The Martian Sentence, page 22
“Well, I gotta agree,” Finnegan said. “If we can keep Spike and Tiburón focused on the greenhouses, it will help. Since my duties allow me a bit more freedom, I’ll get up early and scout the greenhouse excavations to see if they churned anything without realizing it. Once I clear that area, I’ll keep an eye on the rest of Legoland.”
“It just so happens I have Mesoamerican literature on my computer in The Office,” Elizabeth said. “Brought it along as reading material. It can help you. Can’t do much about Nazi swastikas, though. Herr Finnegan.”
“No problem there,” Finnegan said, reaching for the wine bottle on the bench. “But why did you assume the swastika was of Nazi origin?”
“Isn’t the swastika a Nazi symbol?” Elizabeth said, holding out her glass for a refill.
“It is, but they weren’t the original creators of that symbol. In fact, the swastika dates to at least 5,000 years ago. Maybe 7,500 years ago. And by cultures or societies across what is now China and India. Even in Mesoamerica.”
“Are you saying ancient Hindus or Chinese may have visited Mars?” Elizabeth asked as she pulled her glass from Finnegan’s now-upright bottle.
“Possibly, but doubtful,” Finnegan said. “Or the swastika came from outer space, and what we found here on our first day was the result of an alien using Mars as a way stop on his way to Earth.”
Elizabeth narrowed one eye at Finnegan.
“Or,” Finnegan said, “I could stick with your original thought that the swastika is of Nazi origin, and the letters R and K prove it so.”
“In what way?”
Finnegan paused for a second. “It has been a while since I had to put the letters R and K together, especially when they straddle a swastika, which is why I didn’t think of it earlier. But what I am talking about is the Rhinelander Korps.
“Go ahead,” Elizabeth said. As she lifted her wine glass, she thought back to her childhood back in Kanab, Utah, and the lunch boxes full of her desert treasures.
“The Rhinelander Korps is, was, a secret association of Americans and Germans. An association rumored to include Henry Ford and Adolf Hitler. Not much is known about the group, so I’ll have to sleep on it. In any case, though, we’re talking about a group of American military men and financiers who collaborated with the Germans during World Wars One and Two. Perhaps even before the First World War.”
With the lip of the glass pressed against her lower lip, she narrowed one eye again. “Now you’re starting to sound like Tiburón.”
“Is that necessarily a bad thing?”
#
Elizabeth imagined the smell of brewing coffee and frying sausage as she stepped out of her module and through the tunnel leading to The Hilton. Stepping through the door, she saw Kroll at the kitchenette, and Spike and Tiburón reclining side by side on the sofa holding their coffee cups. They rested their heads against the sofa’s back and appeared half asleep. Elizabeth’s hair was wet and was sticking out from under Finnegan’s ball cap. It had been a good night with Finnegan, and the next morning being just as satisfying. Now, she looked forward to a good breakfast and an active day. Last night, before sex, they’d brainstormed about what was going on with Manwaring, and their reason for being on Mars. They concluded that if they had already found worked Mesoamerican obsidian blades and the impression of a swastika on the Martian surface, the next find could be quite revealing.
Elizabeth accepted a mug of coffee from Kroll and pulled out a chair at the table. “Mind a little help with Satan’s Eden? I need to work off Kroll’s cooking.”
“Sure thing,” Spike replied sleepily.
“I ain’t gonna complain either,” Tiburón said. “I have plans, and Spike could use the help. Where’s Finnegan? Sleeping in?”
“Said he wanted to recheck something out at The Tank Farm,” Elizabeth answered. “He’ll join us shortly.” She paused for a second, noticing Tiburón giving Spike a nudge with his shoulder. “What do you mean by helping Spike. What do you have planned?”
Tiburón sipped his coffee. “We’re going to start on the framing beams. Once we get started, I’m going to grab The Mule and do some rock hounding.”
“What about Manwaring’s orders to stay close to home?”
