It was above me, on top of the pile of rubble. I think it knew I was trapped.

As if the regular monsters weren't bad enough, this one had some kind of pet, an oozing menace with long teeth. I thought it could smell me. Why couldn't it just go away?

I didn't want to be taken. I didn't want to be probed or experimented on. Or dissected in one of their ships, for that matter. I just wanted to get out of there.

I wanted… I wanted it to be like it was, before they came.

The fish were running that day. There were so many all you had to do is lower a net into the water and you would catch some. I knew the law would have been upset to see me, but everybody did it during spawning season. They were small, but it was free food. Free was good, take it from Luko.

The river water was cold, so cold, from all the snow melting in the mountains. My tall boots leaked, and I shook as I stood there, net in hand.

My wife, Marza, laughed at me from the river's shore, of course. Why was it wives had a never-ending supply of ways to make us feel self-conscious and still we felt lucky to have them at the same time?

I heard the thunder before I saw the flash.

Mountains of clouds burned, filling the whole horizon. The flames raced higher and faster toward us, as if the atmosphere had somehow caught fire. I thought it was Judgment Day, the day we would all pay for our sins, but I was wrong.

It was just the beginning of our suffering.

"Luko!" Marza screamed from the bank, pointing in the air. I looked, and in the center of Perdition's flames was a thing like I had never seen. It seemed long and flat, dark as night against the burning sky. It kept getting bigger, and I realized it was something coming out of the fire, emerging, and headed right at us.

"Run, Marza!" I shouted. My foot slipped on a rock, and I pitched into the water. It felt like my head exploded, and everything went dark.

When I awoke, I was lying on my back in a shallow part of the stream, half covered with water. I hurt all over, like I never had. I didn't know what was wrong with me, but I knew it was something serious.

"Marza?" I asked, but my voice came out in just a whisper. My eyes forced their way open, but I didn't understand what I saw. At first, it was all dark and blurry. Then I saw the riverbank. It was black with soot, burned to a crisp. The whole of the valley was blackened and burnt, except for the thing at the mouth of the ravine. It took up almost the whole space in the valley from edge to edge. I could see it then, but couldn't understand it. I had never seen anything like it. Never saw such black metal.

I saw then that I was burned, too, all over my back. It must have stuck out of the water when the thing landed. When I tried to move, I almost screamed from the pain, but I dared not make a sound.

I found Marza, then. Her poor body was black, seared, lying on the ground not far from me. She didn't run a quarter mile before the end.

A noise.

From their ship, I heard them. Five of them, coming toward us. I pushed myself into the deep water in the center of the river. Oh, the cold water! It burned, even as it kept me alive.

They were tall, sickly-white beings, with huge eyes and enormous ears. They walked like us, even wore clothes like us, but the noises they made were terrifying. I realized after a moment that it was their language, but I had never heard something so completely alien.

They unfolded some kind of board and put her body on it. Two of them carried her toward their ship. I never saw her again.

Three of them waded into the water toward me. I dove into the deep and swam as fast as I could. I held my breath until I was bursting. When I came up for air, I was far downstream from where they stood. How they didn't see me with those big eyes, I'll never know.

I kept to the shadows as best I could. Weapons were no use against them.

Their language was hard to learn.

They wanted our world—our present, but also our past. This ship was filled with "archaeologists" trying to "study" the ruins of my ancestors. Hah! They just took it all for their museums back on their home world.

They are going deeper now, ripping passages deep into the earth with explosives, huge holes into my sacred homeland. Then they take my ancestor's bones and their treasures.

I crept close to one of their sites. The ground shook, and the stone column tipped toward me. I dove, but it was too late. I was trapped beneath the rubble.

I didn't want him to find me. Let me die here, buried among my forefathers! I heard his pet monster scratching on the pile. It knew I was there.

What could I do? I could not move. Soon, they would have me. They would take me from my home, a curiosity, a slave to their whims.

There! A shard of rock. It was sharp! I would cut with it.

A stone lifted from above my head. Light poured down, flooding my view. So bright. Two dark shapes looked in through the hole.

Why couldn't he take his slobbering St. Bernard back to his ship and leave me to care for the ruins?

Then, I died, leaving nothing of Luko for them but my blue blood sprayed across his human face.

"Dr. Tow Bing, the Board of Bio-Archeo Scientists has requested you refrain from publishing your latest findings until they have been peer reviewed. You're giving all of us headaches with this extraterrestrial nonsense," said Dr. Dikkofig, Dean of the School.

"Dr. Dikkofig, please, you're being obtuse. I have found what I believe to be the origins of our species!"

"All the more reason for peer review." Dikkofig says peering over his refractors.

Frustrated, Dr. Bing retorts, "You know they're a bunch of ossified academics especially Dr. Gay O'Vek. She is so far gone, that short of a white hole exploding its data in her face, she believes nothing new."

"Granted, but these are the accepted methods of data propagation and you know it. Please I must ingest some tree root to calm myself. You and O'Vek make my brain hurt."

Dr. Dikkofig sighs. He begins what have been countless, and futile efforts to bring Dr. Tow Bing in line. As brilliant as Tow may be, he's a headache to the whole University. His family just happens to be the University's major contributors.

"Tow," Dikkofig begins with his arm around Tow, "we both know the local white hole spews data, energy, and jetsam from some other brane to our brane. From where, we know not. We just get it and that explains the universes expansion. The total mass keeps adding and we keep expanding. We all agree on that."

