“Their arguments for the sea voyages of pineapples, maize, and tobacco have proven more difficult. There is evidence for chickens, with weak evolutionary explanations, in America long before Columbus.
“Mesoamerican cultural traits in parallel with the ancient Near East may have come into existence by a means of logical coincidence, but it’s hard to invent a chicken, or the sweet potato, or the red-flowering hibiscus which had to be transplanted. In KM-2, I’m finding a slew of patterns brought by visitors from the old world to the New. I’d prefer to publicize them during my formal argumentation.”
With his lips together, Kinnard looked again at Alred, who simply waited. “You’re an ancient Americanist,” he said.
“And I have plenty of explanations for the things Porter has mentioned,” said Alred.
“Ah,” said Porter, “but your replies are simply the facts taught you by other ignorant authorities on the subject of Mesoamerican history and pre-history. Secondhand knowledge. The KM-2 is history, by definition of the word, and-”
“I studied under Dr. Ulman, Porter. You forget that. He was a fine authority and the discoverer of the Kalpa site from whence we have KM-2,” she said.
“He and his finds will validate our arguments that there is a connection between the Near East and Mesoamerica,” said Porter, raising a finger.
“But he is dead,” Kinnard said, his face flushed by heretofore unspoken excitement. “ He was my friend…and now… Dr. Albright has also passed away.”
“And you think there’s a link,” Porter said, studying Kinnard’s hard face for silent messages.
With a jerk, Kinnard looked out the window.
Porter snapped his head to the glass as well, expecting to see…
“Seems you both suppose the same conspiracy,” Alred said to Porter. “But we don’t know what’s going on. I suggest taking a breath and getting to work.”
“I-,” said Kinnard, but he didn’t say anything else.
Porter sensed the heat radiating from the professor’s flexing muscles. Was he having second thoughts? Why would that- “Dr. Kinnard…do you know what is going on?”
Kinnard looked at his desk and reached up with his right hand to rub his bald forehead. He removed his glasses. “Porter, you…are really in a lot of trouble…with your dissertation. I know how terribly consequential these last few days have been-”
“Why was the deadline for dissertations moved?” Porter said. “I suppose there are a vast number of other Ph. D. candidates complaining.”
“I had nothing to do with it-”
“Was it Dr. Masterson? Is that who I need to talk to?” said Porter.
Alred closed her eyes.
“Porter, will you stop cutting me off?” said Kinnard, struggling to maintain a peaceful face. His naked head was turning white, and his lower forehead red. He pushed his glasses against his face.
“If I didn’t need to write it all out, I could give my dissertation tomorrow,” Porter said.
“You could not,” said Kinnard.
“I have enough data to speak for a day on the aforementioned connection.”
“Porter,” said Alred, putting a hand over his.
Porter jumped from his seat, glanced at the window, found a safe location in the corner of the room, and faced the professor again. “Did you know Cortez wrote in a letter to his king that the things he found were so… unbelievable…Cortez knew the description he was about to write down would not be easily trusted? He gave a written warning to that effect before his report.” Porter lifted a finger and pointed as he spoke. “Cortez feared- feared no one would go along with his story about the Old World because even he and his men, who saw the things with their own eyes that he was about to relate-and no doubt witnessed things he didn’t write down! — Cortez and his men couldn’t comprehend as actual reality? There is so much that we as Americans have forgotten or lost since ancient times. Not even the natives agree on the old tales. Don’t tell me we should give up-”
“Porter,” Alred said calmly, turning around in her chair, “sit down. We don’t know why Kinnard asked us here. You’re jumping to conclusions and…not acting very scholarly right now.”
An embarrassed statue, Porter stood in the corner until his legs carried him back to the chair. His eyes shot out the window on their own for a second. No bullets so far.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Kinnard,” said Alred, still sitting with her hands neatly settled one atop the other, her folded legs relaxed, her back straight, and her head up. “It’s been a stressful semester.”
“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” said Kinnard, looking back at her. “Ms. Alred, this won’t affect you as much…as it will Porter, but it won’t make you happy either.”
Kinnard stood and looked down at his desk, attempting to collect himself and breathe more easily.
Porter shoved his focus to his own knee-caps, as if the action would hide him from whatever Kinnard was about to say. He still suspected a gun in Kinnard’s back…somehow.
“KM-2,” Kinnard said. He looked at Alred. “Wouldn’t Kalpa start with a C, Alred, if it is a Central American-”
“That is my understanding,” said Alred. “I can’t explain Albright’s choice, nor the reason other scholars have perpetuated-”
“Was there a reason we came here?” said Porter as innocently as he could, though the emotions were pouring invisibly from every orifice.
“I think you should forget about this project,” Kinnard said looking straight at Porter.
Gazing through the silence, Porter felt the blood to his brain shut-off. “Why?”
“We might be wrong, Porter, but I think you agree with me. This isn’t a simple dissertation you’re working on anymore. I fear…illegal actions may have been taken, and icy waters are stirring which we should leave alone.”
“That,” said Porter, “is…it? Thank you, Dr. Kinnard,” he said with a smile, “but I would rather present my argument to the board!”
Alred sighed.
“We only have six days left! Six!!! You can’t pull the rug out on this one,” Porter said.
Kinnard kept his eyes on the desk. “I really feel for you-”
“But…not that much, eh?!” Porter huffed and flung his hands, standing again.
Alred got to her feet. It was over.
“Look,” Kinnard said as she turned quietly to the door and Porter threw his hands a second time, flopping them against his sides. “I know the vitality of your predicament, Porter, but I can’t do anything about it.”
Porter froze his arms in midair and looked at his supervising professor. “Wait.” He pointed again. “You can’t. You mean you tried to… You didn’t make this decision?”
Alred turned slowly. “What? Dr. Kinnard, you’re not shutting down the study because you’re worried about-”
“No,” he said.
“It was Masterson, wasn’t it!” said Porter approaching the desk. He felt the acid rain in his lungs.
Kinnard lifted a signed paper from his desk. “Stratford is terminating your research and the applicable dissertations.”
“Can the University do that?!?” Porter asked Alred.
With eyebrows lifted at Kinnard and arms folded, she said, “Stratford can do anything she wants.”
“Especially when impending lawsuits are suspected,” said Kinnard. “I’m sorry.”
Porter turned like a rhino for the door, bumping Alred aside and yanking the portal open. This was worse than being shot through the window.
Before he could make it out, he heard Kinnard’s voice. “We will need KM-2 back…of course.”
Black smoke clogging his heart, Porter looked at his supervisor.
Alred thanked the professor and put a hand on Porter’s shoulder as she went by him. “That’s it, Porter. We’re done.”