“Screw Mister Dill Hole,” Tiburón responded. “The right kind of rocks help control water evaporation from the soil, and leach in good chemicals at the same time. Although I have some rocks that will work, most of the rocks in the lakebed are the wrong type, which means the rocks I’m looking for are probably locked up in seams. Up in the mountains.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Well, I would prefer you give us a more specific location as to where you want to go. Just in case we have to come looking for you.”
“Don’t know yet. I’ll keep my comms open.”
“Okay,” Elizabeth responded, “but make sure you’re back in time for lunch, just to be safe. Did Manwaring already leave?”
“He came in here, slammed a coffee, a link, and was off like a prom dress,” Spike answered with a slight yawn.
The door from The Office opened, and Finnegan stepped through it. He joined Elizabeth at the table while accepting coffee from Kroll. Once he sat, next to Elizabeth, they ate and joked quietly, and as they were finishing their breakfast, Kroll offered his plans for lunch.
“I hope you don’t mind a simple lunch today, a nosh. I would like to help outside myself. Are cheese sandwiches for lunch satisfactory?”
Elizabeth emptied her coffee. Before answering Kroll’s request. “My grandmother made the best grilled cheese sandwiches. And with bacon. And with dill pickle spears.”
Kroll smiled. “Sehr gut. Grilled cheese sandwiches with bacon and pickles it is.”
Finnegan smiled and looked at Elizabeth. “Well, it looks like I need to earn my lunch. Elizabeth, do you mind helping me in The Garage before you mix it up with this mob?”
#
Thirty minutes later, Tiburón, Spike, and Elizabeth stood in front of the partially assembled greenhouse wearing their spacesuits. The distant morning sun climbed ever so slowly in the sky.
“I’ll help you get started.” Tiburón said as he reached down for a box of bolts and a wrench. He stood up and held the items out for Elizabeth. “But it’s pretty straightforward.”
Retrieving the box reminded Elizabeth about the time she helped her grandfather assemble an aluminum shed.
“You guys got this?” asked Tiburón.
“Go ahead, Tiburón,” Spike said. “Just keep in touch and make it back by lunch.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tiburón said while bending over again to pick up a plastic bucket with a rock hammer inside of it. Leaving the women to their work, he turned and walked around The Garage, intent on the module containing The Mule. Coming around the corner of the module he spotted Finnegan standing next to the lowered ramp.
“Coming with me?” Tiburón asked over his helmet’s intercom as he pulled up to the ramp.
Finnegan, now inside the module, and on the vehicle’s driver’s side, unplugged the electric vehicle while answering. “Turns out Elizabeth was an immense help. Leaving me with time on my hands. You mind?”
Tiburón dropped the bucket and hammer into the bed before stepping into the passenger side of the module. “Fine with me.”
Minutes later, as they pulled away from base camp, Finnegan could almost feel Elizabeth’s eyes watching them drive toward up the lakebed’s slight rise and the riverbed snaking down from the sharply inclined mountains. His mind still reeled at what he had found that morning. Quickly sharing his finds with Elizabeth, there was no way he could let Tiburón go up there by himself.
Notwithstanding the finds, or perhaps because of his finds, Finnegan genuinely enjoyed the drive into the red- and gray-mottled mountains. He could also see the smile on Tiburón’s face through the helmet’s transparent plastic. But they smiled for distinct reasons.
While Finnegan drove, Tiburón kept a wary eye on the riverbed in front and on the rising banks on either side of them. Occasionally, Tiburón told Finnegan to stop so he could inspect a rock outcropping further up the steepening riverbed. Each time they stopped, he would use his rock hammer to knock a sample loose, hold it up against the distant sun, twist it in his hand, then either drop it on the ground or toss it in the bed of The Mule before climbing back in the passenger seat. The morning continued as such, following the partial tire tracks in patches of loose dirt and gravel. Tracks from Manwaring’s daily excursions. After three kilometers, they reached the first tributary emptying into the main riverbed.
Stopping at the intersection, Finnegan said, “Well?”