"And, we originated seven million years ago from the God's Magic Egg-Head. Those are truths. Be praised."

"Most of us, in our humble opinion, believe this archeological data that you ‘claim' represents our true origins, is, well, ridiculous… knowing THE TRUTH."

"Humbly set in concrete," Dr. Bing grumbles.

"I will ignore that. May I continue? This space junk you state to have located in the Sacred High Mountains, with frozen DNA, intact no less, proves, NO SUCH THING."

"You haven't even read the evidence no less viewed the physical pieces of this very ancient civilization. How can you even say that with a straight face?" counters Tow Bing with a headache of his own.

Dr. Gay O'Vek runs in to see what all the fuss is about. She loves a fight. "You two need assistance? Come on. Let me in on this. It sounds interesting." pleads Gay.

They both turn to her, "Dr. Gay O'Vek, please go away. We will call you if you are required," orders Dr. Dikkofig.

"Come on…"

"Out, be gone,"

Dr. Dikkofig continues solemnly, "The gods, blessed be their unknown names, decreed our existence from a set time. That's the end of that discussion. We have other pressing research such as where the white holes get their energy and what to make of the objects that materialize floating in space."

Tow emphasizes, "Yes and that's exactly my point. Some of that junk, as you call it, is from ancient advanced civilizations. Through some form of biological contamination, it gave rise to us!"

Dr. Dikkofig states with a fatherly countenance, "I will divert from our normal procedures. I will review this data you claim is the key to our existence." All the while thinking, if true, it throws all history, and science into the junk heap. I must be insane. I have appeared stolidly correct all these many years. This upstart, if it weren't for the money…Ah, the medicine is working. My headache is gone.

He looks around his office relieved. Tow Bing, his other headache, has left too. "This will not occur."

Dr. Dikkofig secretly meets with Dr. Asad, University Trustee infamous for his mendacity, and says, "Let's review at this pile of ancient space junk Bing claims is evidence of our true origins."

"First, a piece of metal with some numerical formula barely legible from the all the space dust. It is a space craft all right. And what's this? Two bipedal creatures etched onto a plate. Is this a warning or a threat? Do you notice the raised limb or something? And second, there is no corresponding galactic location that would even come close to his proposed explanation of the numerical gobblygook."

Dr. Asad exclaims, "But that DNA report, now that's dangerous. The proposed mutations do correspond to what we could be. I know we came from the Gods Egg-Head. ‘When the sons of the god came among our women and found them fair and mated…' we have that written in our great books of wisdom. We are the children of that Great Egg-Head. This data cannot be allowed. Dr. Dikkofig, this blasphemy must be suppressed!"

"Yes I know, I know. What are we do? This will upset the whole being of our world. To think that some space germ infected our planet some 2 billion years ago and initiated the carbon based structures that are here today. This shakes the foundations of our very existence."

"And here it is. The data is irrefutable. We burn it, of course," demands Dr. Asad.

Dikkofig nods and whispers, "Yes." He utters a revelation, "However this is not new. This very same concept was proposed long ago before the DNA testing we have today. Another piece of junk popped out of that damned white hole and nearly hit a "conveniently" deceased scientist in the head. It was a space craft with a body in it."

"I never heard about that!" Dr. Asad exclaims. He usually made aware of blasphemous occurrences, and is shocked.

"You wouldn't have. I destroyed it. The body resembled one of those bipedal creatures on this metal plate."

"We will never speak of this again." Dr. Asad commands.

"Never, not to anyone. This goes to our graves."

Dr.Tow Bing must be promoted to some very remote location, immediately."

"Dikkofig, I will call and emergency meeting with the board and have the papers signed in an hour. God's will, will be done."

"Please, with great fanfare and publicity."

"Of course your Eminence. Egos and funds must be coddled," chuckles Dr. Asad.

"If this find is as important as we think it is," Student Archaeologist I Beri Dar told his companion, Student Archaeologist Trainee IV Faudle, "our careers will be made. We'll be elected to the Interplanetary Archaeologists Society. The first students ever chosen for such an honor."

"We'll be promoted on the spot," Faudle enthused. I'll make SA I and you'll be bumped up to II."

"Maybe higher," Beri Dar suggested. "I am the expedition lead."

"Right," Faudle concurred. "That's what you are."

"We'll have to prepare speeches," Beri Dar told his slightly younger protégé.

"Very exciting," Faudle said. "And we did it using all the old technology and techniques just like Professor Hazlit told us to."

"It was a test," Beri Dar suggested. "Old Hazzie didn't think we would find anything using these outdated methods."

"Carbon dating," Faudle laughed, "how quaint."

"And without space imagery," Beri Dar sniffed. "Just look what we've found."

"Lost for eons," Faudle said, "buried under the dirt of epochs. The mislaid connection to an ancient civilization halfway across the planet."

"Good old Earth," Beri Dar said, shaking his head. "It's been a great place to look for signs of species development. Apparently these bipeds once covered most of the planet's surface. There are signs of them everywhere."

"Busy as little insects they were," Faudle agreed. "Too bad they got wiped out before they could do much developing."

"Lucky for us," Beri Dar said, "they just loved to build things. There are structures like this one scattered around the planet."

"But none of the studies predicted one here," Faudle noted, waving an index finger about just like Professor Hazlit might do when making a particularly salient point during one of the Introduction to Cross-Stellar Socio-Archaeological classes he taught each year at the Science Academy.

