Bones in the Sand - Julie Steimle (best fiction novels to read txt) 📗

see why they should worry. They made these ships to last forever."

Jafarr shrugged as if he didn't care, yet he said, "Maybe ten thousand years might destroy a metal. It is possible."

"Thirteen thousand," Professor Pratte immediately interjected, marching up behind him.

Jafarr stopped and glanced back at him, turning. "Ten thousand. That's three thousand years too early."

"Thirteen thousand," the professor insisted. "The sediments in the rock show that the man was buried thirteen thousand years ago.

Jafarr laughed now, looking around as if the evidence was plain. "It's only about ten thousand years old, no matter what your silly sediments and dating methods say. Arrand didn't live thirteen thousand years ago."

Yet Professor Pratte did not back down. "Thirteen thousand years. Perhaps that skeleton is not this Arrand you speak of. Perhaps he is someone else?"

Everyone watched as the Boy's cheeks flushed, his eyes fixing indignantly on the professor as if no one in the world would have dared contradict his conclusions. "Ten thousand. No one came to Earth thirteen thousand years ago - especially humans."

The professor's face tightened. Bristlingat Jafarr with growing dislike, he bit back, "Thirteen thousand, child. What do you know about archaeology and science? I happen to be the top ranking professor at my university in this field, and I know for a fact that he was here thirteen thousand years ago!"

Zormna had wandered to Jafarr's side by this time, watching Jafarr's face turn a shade of red which by her curious expression appeared to be a rare blow up for him.

"That ship is only ten thousand years old." Jafarr's chest heaved, his neck stiff. "And I don't need to know archaeology to know what all our history books say. No mortal man has set foot on this ridiculous planet until at the most ten thousand and three hundred of your years. And they didn't make ships like that until ten thousand years ago."

The professor blinked at Jafarr, fuming in his own right. And yet the boy's words were like icepicks stabbing into logic. How could he refute history books of alien peoples and debate types of alien ships quoted at him when the very idea of ancient aliens was mocked within his field? It hit a raw nerve, and he stepped back. Jafarr looked more alien than ever as his indigo eyes against his deathly white skin glared deeper than any human eyes Professor Pratte had ever seen.

"Actually, if you want to get technical," Zormna's voice broke in the icy silence like a hard slap, "that ship is around ten thousand and seventy years old. It's a Golden Age ship, Jafarr. Probably even one from the royal guard, by the looks of it."

Jafarr turned with a stare on her as if to tell her she was being irrelevant - but when his eyes met her dry amusement, all his stiff muscles melted. He broke out laughing. Then shook his head. Turning once more to Professor Pratte (who got even more shaken by her remark in the light of the argument), Jafarr stuck out his hand.  "Does it matter how old the ship is? Truce?"

Professor Pratte stared at him. Jafarr's easy-going reply set him and his angry thoughts askew. He wasn't sure what was right. Yet he took the boy's hand, allowing Jafarr to deliver a warm shake. The Boy's hand in his was real flesh, and felt as human as his own.

"Truce," escaped Professor Pratte's lips.

Jafarr laughed more and nodded, patting the man on the back briskly (like a regular jock) then slipped back to his girl partner who had been watching them like a mother watches two quarreling yet very silly children making amends.

"So, what do you want to do today?" Jafarr asked her without any further ado to anyone else who followed them.

She shrugged, glancing back at the watching FBI agents, college students, and professors. "Perhaps they'd let us try to dig?"

Professor's dazed thoughts jumped back into focus. Her? Digging?

"No. No digging. You've seen the bones, but no digging!"

Zormna laughed, which sounded musical in the desert air. But they could tell she had half-expected that response.

Chapter Eleven: Another Kind of Red Meat

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"It grew upon my mind, once I could face the facts, that, terrible as our position was,

there was as yet no justification for absolute despair." p. 108

 

 

The week at the dig was rather dull for Jafarr and Zormna since the second day. They frequently took peeks at the progress of the dig as they planned what they were going to do with the bones once they obtained them. Everyone later found out that Jafarr had called a 'friend' who arranged to have a small chest lined with velvet brought to the dig, which they intended to put the bones in. It arrived via a group of obnoxious bikers who, once they came, lingered around the campground and harassed the archaeology students until the FBI forced them out of the camp and back to the road via gunpoint. Their leader Minas exchanged a few 'choice' words with Jafarr who shrugged him off with the remark, "I told you it was complicated."

"What kind of trouble is your dad in?" the biker retorted when he climbed astride his Harley.

Shrugging it off again, Jafarr just snorted, waving the question away. The bikers were gone quickly after that.

The entire camp was still recovering from old Bill's raucous speech and Minas's off-color remarks about the college girls when Jafarr and Zormna carried the box to their tent and tucked it away. Most of the coeds were complaining about it. One of the college boys had the guts to stop Jafarr and ask, "How do you know those guys?"

