joking, but she got a chill. That
was
what it seemed like. A second chance at faith.
“So what does St. Pius say in the letter?”
“That the Vatican was sending over a bishop, and if President Roosevelt was wise he would not let Bub’s existence be known because the panic could destroy the western world. And that he was praying for everyone involved.”
Andy took the paper back and ran his finger over the Vatican seal.
“Funny, yesterday I was wondering how I was going to pay my electric bill, and now here I am holding a letter that is probably worth more than I make in a year. Sotheby’s would kill for it.”
“Sotheby’s? You’re thinking historical worth. Try the media. You could make a fortune, up until you were executed for treason.”
Andy filed the paper away and Sun suggested they quit and go take a look at the capsule. She felt pretty good for someone who’d just recounted the biggest tragedy of her life. And for once, there was no guilt to accompany feeling good. Was there a statute of limitations on grieving?
Andy held the door for her and they took a short walk from Red 3 to Red 6. The room was small and brightly lit. It reminded Sun of an autopsy room. A small dehumidifier ran nonstop in the corner, humming quietly. In the center, sprawled out like a baby elephant corpse, was the capsule.
It was pale gray, so pale that it seemed to absorb the fluorescent light. Sun was again intrigued by the shape: it was a tube with rounded ends, almost like giant sausage, but the curves were perfect in their simplicity. It had been measured back in the ‘70s, and the scientist in charge found it was symmetrical to within ten thousandths of an inch.
“It looks like a sarcophagus,” Andy ran his hand over the carvings on top. “And it’s so smooth! How can it feel so silky when it has all of these glyphs engraved into it? You can barely feel them. What’s it made of?”
“A lot,” Sun laughed. “Analysis came back with traces of everything: carbon, ferrite, silicon, lead, silver, iridium, petroleum, ivory…”
“Like elephant tusks?”
“Yeah. And here’s the kicker. It’s something like ten percent nylon.”
“Nylon.”
“Nylon was invented in 1939. So how did it get in something found in 1906, and buried for who knows how long before that?”
“Weird. So how does it open? I don’t see any seams.”
“Watch this.” Sun ran her hand along the side of the capsule facing them. She found a small notch the size of a pin head and pressed inward. The top came up on hinges, opening like the lid of a casket.
“Secret button. Found by accident around forty years ago, if you hear Race tell it. Before that they were using a crowbar to get it open. See the marks on the edge here?”
Andy didn’t look when she pointed out the pry marks. He was totally absorbed in studying the inside of the capsule.
“This is odd.” Andy said.
“No kidding.”
“No, I mean, see these markings? Demotic Egyptian hieroglyphs. They were using these in 3000 BC. But on the cover, those are Maya glyphs. Used until about 1500 AD. Four and a half thousand years difference.”
“So it’s old.”
“Not just that. How the hell did it cross the Atlantic and get from Egypt to Central America?”
“Maybe the Spanish brought it. Conquistadors.”
Andy nodded and ran his hands inside the capsule. “Different texture. Not smooth, but…”
“Soft,” Sun said. “I found some old pictures. Bub fit in here perfectly. I mean
perfectly.
Like it was made from a cast of his body. But it’s kind of spongy and springy. Like foam.”
“Do you know what it says?”
“I have no idea. Not too much call for translating hieroglyphs in today’s market. Hasn’t anyone tried before?”
“Race said yes. The inside, not the outside. The work is buried in Red 3 somewhere.”
“Might be easier to start from scratch. I could translate the dead sea scrolls quicker than it would take to find anything in that
was
what it seemed like. A second chance at faith.
“So what does St. Pius say in the letter?”
“That the Vatican was sending over a bishop, and if President Roosevelt was wise he would not let Bub’s existence be known because the panic could destroy the western world. And that he was praying for everyone involved.”
Andy took the paper back and ran his finger over the Vatican seal.
“Funny, yesterday I was wondering how I was going to pay my electric bill, and now here I am holding a letter that is probably worth more than I make in a year. Sotheby’s would kill for it.”
“Sotheby’s? You’re thinking historical worth. Try the media. You could make a fortune, up until you were executed for treason.”
Andy filed the paper away and Sun suggested they quit and go take a look at the capsule. She felt pretty good for someone who’d just recounted the biggest tragedy of her life. And for once, there was no guilt to accompany feeling good. Was there a statute of limitations on grieving?
Andy held the door for her and they took a short walk from Red 3 to Red 6. The room was small and brightly lit. It reminded Sun of an autopsy room. A small dehumidifier ran nonstop in the corner, humming quietly. In the center, sprawled out like a baby elephant corpse, was the capsule.
It was pale gray, so pale that it seemed to absorb the fluorescent light. Sun was again intrigued by the shape: it was a tube with rounded ends, almost like giant sausage, but the curves were perfect in their simplicity. It had been measured back in the ‘70s, and the scientist in charge found it was symmetrical to within ten thousandths of an inch.
“It looks like a sarcophagus,” Andy ran his hand over the carvings on top. “And it’s so smooth! How can it feel so silky when it has all of these glyphs engraved into it? You can barely feel them. What’s it made of?”
“A lot,” Sun laughed. “Analysis came back with traces of everything: carbon, ferrite, silicon, lead, silver, iridium, petroleum, ivory…”
“Like elephant tusks?”
“Yeah. And here’s the kicker. It’s something like ten percent nylon.”
“Nylon.”
“Nylon was invented in 1939. So how did it get in something found in 1906, and buried for who knows how long before that?”
“Weird. So how does it open? I don’t see any seams.”
“Watch this.” Sun ran her hand along the side of the capsule facing them. She found a small notch the size of a pin head and pressed inward. The top came up on hinges, opening like the lid of a casket.
“Secret button. Found by accident around forty years ago, if you hear Race tell it. Before that they were using a crowbar to get it open. See the marks on the edge here?”
Andy didn’t look when she pointed out the pry marks. He was totally absorbed in studying the inside of the capsule.
“This is odd.” Andy said.
“No kidding.”
“No, I mean, see these markings? Demotic Egyptian hieroglyphs. They were using these in 3000 BC. But on the cover, those are Maya glyphs. Used until about 1500 AD. Four and a half thousand years difference.”
“So it’s old.”
“Not just that. How the hell did it cross the Atlantic and get from Egypt to Central America?”
“Maybe the Spanish brought it. Conquistadors.”
Andy nodded and ran his hands inside the capsule. “Different texture. Not smooth, but…”
“Soft,” Sun said. “I found some old pictures. Bub fit in here perfectly. I mean
perfectly.
Like it was made from a cast of his body. But it’s kind of spongy and springy. Like foam.”
“Do you know what it says?”
“I have no idea. Not too much call for translating hieroglyphs in today’s market. Hasn’t anyone tried before?”
“Race said yes. The inside, not the outside. The work is buried in Red 3 somewhere.”
“Might be easier to start from scratch. I could translate the dead sea scrolls quicker than it would take to find anything in that
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