"I want you gentlemen," Faudle remembered the professor telling him and Beri Dar a few weeks before they were sent to this remote corner of the galaxy to study a long lost civilization, "to learn how to find the past without our modern techniques. It will be great training for you. You'll learn a lot and you just might find some real treasures down there."

Ah, how prophetic those words seemed to the two student archaeologists now. Now that they had uncovered the great pyramidal structure several feet beneath the soil in this remote area of the planet.

They guarded their find carefully. Why let a professor take credit for it? Old Hazlit had spent years here on the planet before and had come back with an extraordinary find: a series of pyramid ruins in a place designated Bird One because of the ubiquitous use of birds in their hieroglyphic language.

Now Beri Dar and Faudle had found Bird Two – and in the most unexpected place. Several thousand miles to the west of Bird One. But the student scientists had no doubt the two locations were related. How could they not be? Both sites had giant pyramids, with similar animal-faced figures guarding the entrances. The materials were different, sure, but local geology and environment accounted for that. The two budding scientists were certain of their discovery. As certain as you could be given the primitive technology they had been forced to use.

"Before we pack up our samples and notes," Beri Dar told Faudle, "let's make a final check of the dig over at the western perimeter. Tramer indicated he may have found some smaller objects made of metal there. We should check them out just to be thorough."

"Sure," Faudle concurred, "it's the kind of attention to detail that will mark our research and get us those promotions."

"And election to the council," Beri Dar reminded his colleague.

"Of course," Faudle nodded, "of course."

"Two signs," Tramer told Beri Dar and Faudle after they had arrived at the western perimeter dig. Tramer was on his first dig and had been assigned the menial task of searching the area with an ancient device Professor Hazlit insisted on calling an inorganic material finder or IMF. "I found two signs. One was probably attached to a piece of wood, the other was simply lying about."

"Let's see them," Beri Dar said, all expedition leader-like. Tramer was slow handing them over. Beri Dar grabbed them rudely out of the rookie's hands.

"Geez," Tramer said.

Ignoring the newbie, Beri Dar laid the two signs on the ground and using a thick rag wiped them as clean as he could.

"Wha. .ap.ens .n V.gas st..s i. .egas," Faudle read over Beri Dar's shoulder.

"Gibberish," Beri Dar said with a sigh.

"Hieroglyphics," Faudle responded.

"Most likely a public notice of some kind," Tramer said.

"Hmph," Beri Dar grunted. Faudle echoed his leader's sentiment.

"Just saying," Tramer shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose you've already mastered this planet's innumerable languages?" Beri Dar said snidely.

"What about the other one?" Faudle asked. "I suppose you've got that all figured out, too?"

"It's not terribly difficult," Tramer noted, "it's fully intact as you can see."

"Read it, then," Beri Dar ordered.

"Yeah," Faudle aped, "read it." Beri Dar gave his partner a sharp look.

"Las Vegas," Tramer read the words slowly.

"Probably the name of the Bird Two king during the Third Dynasty," Beri Dar proposed.

"It's almost certainly the name of this location," Tramer contradicted him.

"We'll do the analysis, thank you," Beri Dar corrected Tramer.

"Wait'll we present these findings to the Society," Faudle said proudly.

"Proof positive that Bird One and Bird Two are directly related," Beri Dar said happily. "Bird Two is clearly a follow on society to Bird One."

"We'll be the talk of the Society," Faudle cheered.

"I don't doubt it," Tramer said. Beri Dar gave his inferior one of his patented harsh looks.

"This is the last bit of evidence we need," he said. "We'll be honored throughout the galaxy."

"Yeah," Tramer said, turning away with a smile. "Good luck with that."

"Adviser, we're receiving a sub-space transmission from our scout ship in the outer galactic arm, reporting on a promising planet."

"This is very exciting! I would speak with them, Technician." The technician keyed the connection.

"This is High Officer Tu Ahn, greeting you with news, Adviser."

"Tu Ahn, live in honor! Please, tell me what you've found."

The officer bowed. "Adviser, we have located a system with a habitable planet. It has one moon, a healthful magnetic field, much water, and all environmental parameters are within acceptable limits for the survival of our most mindful species."

"There is life, then?"

"Undoubtably, Adviser, but we are not yet close enough for our instruments to resolve significant detail. We are hopeful thus far, though, as we've not detected any sign of civilization. Upon your approval, we shall enter orbit for a closer survey."

"Approval is given, High Officer; proceed in safety."

"It shall be, Adviser. I return to my duties, in gratitude."

"Go in virtue, Tu Ahn."

Maybe this will be our new home, thought the Adviser, with a new, young star to replace our dying Sun.

"Remember, this equipment is on loan, so be careful with it." Professor Landon looked like part of the Arizona desert they were in, but he was one of the best-known archaeologists on the continent.

"What is this thing, anyway?" griped a student, as he took one end of a large plastic shipping crate.

"It's a ground-penetrating radar unit, Mr. Sykes. Put it over there." Krishnamurti took the other end from the truck, and they lugged it away and set it down. "Everyone gather around here, please."

The archaeology students formed a loose semicircle around the professor.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, we're here because of a very old Hopi legend. This legend refers to a supposed celestial event some four thousand years ago, but we're looking for a settlement that's said to have grown up here" — he stabbed the ground with his walking stick — "in association with that event.

"This radar unit will save us a lot of shovel work, but there will still be plenty.