A little surprised, Jafarr hesitated then shrugged as he said, "Oh, a friend of mine rides with them on occasion. They don't know anything about anything, but they're loyal to those people they hang with and they don't ask a lot of questions."

The college boy stared. His eyes traced Jafarr's scars as he said, Have you ever ridden with them?"

"Only once," Jafarr laughed. "And that was to get here."

He then walked down the hill.

Since then, the two teens amused themselves with Frisbee and card games - when they weren't doing their homework, which (to many) seemed ludicrous.  

Zormna moaned over the book she was reading.

"Which chapter are you on?" Jafarr peered up from his Calculus text. He had a notebook on his lap where he was filling out equations.

"Thirteen," Zormna replied. She flipped the page open so he could see.

Jafarr looked at it and smirked. Then he returned to the problem he was working on.

Zormna read aloud. "'Killed!' he said, staring about him. 'How can God's ministers be killed?' 'I saw it happen.' I proceeded to tell him. 'We have chanced to come in for the thick of it,' said I, 'and that is all.'" She shook her head and put the book down. "Scrapes, no wonder there is so much paranoia about invasion here. With people writing this nonsense, Parthans would be scared of everything."

Jafarr smirked. "Perhaps you should finish the book before passing judgment, hmm?"

Zormna rolled her eyes peevishly, but nodded.

Passing college students overheard their conversation though. Three of the men with Kyle convened in the dig tent, while others were sharing what they observed about the pair. So far, the two peculiar teenagers appeared to be only waiting.

Janelle shook her head as she looked up from the bones she was chipping out then dusting. "Do you know what they've been doing this entire week?"

Kyle looked toward her while the three others sat on their campstools, listening.

"They say it's homework, but that girl has been doing Chemistry and Biology, and he's been working on Calculus. I never did Calculus in high school!"

The men nodded.

"Also, they've both been reading War of the Worlds," he guy that had begged the question about who the skeleton said. "He says it's their English assignment, but I don't believe them."

Janelle lifted her brush from the rock, shaking it like a teacher's ruler. "Not only that," she said as if he had not spoken, "but did you see how fast that boy went through his Calculus problems? It was like he didn't even need to think about the problems. Just one, two, three - done!"

"I saw it," one of the men, who had just passed the pair on the hill, said. "He should be done with the entire textbook by tomorrow if he doesn't stop to play cards."

"And did you see how they play cards?" one of the added. "Three decks in one. And I have no idea what game they are playing."

A general discomfiting rumble passed through all those in the tent.

One of the coeds spoke up in a hush. "And did you see how white they are? No normal person is that white."

"Like Nazis," one of them said.

Kyle shook his head. "No. They're not Nazis. Her accent is Scottish or something."

"That's not Scottish - or Irish - which is what one of those FBI agents say it is," his friend cut in. He leaned down, and whispered, just in case one of the two was taking a walk near the tent. "Come on, you guys. They're alien. They just look human."

 "They're like Morlocks," the original girl said, nodding to Janelle. "You know, like from The Time Machine. She's way too pretty. And he's like..." she stared off into the distance sighing like she was reading a romance novel.

A handful of the women nodded.

"Like what?" Kyle asked, eyes narrowing.

The woman shot him looks like he was stupid.

"He's totally mysterious," she said.

"And hot," another cut in, nodding.

The men stared at them like they were crazy.

"Do you think their white skin is a mask or something?" one of the coeds asked. "You know, they're like big and bug-eyed underneath? It doesn't look natural."

One of the three men shook his head. "No, that's their skin. I saw the girl rubbing sunscreen on her legs this morning. They didn't look alien. Just very...uh..." He blushed, thinking about it.

"Which explains why she's wearing shorts," Janelle snapped, shooting the three young men sharp looks.

The men smirked but said nothing. If they were honest, they all enjoyed watching Zormna move about the camp.

"But their eyes.... Aren't they strange?" that coed continued.

"Striking," Kyle murmured.

She frowned at him. "They could be lizard people."

Kyle snorted, shaking his head.

"Did you see the way they ate that can of Spam? They looked like they almost liked it," another gal from their crowd piped up.

One of the three men shrugged. "I like Spam."

"We know you like Spam, but you're weird," Janelle shot back with plain disgust, as if everything about him was repulsive.

"Kyle likes Spam," the guy responded, not to let her beat him down with her foul looks.

"Well, Kyle's a trash compactor. He eats hot dogs raw," she replied, lifting her brush from the ground as if she would use it as a weapon.

"I like hot dogs raw," another of the three men said.

The other also chimed in.

And that destroyed the conversation.

It was late in the afternoon on Wednesday when the crew had nearly unearthed the entire door side and most of the top of the ship. Zormna and Jafarr had gone to look at it, carrying the velvet-lined box with them.

"The funny thing is, that guy and girl have probably been