THE RETURN TRIP – Episode 104
…“Khufu,” she singles out a solid gold bust!
“God bless you.”
“That would be Cheops to you Sam.”…
“I just wonder, work with me here, that these Newfoundlians communicated through what we think as music?”
“TAPS is the only tune these guys were singing.”
“That is cruel Sam, after all we may be found someday, decomposed in each other’s’ arms, and LONG GONE LONESOME BLUES will be playing in the background.”
“So sorry my diminutive friends,” he backs down from his frivolous speak. “I don’t think they know what hit ‘em.”
The single most important thing that the McKinneys and the crew of the NEWFOUNDLANDER do not share, despite sharing presumably an identical environment, is Sam, Cel & bun-in-the-oven is alive and thankfully well. No killer virus present; the tried and true maxim of cause & effect has eluded the spaceship’s new tenants.
After gaining admittance to the mystery room, soft indirect lighting reveals the stowage function of the space, as Celeste had predicted. It possesses all the peculiarities of a storeroom, only without the dust that normally collects on legacy items, on a ship of this size, on a planet where dust is a staple.
Equally unique is its relative emptiness. Why is such a space on an interstellar vehicle so underutilized? The answer to that question may have to do with the muted lighting and filtered environment.
“Does this remind you of museum storage room, where incomplete dinosaur skeletons wait for missing pieces?”
“Fourth Dynasty Egyptian.”
“Are you serious,” Sam asks?
His versatile wife numbers Egyptology as an educational pursuit during her college career. “Khufu!” she single out a solid gold bust.
“God bless you.”
“That would be Cheops to you Sam.” He was not making fun, merely his lack of similar expertise. “There are references to this bust, but no one has ever seen it… 4500 year old solid gold.”
Another shaft of light is cast upon, “And what is this?”
“Another piece of the Palermo Stone, I don’t think this one has been catalogued. Do you see the similarities between Egyptian writing and the Newfoundlian Scrpit?”
“English grammar is confusing enough.”
“That is the Code of Hammurabi,” she points to the writing on a Diorite stone tablet, nearby, “Cuneiform writing for damn sure!!!!!!”
And though he is not as versed in Egyptian antiquity, in the manner and scope of his encyclopedic partner, he is not completely devoid of ancient historical knowledge. “The Code of Hammurabi is from 21st Century B.C. Babylon, kind of a wage scale and social ranking for old-time Near East lawmakers.”
“Very good Sammy Mac and here I thought that space had vacated your unrelated memories; there is more than g-force and time travel up in that brain of yours.”
He is used to her deriding his seeming lack of culture, not that she is entirely wrong.