"Also, remember that we are guests of the Hopi, and this is a sacred site, so be respectful. Don't make fun of them when you see them; some of them look like they belong in a bad cowboy movie, but they're not stupid. Our radar operator is one of them. He should be here soon, so we should get the grids laid out. Let's go to work."

"Tu Ahn, what news have you for us?"

"Adviser, we've been orbiting the planet, gathering data. There are millions of life-forms, both animal and vegetable… there may be an issue of doubt, though… "

"Yes?"

"We see what appear to be organized structures at places upon the surface, and we fear there may be pre-technological sentient life… "

"Honor demands that we confirm this, Tu Ahn… it would be a great Shame for us to occupy a planet that already supports sentient life. You have approval to land, but do so discreetly."

"It shall be so, Adviser."

The first radar image resolved on the computer screen, as Professor Landon and the students watched. There was laughter and excited shouting.

"It's here," the professor said softly. "It's really here. The legend was right… "

Krishnamurti pointed at an ovoid blank area below the clearly discernible structures. "What's that?"

Joe Two-Crows shook his head. "Don't know. Might just be an anomaly. We need to scan from a few other locations anyway; we'll know then."

By late the next day, the picture was complete: a disc-shaped something, with rounded edges, buried deep, with a ring of small buildings surrounding it at a distance.

"No idea what that is?" asked the professor.

"Nope," Joe said. "It's solid, though, not a cavity."

Sykes quipped, "Maybe one of the UFO's missed Roswell and crashed here instead." There were giggles and derisive snorts.

"He may be right… "

The professor cocked an eyebrow. "Mr. Krishnamurti… ?"

"I'm not here for the archaeology, sir… I'm post-grad anthropology, and my master's thesis is about this legend.

"The legend speaks of 'silver men from the sky,' and says they 'traveled in circles.' And that" — pointing at the screen — "is definitely a circle… "

TO THE WISE COUNCIL, FROM TU AHN, SCOUT SHIP HIGH OFFICER. I REPORT IN SHAME THAT A LANDING ACCIDENT HAS DISABLED OUR SHIP, AND OUR SUB-SPACE TRANSCEIVER ALSO.

THIS PLANET IS OCCUPIED BY SENTIENT BEINGS. THEY HAVE LANGUAGE AND SOCIETY. WE TRIED TO AVOID THEM, BUT THEY HAVE SEEN US.

WE ARE BURYING OUR SHIP IN A REMOTE LOCATION, AND WILL STAY INSIDE IT, IN THE STASIS CHAMBERS USED FOR FOOD STORAGE. WE DON'T KNOW IF WE WILL SURVIVE OR NOT.

The Adviser looked up from the screen. "Technician?"

"It's confirmed, Adviser; this was sent from the referred planet by light-speed radio, and beamed toward our former home world… "

"Before the Migration… so long ago… " The Adviser stood. "I declare that Tu Ahn acted honorably, and not in shame. Now, Honor demands that we dispatch a recovery vessel… "

"It shall be so, Adviser."

The top of the object had been excavated, and proved to be seamless titanium.

"Could this be a hoax?" someone asked.

"You're joking, right?," said the professor.

"And what are those guys doing here?" asked Sykes.

"Those are Hopi shamans," said Krishnamurti, "and they appear to be preparing some sort of ceremony… "

The shamans began their dance, and then, with an explosive thunderclap, the sun disappeared, occluded by a huge black disc against the sky — and then the mysterious disc in the ground began to rise.

Among the Hopi Indians the tradition is told that their ancestors once lived in an underworld in the Grand Canyon till dissension arose between the good and the bad, the people of one heart and the people of two hearts. Machetto, who was their chief, counseled them to leave the underworld. They tarried by the Red River, which is the Colorado, and grew grain and corn.

"You might as well come out Kinkaid – I heard you coming up the canyon in your wooden boat."

G.E. Kinkaid stepped into the small camp that Stanley Thoth had set up on the banks of the Red River. He stood 5'7", black hair tightly pulled back into a braid, with a full, white beard. "Those damn ears of yours will get you in trouble someday."

"I doubt it, Wally," he answered, stirring the campfire in front of him. "I've been allowing you to follow me for three days. There's only one way to go around here – downstream. I figured I'd rather that you found me than the other way around."

Kinkaid put his backpack down, got out a metal cup and helped himself to some coffee from the pot in the coals. "I guess the guys at the Smithsonian heard about my find."

"Hard not to hear, Kinkaid, when it shows up on the front page of the Arizona Gazette."

"I'm surprised any of those stuffed shirts can see beyond their teacups and inkwells, Stanley."

"You should know – having worked for the Institute for thirty years. We were afraid you'd get all these miners whipped into a frenzy with the talk of golden statues and hieroglyphics. So I volunteered to find you and have a look-see for myself."

"That article was from three months ago."

"I know." Stanley reached into his back pocket, taking out a faded shred of newspaper and began to read. "Arizona Gazette, Monday Evening, April 5, 1909. Explorations in Grand Canyon. Mysteries of immense rich cavern being brought to light. Jordan is Enthused." Stanley folded the paper before returning it to his pocket. "What happened to Jordan, by the way?"

The harsh man in the flannel shirt and weathered jacket gave a lop-sided grin. "I decided I didn't need a chaperone this time out. This discovery is mine, and mine alone."

Stanley's gun was already drawn and pointed at Kinkaid. "I'm sure you won't mind if I tag along."

Kinkaid got to his feet, tossing the last of his coffee into the campfire. "It's almost morning. The cave's not far."