Tiburón didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes traveled back and forth between the main riverbed and the tributary. While Finnegan waited for Tiburón to decide which direction to take, something on the ground pulled at his eyes. While not really understanding why, he leaned over and picked up two items.
“What do you got?” Tiburón asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Finnegan answered. He straightened up and held up a pale gray rock with red streaks. “Just playing. Anyway, which direction?”
Tiburón took the rock from Finnegan’s hand and looked up at the main riverbed. He tossed the rock aside. “Let’s go straight ahead. That tributary ain’t going nowhere.”
“Straight ahead it is,” Finnegan said as he pulled his hand from the spacesuit’s pant pocket and placed it on the steering wheel along with the other hand. Taking his foot off the brake pedal, they continued further up the walled-in riverbed.
By around noon, they had passed four more narrow tributaries and collected about a hundred pounds of loose rocks in the bed of the vehicle. They stopped in front of another tributary. Tiburón looked at it from the passenger seat. “This place really does remind me of the Superstition Mountains outside of Phoenix, and that tributary reminds me of Copperhead Canyon.”
Finnegan looked at the tributary Tiburón called Copperhead Canyon. It was narrow, with steep sides, but it looked wide enough for any of their vehicles to drive into. There was a partial tire track in the loose gravel, along with something else. He could imagine water funneling out of the tributary. “It reminds me of the cornfield mazes from Halloween.”
“Except the Canyon wasn’t a cornfield maze. Hence the name Copperhead Canyon,” Tiburón replied as he threw his legs out of the vehicle to stand. “It was a great hideout. Sheltered, with a spring, hidden caves, and a back door, with one main entrance that we could block off and defend.”
Tiburón stepped toward another rock outcropping poking out of the wall of the main riverbed. Finnegan got out as well and stepped around the front of the vehicle and toward the entrance of the tributary. Listening to Tiburón talk about his smuggling days and Copperhead Canyon, Finnegan stepped into the tributary, stopping about two meters in. Now that his eyes knew what to look for, he bent down to pick one up. Straightening up, he folded it over in his hand. Yes, it was just like the first item, but there was a difference. The item he found earlier was in the main riverbed, mixed in with millions of years of mottled rocky detritus, and at the junction of a tributary. This item was in the tributary, at its conjunction with the main riverbed. Clasping his fingers around the find, he peered into the canyon, at least as far as the first bend, and nodded his head. He repeated the name of the canyon to himself.
“You ready?” Tiburón asked through the helmet intercom.
Finnegan turned around. Tiburón stood at the canyon’s entrance.
“Yeah, I could use a grilled cheese sandwich and a coffee.”
#
The drive back seemed to take forever, especially with the lakebed, and Legoland, spread out in front of them below. Even though their battery-powered motor and wheels drove them forward, Legoland never seemed to get bigger in their eyes. Eventually, though, they stopped in front of The Shit Shack.
“Leave the rocks here,” Tiburón said. “Spike and I can get at them later. Right now, I want a grilled cheese sandwich.”
While Tiburón said he was looking forward to lunch and putting his rocks to use, Finnegan was looking forward to something else, but right now, his conversation with Elizabeth would have to wait. The two men walked around the side of The Keep and stepped toward The Hilton’s airlock. They noticed that Manwaring’s vehicle was not parked in front of the Westing House, the pod where Manwaring could plug The Minivan in to recharge whenever he came back for lunch, and where he could do his thing, whatever it was, inside the pod. Aside from being a spare-parts storage pod, the structure also served as Manwaring’s field laboratory.
#
“I thought lunch would never end,” Elizabeth said.
Finnegan, walking behind her, entered The Office, closing the door behind him. “Same here.”
She turned to face him. “What did you find?”
Finnegan reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his hand, palm side up. He opened his fingers. “I thought you would find them important.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she zeroed in on the items he was holding. Elizabeth turned to look at the items on her desk. “It may not make sense, but it can also make all the sense in the world at the same time.”
“I agree, but I wonder if Manwaring has found anything yet,” Finnegan responded. ”He did miss out on lunch.”
“He’s missed lunch before.”
