The crunch of boots on gravel sounded nearby. A few seconds later Zeiblemann’s assistant, Jorg Hutfauer, appeared, his shirt dark and streaked with perspiration and grime.
'Phew!' The newcomer halted to mop his brow with something that had once been a handkerchief. 'I’m whacked. A beer, a bath, dinner, then bed-that’s my program for tonight.'
Zeiblemann grinned. 'Busy day?'
'Haven’t stopped. We’ve extended sector five to the lower terrace. The subsoil isn’t too bad there at all. We’ve made quite a bit of progress.'
'Anything new?'
'I brought these up-thought you might be interested. There’s more below, but it’ll keep till you come down tomorrow.' Hutfauer passed across the objects he had been carrying and continued on into the tent to retrieve a can of beer from the pile of boxes and cartons under the table.
'Mmm…' Zeiblemann turned the bone over in his hand. 'Human femur… heavy.' He studied the unusual curve and measured the proportions with his eye. 'Neanderthal, I’d say, or very near related.'
'That’s what I thought.'
The professor placed the fossil carefully in a tray, covered it with a cloth, and laid the tray on the chest standing just inside the tent doorway. He picked up a hand-sized blade of flint, simply but effectively worked by the removal of long, thin flakes.
'What did you make of this?' he asked.
Hutfauer moved forward out of the shadow and paused to take a prolonged and grateful drink from the can.
'Well, the bed seems to be late Pleistocene, so I’d expect upper Paleolithic indications-which fits in with the way it’s been worked. Probably a scraper for skinning. There are areas of microliths on the handle and also around the end of the blade. Bearing in mind the location, I’d put it at something related fairly closely to the Capsian culture.' He lowered the can and cocked an inquiring eye at Zeiblemann.
'Not bad,' said the professor, nodding. He laid the flint in a tray beside the first and added the identification sheet that Hutfauer had written out. 'We’ll have a closer look tomorrow when the light’s a little better.'
Hutfauer joined him at the door. The sound of jabbering and shouting from the level below told them that another of the natives’ endless minor domestic disputes had broken out over something.
'Tea’s up if anyone’s interested,' a voice called out from behind the next tent.
Zeiblemann raised his eyebrows and licked his lips. 'What a splendid idea,' he said. 'Come on, Jorg.'
They walked around to the makeshift kitchen, where Ruddi Magendorf was sitting on a rock, shoveling spoonfuls of tea leaves out of a tin by his side and into a large bubbling pot of water.
'Hi, Prof-hi, Jorg,' he greeted as the two joined him. 'It’ll be brewed in a minute or two.'
Zeiblemann wiped his palms on the front of his shirt. 'Good. Just what I could do with.' He cast his eye about automatically and noted the trays, covered by cloths, laid out on the trestle table by the side of Magendorf’s tent.
'Ah, I see you’ve been busy as well,' he observed. 'What do we have there?'
Magendorf followed his gaze.
'Jomatto brought them up about half an hour ago. They’re from the upper terrace of sector two-east end. Take a look.'
Zeiblemann walked over to the table and uncovered one of the trays to inspect the neatly arrayed collection, at the same time mumbling absently to himself.
'More flint scrapers, I see… Mmmm… That could be a hand ax. Yes, I believe it is… Bits of jawbone, human… looks as if they might well match up. Skull cap… Bone spearhead… Mmm…' He lifted the cloth from the second tray and began running his eye casually over the contents. Suddenly the movement of his head stopped abruptly as he stared hard at something at one end. His face contorted into a scowl of disbelief.
'What the hell is this supposed to be?' he bellowed. He straightened up and walked back toward the stove, holding the offending object out in front of him.
Magendorf shrugged and pulled a face.
'I thought you’d better see it,' he offered, then added: 'Jomatto says it was with the rest of that set.'
'Jomatto says what?' Zeiblemann’s voice rose in pitch as he glowered first at Magendorf and then back at the object in his hand. 'Oh, for God’s sake! The man’s supposed to have a bit of sense. This is a serious scientific expedition…' He regarded the object again, his nostrils quivering with indignation. 'Obviously one of the boys has been playing a silly joke or something.'
It was about the size of a large cigarette pack, not including the wrist bracelet, and carried on its upper face four windows that could have been meant for miniature electronic displays. It suggested a chronometer or calculating aid, or maybe it was both and other things besides. The back and contents were missing, and all that was left was the metal casing, somewhat battered and dented, but still surprisingly unaffected very much by corrosion.
'There’s a funny inscription on the bracelet,' Magenclorf said, rubbing his nose dubiously. 'I’ve never seen characters like it before.'
Zeiblemann sniffed and peered briefly at the lettering.
'Pah! Russian or something.' His face had taken on a pinker shade than even that imparted by the Sudan sun. 'Wasting valuable time with-with dime-store trinkets!' He drew back his arm and hurled the wrist set high out over the stream. It flashed momentarily in the sunlight before plummeting down into the mud by the water’s edge. The professor stared after it for a few seconds and then turned back to Magendorf, his breathing once again normal. Magendorf extended a mug full of steaming brown liquid.
'Ah, splendid,' Zeiblemann said in a suddenly agreeable voice. 'Just the thing.' He settled himself into a folding canvas chair and accepted the proffered mug eagerly. 'I’ll tell you one thing that does look interesting, Ruddi,' he went on, nodding toward the table. 'That piece of skull in the first tray-number nineteen. Have you noticed the formation of the brow ridges? Now, it could well be an example of…'
In the mud by the side of the stream below, the wrist unit rocked back and forth to the pulsing ripples that every few seconds rose to disturb the delicate equilibrium of the position into which it had fallen. After a while, a rib of sand beneath it was washed away and it tumbled over into a hollow, where it lodged among the swirling, muddy water. By nightfall, the lower half of the casing was already embedded in silt. By the following morning, the hollow had disappeared. Just one arm of the bracelet remained, standing up out of the sand below the rippling surface. The arm bore an inscription, which, if translated, would have read: KORIEL.