Stanley nodded. "I figure it's by where the river branches, on the north side – in spite of what you said in the Gazette."

"You're right again. We don't want other people getting there first, do we?"

The sunlight along the top of the Grand Canyon was almost blinding as it bounced along the orange and beige ridges. They had experienced no complications climbing the cliff walls, both men being in excellent physical condition. The capstone of the mountain called 'Isis Temple' glowed brightly with the new day, while the bottom third of the canyon was still in darkness.

"The steps are just over here," said Kinkaid while pulling his floppy leather hat tightly down over his eyes. He began to lead Stanley to the right.

"I beg to differ," answered the blonde-haired man, nodding to the trail on the left.

"You're right, friend. I get confused so easily."

The ledge was reached quickly, with Kinkaid lighting a lantern he had left by the entrance.

Kinkaid was leading the way in a hurry now, pointing out interesting attractions as they raced past them. Mummies; more writing; a golden statue in a small recess in the cave wall. The cavern system was easily passable, tunnels spiking out like hubs on a wheel. They had been walking for five minutes when they burst into a domed room as large as a warehouse. There were treasures stacked from floor to ceiling.

Stanley walked over to a pile and picked up a crystal globe which began to glow, shimmering at first, then rising, brightening to full day-glow. He grabbed Kinkaid suddenly as Stanley's face began to change into something other than human.

"I need a being with only one heart to help me open the portal," he said, leading Kinkaid to a doorway. "Place your hand there." Wally refused so Stanley grabbed his arm, forcing his left hand into a recess in the cave wall, while Stanley put his right hand on the other side. The doorway began to glow, changing into a portal.

"I could say it's a shame you had to find my hoard, but I never liked you anyway. You were always so busy and curious and dusty."

"I-I-I don't understand," garbled the explorer.

"What do all of these cultures represented here have in common, Kinkaid? One being – that's what. At the start of all of them, there was one man who brought them the gifts of astronomy, architecture, science and mathematics. Thoth, Imhotep, Quetzalcoatl, the Bird Man of Easter Island - I am all of these, bringing knowledge from my star-world. I like this little planet of yours, so I'm staying. But, Wally, I can't afford to have a twerp like you ruining it for me by blabbing your big fat mouth." The portal was glowing red as Thoth threw the explorer through the doorway and into a totally new world. "Enjoy your explorations," he sang after him.

As the light faded, Thoth completely transfigured himself into a winged sphinx with his head almost human and the body of a lion. He sat upon a golden bench, emptying a food pouch taken from a chest in the corner. "Well, if nothing else - it's nice to be home," he smiled, settling in.

Out across the whispering desert, where the yellow sand abruptly gives way to vast stretches of white, begins an alien landscape like nothing else on earth. Devoid of life, it is haunted by huge hummocks and strange formations of white chalk that resemble nothing less than eerie sculptures crafted by some enigmatic extraterrestrial artisan. By day these inselbergs stand imposing but silent like megalithic relics in a forgotten alien museum, but by night under the light of a gibbous moon, the white crags take on an ominous appearance given voice by the ever-present wind. Here, hidden among the broken dunes and rocky hillocks, the professor discovered the cave.

Upon seeing it, I didn't doubt that one good sandstorm could easily bury it, hiding for all time the entrance to that fantastic trove. Even unburied I don't know if I'd ever be able to find it again, even if my life depended on it.

Professor Sarwik, however, seemed to know its location by some uncanny sense. I had worried about him since we left Cairo. He had been a portly fellow and his neatly trimmed gray moustache had given him a jovial appearance, and he had a manner that matched. But since that night in the Egyptian Museum studying hieroglyphs, something about him had changed. He had started having dreams at night and then, even more disturbing, visions during the day of a lost crypt in the desert. Fearing for his life, I could only assist my friend in following this obsession to its end and hired some guides to lead us. During our journey he had all but wasted away, his eyes sunken in his skull and his once neatly trimmed moustache devolved into a ragged patchy white beard. He would not eat, and seldom slept, but kept consulting his notes and charts and taking sights with his sextant.

When we finally found the cave, he collapsed from exhaustion, and perhaps… madness. That night, as we finished making camp, our Bedouin guides retreated with our camels into the night and left us alone.

"Look here!" the professor said. He took a small horsehair brush and dental pick from his pack with trembling hands and started brushing and scraping encrusted sand from the engravings on the limestone surface. We had worked our way into a recess in the back of the cave. "It's a funerary stele," the professor said. "Much like the ones we examined in Cairo. The crypt will be behind here." As he continued to work I took a seat against the rough rock wall and busied myself by sifting through the curious little fossils that littered the floor.

The professor mumbled as he worked. "The winged sun above, Ra-Horakhty seated on his throne, and here where the figure of the one entombed should be…" Then he gasped so violently I thought he might be choking. He stood transfixed and pointing at the odd thing he had uncovered. It was a carved figure that represented the being buried in the crypt and that being was tall with a long equine head and four thin arms.

Then he translated the hieroglyphs below the image. "Any man who shall destroy this, the god Thoth shall destroy him." Thick sooty smoke from the carbide lamp's flame danced around the professor's face. His eyes took on a mad cast in the flicker of the flame. "A curse," he said. His brow furled. He looked uncertain for just a moment, and the old professor I had always known seemed to surface. But as quickly as this vestige of sanity exerted itself, it was subsumed, and the mad man I'd been travelling with resurfaced with a toothy grin. "Get your pickaxe."

