm calling. The permit you were granted to complete your work expired two days ago. You canât stay there any longer.
His voice was firm and decisive. This time, not even her undeniable charm would be enough to secure any further extension. She decided she would play her last card.
Since 23 March 2003, when the coalition led by the United States had decided to invade Iraq, with the express intention of deposing the dictator Saddam Hussein, accused of holding weapons of mass destruction (an allegation that subsequently proved to be unfounded), and of supporting Islamic terrorism in Iraq, all archaeological research, already difficult enough in times of peace, had suffered a setback. Only the formal end to the hostilities on 15 April 2003 had rekindled the hope of archaeologists around the world that they would once again be able to access