90 “I believe it’s alien.” “By alien, you mean—” St. John-Smythe raised a finger (not to say which) heavenward. He shook his head disapprovingly. “You have read too much science fiction and perhaps not solely the best of that particular genre.” “I said I read your shit so I know the symbol recognition software you pioneered. When we have to confirm fuzzy letters and numerals to utilize an Internet utility, that’s helping some program of those that followed your attempt and perfected the concept to read what our ancestors wrote. So Champollion, here’s your Rosetta Stone,” Jaspers said, with just a smidgen of anger to his voice. “He had Greek and a familiar form of Egyptian with which to work,” St. John-Smythe groused. “We have a network of super computers at your disposal, and a crew of programmers, for Java, C++, dotNET, whatever you want. Even cobalt,” the Navy Seal reported. “You mean COBOL, I assume; however my nascent computer-based diagnostic tools were written in Lisp!” The Navy officer only stared at him blindly. The professor said, “But I’m sure you do not need to find someone with a speech impediment.” He smiled at a private joke. “Any adequate application developer should suffice. It’s not rocket science, you know.” He smiled all the broader. “Now I assume I must trek to the permafrost and ice flows to view this marvel,” St. John-Smythe said. His old bones could already feel the cold, and he instinctively stifled a shiver. His most recent bout with frostbite was when . . . “WeBroughtItHere,” the Navy Seal inconceivably quick-spoke. “We brought it here,” St. John-Smythe translated. “To the Falklands, our British cousins’ isles,” the American finished. St. John-Smythe thought a moment. “May I see this ‘it’?” ****** Professor St. John-Smythe began his PowerPoint presentation. His laptop’s display was cast upon a wide canvas screen by a small projector that had a fan that projected whirling noises more successfully than its blurry, out-of-focus image. It was the “find” found on the Southernpolar continent. St. John-Smythe clicked on his laser-pointer. He depressed a button on his keyboard and the screen repainted into a close-up of the artifact. “Thank you all for joining me. I am here to dispel all rumours and reveal the truth— or the closest there to, which we can suss out.” There was a bee’s buzz of murmuring amongst the invitation-only crowd. “This artifact I liken to the plaque Earth sent out with Pioneer 10, showing two naked specimens of our species—Adam and Eve sans fig leaves. Or banana leaves I’m told our Muslim neighbours speculate. More coverage I presume.” “Good for Adam,” came the voice of a commenter/heckler. Nervous laughter followed. St. John-Smythe coughed. “We have a tale of two civilizations. One overflowing with prosperity, health, and grace. The other in ruin, poverty and starvation. And there is a suggestion as to which we can achieve . . . ” He advanced his slideshow:
The Cenacle | 73-74 | Summer 2010