When we finally cracked the slab loose, a smell of dry rot filled the air, and to our amazement, phosphorescence flooded out from the room beyond.

The glow was emanating from an open sarcophagus in the center of the crypt. The green light was so bright that I covered my face, but the professor was bewitched. He crept forward before I could get my bearings, and then stood there bathed in emerald light.

"The Tabula Smaragdina," he said. I crawled forward and forced myself to look. Clutched in the hands of a four-armed horse-headed mummy was a square plate of emerald embossed with alien letters. The green light was emanating from it.

"Legend says it was found by Apollonius in the first century AD. Another legend claims Alexander the Great found it in the third century BC. This proves that there was more than one."

"What is it Sarwik?"

The professor looked at me with a sinister smirk. "According to the alchemists of old, it holds the secret of transmutation, the secret of the gods."

And with those words Professor Sarwik wrenched the tablet from the four mummified hands.

The professor screamed as emerald light poured from his eyes and mouth.

"So… much… to know," he said. He began speaking in an unrecognizable tongue. And as he did so, he looked at me with an air of superiority that was mixed with a lust for the knowledge he was consuming and a hatred for me who was the only being alive who threatened him. He raised the tablet above his head with both hands.

"That which is above is like that which is below," he screamed.

I thought he had gone completely mad, and I realized I was still gripping my pickaxe. I swung it upwards to knock the tablet away. He screamed in agony and the crypt went black.

By the light of the carbide lamp I examined the shattered tablet. It was in shards, and the now dull material crumbled between my fingers. If the legends were true, and these green tablets did hold some secret information, the secret of the gods, I wondered what sort of alien knowledge the professor had been privy to in those strange moments before my pickaxe grazed his skull and took his life.

Tommy tiptoed down the stairs, careful to stretch over the squeaky eighth one from the top. Once he crossed the threshold of the kitchen, he knew he was safe, the pale green linoleum padding his steps. His mind, usually adrift with what his psychiatrist called Attention Deficit Disorder, was oddly focused. He stuffed two oranges and a juice box into his little red backpack. He even considered grabbing some cheese before he remembered the jar of peanut butter safely stored away at his destination.

The Hiding Place.

The kitchen was silent and the mere thought of the Place filled his eyes with wonder, the innocence made complete with the appearance of his dimpled grin.

The sound of the screen door banging against the jamb had, indeed, awoken his mother, but he had already been too far away for her angry calls to reach his ears. Nothing could stop him. For that day, he was an explorer. No, an adventurer! It was still dark as he raced through the tree line at the back of his yard, plunging into the loamy scent of the forest, too early, even, for the birds to fill the damp air with their calls. At eight years old he was an avid reader. Poe. Asimov. Bradbury. They were his closest friends. His only friends, in fact. And it is with their books that he had lined the walls of his Hiding Place. Half an hour passed before he arrived, his shoes wet with dew, small pieces of earth clinging to his calves.

The Hiding Place rose above him like a tower, or so it seemed to his young mind. In truth, it was no more than ten by ten at the base, perhaps eight feet tall at its center, and would have appeared to be nothing more than a large pile of hastily assembled pieces of scrap metal to any other eye. But to Tommy it held wonder. It was dark. It was unknown. And most importantly, it was his.

Two days earlier, Tommy had run into the woods while fleeing the neighborhood boys. He didn't know which was worse: The black eye they would have given him, or the one his mother would have added in her ensuing anger. What he had never dreamed was that his haphazard flight might lead him to such a perfect place as this little building in the center of a clearing in the woods. That had been Thursday and since then he had been able to make three trips to the Hiding Place. Between the three, he had filled his Radio Flyer with books, a lantern, the plastic jar of JIF, and a rusted, fold up metal chair.

On this trip, however, he had brought only himself and a snack. In fact, he had only one last thing to do. He kneeled and removed the backpack, setting it on the ground beside him. The soft protesting of the zipper bit into the quiet around him and, for just an instant, Tommy felt like an intruder in the clearing. But a boy's mind, whether diagnosed or not, is easily distractible. As soon as his hand closed around the little padlock in his pack, the feeling was forgotten, and he had looped the curve of metal through the clasp on the door. He pressed it together and heard the satisfying click as it did what it was created to do: Protect his treasures. This ownership flooded him with elation and he longed to be inside. He tried to remove the lock but, in his excitement, his cold fingers fumbled the thing into the drift of dead leaves at his feet.

Watch carefully now as he freezes… see that same excitement draining slowly from the boy's face.

In every one of his beloved stories, there was a crucial moment, a decision made, or a step taken which plucked the character from one path in life and placed them on an entirely separate one. Sometimes this forebodes good…sometimes it does not. Perhaps Tommy knew that his moment had already begun. Perhaps it was this thought which attempted to rise from his sub-consciousness in warning as time seemed to slow, crickets quieted, and a chill swept through the branches setting them to clickety-clack all around the clearing. Regardless, he hesitated, his eyes following these skeletal branches to where they seemed to close together above him in the dark blue sky.

The moment passed, a decision was made, and Tommy reached into the leaves, his fingers closing around a metal object which was not his padlock.

That faint light of early morning revealed a smooth, pyramidal piece of metal, much wider than it was tall. Oddly enough, it felt warm to the touch. He stood in wonder, his mouth slightly open, as a tiny thread of cobalt light raced along the object's raised edge and shot directly across the foot of space between him and the latch on the door. There, the light melted as if liquid into grooves in the metal surrounding the handle (grooves Tommy had not previously seen), revealing alien sigils which covered the entire door from frame to frame. Slowly, that door began to swing inward, matching cobalt light spilling from within the building into the clearing, bright enough that we cannot see the boy's face or what he sees inside. Framed by this light, Tommy is first a silhouette. And then he is completely enveloped in the cobalt glow.