“I know,” Finnegan said, stepping over to the computer desk to add the items in his hand to their collection, “and I think that’s what’s worrying me. I saw partial tire tracks in the main riverbed and inside the canyon’s entrance. These items were feet away from the tire tracks. I was able to pick them out of that rocky debris, and I’m not a trained archaeologist.”
Elizabeth stepped over to her desk. It was as if she were a little girl again, back in her bedroom outside of Kanab, lining up the newest artifacts she’d found on the desert floor after camping with her grandparents. The same rusted and tarnished curios that still filled tin lunch boxes on one of her bookshelves back at her grandmother’s house in Napa Valley. Now on Mars, her hand paused above the item third in line. The item that Finnegan had found that morning by The Shit Shack. With the realization that she’d seen something similar before, but not on Mars, she answered, “My grandmother always said I did love a good mystery.”
17
Late April, AD 2026
With their heads spinning, Finnegan and Elizabeth speculated about the possibilities behind the artifacts lined up in front of them. It didn’t take long for them to separate the artifacts into separate storylines, but the themes lacked a context to link them into a singular plot. First, there was the rock with the impression of a swastika and two partial letters, possibly R and K. Next to it were the two obsidian blades Elizabeth found. After that, a small-label plate. One like one any would see attached to a piece of machinery. A plate Finnegan found that morning on the lakebed. The next two items were palm-sized pieces of orangish gritty pottery. Ceramics Finnegan found in the riverbed, or at the nexus between the riverbed and the tributary. The one with the tire tracks leading into it.
Elizabeth sighed as she looked at the artifacts. “There are any number of possibilities, which is why I’m not saying Aztec, but let’s just stay with Mesoamerican for now. Doing so will give us a starting point and a rough date range. A very rough date range.”
“Sounds like a great starting point,” Finnegan said. He tapped one of the pieces of pottery with his index finger. It, and the other one, the thicker of the two, fitted nicely in the palm of his hand. “So, you’re saying that those two pieces are from two different terra-cotta containers?”
“By looking at the curvature, and thicknesses, I’d say one came from a drinking vessel, like a cup or bowl, and the other came from something bigger. A storage container. You said you found them both with the curved side up?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good,” Elizabeth said, picking up her magnifying glass and the thinner of the two pieces. She bent over the computer desk to use the light from the lamp. Finnegan stood behind her, waiting.
“Ah ha,” Elizabeth said. She straightened and turned to face Finnegan. “I found a fingerprint on the inside, which means it was human-made.”
“Or just made by a being with fingerprints,” Finnegan countered. “By the way, did I ever tell you playing Nancy Drew makes me horny.”
“Me playing Nancy Drew? You staring at my ass while I’m bent over a desk?”
Finnegan smiled. “There’s that, too.”
Accepting his admission, she continued. “Whoever made these containers made them from wet clay and left their fingerprints on the inside while shaping the vessels. And not on a spinning wheel. And the fingerprints appear human.”
“Okay, so we have found, here on Mars, four human-made, centuries-old Mesoamerican artifacts,” Finnegan said. “We also have a rock with a partial imprint of a swastika and what could be the tops of the letters R and K, which links us to one other artifact. One that is human-made, and one not only made in the twentieth century, but made in 1939, in the good ol’ USA, namely Dearborn, Michigan. Now, all we have to do is find something that can link those sets of artifacts together.”
Elizabeth reached out to place the magnifying glass on the computer desk. She replaced the lens with the label plate Finnegan found this morning over by The Shit Shack.
Machined from aluminum and with a hole at each end, the label plate was the length and thickness of a stick of gum, but a bit wider and slightly curved. In between the holes were two lines of text in English. One ran lengthwise along the top of the plate, and the second ran along the bottom of the plate. In between those lines was the outline of an eagle with its head turned sideways, and in the label’s center, the letters R and K straddled the eagle. The top line read Starboard jet primary arbiter. Under the central image, the second line read: Dearborn, Michigan, USA. 1939-A541-T3874.