When Tommy should have returned that evening, his mother had been stoned. And so his trail through the leaves disappeared before it could be discovered, days later, in that clearing in the woods. Near that simple, metal shack, now empty of book, lantern, or chair. The only indication that it had once been occupied was one plastic canister of peanut butter on a dusty, metal floor.

Rainbow colors on COROT-7a differed from all the others visible elsewhere. Such an occurence was caused mostly by mist here- there was not much rain- and their shades went from infrared to red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet and then finally to the far deep ultraviolet frequencies of the light reflected in the air.

Actually, the limited sevenfold bands of any rainbow were an artefact of Mankind's traditional color vision,but OUUhrr's peculiar photoreceptors made him able to look at them within about 150 to 1300 nm wavelengths- as he was a RRRjjy from planet RRRjjy Prime- much wider than the Earthling couple from his team ever could.

They had been sent to COROT-7a, a planet (half its surface was made of water and half a huge mainland) orbiting COROT-7 ,a yellow dwarf star slightly smaller than the Earthlings' Sun.His human collegues had been glad to join that expedition as this place was pertinent to RRRjjy space (so the only way Earthlings could get here was by "invitation" from their alien RRRjjy allies in the area…) and they were pleased to work together to discover the secrets buried in the ground of this long-dead world.

Assumptions were that creatures similar to the RRRjjy species once lived on COROT-7a, maybe spread here around from some RRRjjy planets nearby, but with the passing of centuries the local living beings had disappeared, supposedly cause of climatic disasters or the like.Whatever, they had never evolved into a civilitazion more advanced than ancient Egyptians (just to refer to an old human culture) and left many ruins of their past existence…

The lost people of COROT-7a were well renowned for their interred buildings - maybe a peculiarity of this extinct species - even though RRRjjy academicians believed there had to be many other burial-grounds still hidden no one had found yet…Therefore, all the treasures/secrets present inside were safe, theirs to discover!

Actually, two previous expeditions sent here had proved unsuccesful, no report had reached homeworld…but that was a sector very dangerous due to unpredictable emissions from the dwarf star, likely they had been lost en-route before descending upon COROT-7a…Only the modern navigational equipments made the starships capable of going safely through such threats nowadays.

Their team was made up of two humans(a French female archaelogist named Edmée - two clear eyes - and a middle aged male scientist, Frank, brown haired and a bit fat…) and two RRRjjy (one of them - that was OUUhrr - stationed on the planet, while the other was on the orbiting probe engaged in supervising the surface from above, coordinating his activity with the three on COROT-7a).

Actually, the frequent magnetic storms made rare some good images of the underground, so the job was mainly fieldwork: the old excavation tools were not less necessary than they had been in ancient excavation camps…

OUUhrr was just taking a break from his research, eating a light meal wide-mouthed while sipping a drink with his second pore, and was contemplating the rainbow above when Frank came out of the tent.

"Hey OUUhrr!" the human scientist said, in his weird soft voice, much fainter than usual RRRjjy tone. "Come see this door in stone undeground!Lots of alien artefacts around…"

OUUhrr,the archaelogist looked at him in return. He stopped over examining the strange little creatures – short ears and a piggish look - holding onto the man's shoulders.Of course Frank was unable to notice them, not by means of his eyes, at least.On the contrary,the RRRjjy could distinguish perfectly their size and appearance, but did reveal nothing.

"Lissssteeeeen to usssssss …Folllooowwww usssssss …" the little beings were telling OUUhrr from afar.Obviously, their voices, too, were not audible to Frank, given his limited Earthling ears…

"Doooo as we assskkk … Complete your tassssk…" they kept saying.

The RRRjjy stared at Frank, smiling "After all, I see the world with different bulb eyes in a way no human could ever see, as for the rainbow…".

It had been since they had arrived in this area that OUUhrr had been listening to those "suggestions", which became stronger especially when he came closer to the place their camp was next to. Probably the tombs they were looking for lay down there…

Anyway, time to hurry up!Since OUUhrr had began hearing such voices, he had understood what to do.Now everything was almost planned out…

In the next hours he would have killed by surprise both the human collegues, then destroyed their equipment and leave no trace around.Moreover, he would have sent a distress signal to the probe so to make it come down using wrong coordinates; that way his remaining collegue would have soon disappeared, by simulating an accident.

Eventually, he himself would have been told from the creatures where the tombs really were!

"Kiiiiilll the humanssss … belllievvve in usssssss …" the words were always on his mind…He didn't know if the beings he was watching or listening to were true or fictional, maybe they were only created from some substance present in the soil which was able to provoke anyone nearby (or only RRRjjy photoreceptors…)to have visions.Otherwise,it was them who desired to show their existence to him alone…whatever the reason, he liked to think he could see them only cause of some great destiny…

When everything was accomplished as ordered, finally OUUhrr was allowed to enter the hidden entrance of the underground tombs…

Only when inside he considered - maybe- that could be only a defensive system to keep intact the burial-grounds, a sort of mythical curse, able to prevent any thief from coming too close to the building by putting into his mind strange thoughts, making people fight each other to forget their task…

Only when inside OUUhrr found the bony remains of the plunderers who had preceeded him there…Those were the ones intended to keep him company soon, forever…

Leslie St. John-Smythe felt each day of his eighty-one years as he trod the gangway from the Cessna seaplane. He held his left hand to his brown fedora to stop it from flying away in the airflow still generated by the plane's propellers. His right hand had a death-grip on a thin wooden cane. An armed member of the Strategic Air Services met him. The man held a semi-automatic rifle, its muzzle pointed downward, and a seasoned index finger straddled the half-circle of the trigger guard. Who Dares Succeeds was their motto – what were they daring him to do, he wondered. The soldier led him inside the nearest building.

A tall and thin Latino American lieutenant-commander with Navy Seal insignia and patches met him next. His skin was dark, his hair was short, and his speech was quick and clipped. CATALANO was spelled out upon his chest.

The only easy day is yesterday, their motto – would his words tell the same to St. John-Smythe?

The American officer opened a manila folder. "You come well recommended in a long lasting, impressive career: an antiquities finder for several prestigious museums, a linguist specializing in ancient and "dead" languages, a, umm, philologist.

"Your latest paper, I see here, was on the influence of Phoenician grammar on Modern English."

"Not latest!" St. John-Smythe removed his wire-rimed glasses. "Last. I am Professor Emeritus, and retired. I spend most of my days tending beehives in Sussex today." He shoved the eyeglasses back upon his nose.

"Sussex? My most current intelligence places you at Yale? In Connecticut. The States."

"My ancestry is more British than the Queen's." St. John-Smythe snorted.

A young black man entered the room. He wore civilian clothes. His hair hung in dreadlocks. He nodded to the Navy Seal and held out his hand to St. John-Smythe. "Rondell Jaspers, University of Chicago. Professor, I've read your work. It's been an inspiration."

St. John-Smythe took his hand in a firm and hardy handshake.

"We found the doomed Pan-collegiate Expedition of 1929!" the man blurted out, excitedly. "Or at least one site they explored." St. John-Smythe was momentarily impressed. That scientific project had been a consortium of geologists, botanists, archaeologists, engineers and a plethora of other fields from a dozen different colleges and universities. It had set out to do the most comprehensive study of the frozen continent of the last century, and it disappeared with nary a clue as to its dire fate.

"We have one artifact that defies analysis. It seems to have two tablets written in two scripts. I've examined it. Seen elements of Cuniform and Sanskrit. Ogham even, I think anyway. But frankly, I'm more than six feet out of my depths. Make that six fathoms.

"I believe it's alien."

"By alien, you mean —" St. John-Smythe raised a finger (not to say which) heavenward. He shook his head disapprovingly. "You have read too much science-fiction and perhaps not solely the best of that particular genre."

"I said I read your stuff so I know the symbol recognition software you pioneered. When we have to confirm fuzzy letters and numerals to utilize an Internet utility, that's helping some program of those that followed your attempt and perfected the concept to read what our ancestors wrote. So Champollion, here's your Rosetta Stone," Jaspers said, with just a smidgen of anger to his voice.

"He had Greek and a familiar form of Egyptian with which to work," St. John-Smythe groused.

"We have a network of super-computers at your disposal, and a crew of programmers, for Java, C++, dotNET, whatever you want. Even cobalt," the Navy Seal reported.

"You mean COBOL, I assume; however my nascent computer-based diagnostic tools were written in Lisp!"

The Navy officer only stared at him blindly.

The professor said, "But I'm sure you do not need to find someone with a speech impediment." He smiled at a private joke. "Any adequate application developer should suffice. It's not rocket science, you know." He smiled all the broader.

"Now I assume I must trek to the permafrost and ice flows to view this marvel," St. John-Smythe said. His old bones could already feel the cold, and he instinctively stifled a shiver. His most recent bout with frostbite was when…

"We brought it here." St. John-Smythe heard. "To the Falklands, our British cousins' isles," the American finished.

St. John-Smythe thought a moment. "May I see this 'it'?"

Professor St. John-Smythe began his PowerPoint presentation. His laptop's display was cast upon a wide canvas screen by a small projector that had a fan that projected whirling noises more successfully than its blurry, out-of-focus image. It was the "find" found on the Southern-polar continent. St. John-Smythe clicked on his laser-pointer. He depressed a button on his keyboard and the screen repainted into a close-up of the artifact.

"Thank you all for joining me. I am here to dispel all rumours and reveal the truth – or the closest there to, which we can suss out."

There was a bee's buzz of murmuring amongst the invitation only crowd.

"This artifact I liken to the plaque Earth sent out with Pioneer 10, showing two naked specimens of our species – Adam and Eve sans fig leaves. Or banana leaves I'm told our Muslim neighbours speculate. More coverage I presume."

"Good for Adam," came the voice of a commenter/heckler. Nervous laughter followed.

St. John-Smythe coughed. "We have a tale of two cultures. One overflowing with prosperity, health, and grace. The other in ruin, poverty and starvation. And there is a suggestion as to which we can achieve…"

He advanced his slideshow:

TRANSMIT THIS MISSIVE TO ONE THOUSAND PLANETS AND YOUR CIVILIZATION WILL PROSPER, MULTIPLE AND FLOWER. FAILURE TO CONTINUE THIS RIGHTOUS COMMUNICATION'S PROGRESSION WILL RESULT IN CALAMITY AND BLIGHT, DESPAIR AND RUIN.

"Perhaps we need to contact NASA…"