Alisaura
Blue Crack Supplier
What the heck, it's technically Saturday here 
Disclaimer: All fiction. Highly improbable fiction, at that.
end of chapter 2:
--------
"The strange thing was, I took an instant dislike to him. From the second I saw him, he just... I dunno. It was weird. The guy's a jerk." I was surprised at the vehemence still in my voice. I think Glen was too, because there was a brief silence on the line.
"Jerks are all too plentiful, you know. I'm sure you told him where to go," Glen said, a knowing tone in his voice. I had to laugh.
--------------
Chapter 3:
--------------
The next three days passed uneventfully, just like most of the previous ones that week. I walked back and forth collecting data, took soil samples, plugged it all into the laptop and took copious notes. The familiar routine finally over-rode any lingering strangeness from that one day.
On this particular day, I ate my lunch with my back to a sun-warmed outcrop of sandstone. The sky was clear, although the cool wind still blew in fits and starts, apparently unwilling to release its grip on the turning season. Summer would have its way sooner or later, I thought. You may gust with your chilliest breath, wind, but the sun is growing stronger, the days lengthening, the earth warming relentlessly. Give it up and wait for autumn.
The wind has no patience, I thought, following my personification of the elements further. The earth knows how to wait. All things will happen in their own time. The wind is always rushing about, hither and yon. Clouds pile up and collapse again in minutes; mountains do so over millions of years. But it is wind and water that wear them down, so who wins in the end? Nobody; there are no winners. The particles from worn-down mountains become rock and soil once more, compacting into layers, waiting to be raised up again... or buried still deeper, undergoing yet another metamorphosis, closer to the fires at the centre of the earth.
It was all so elegant, so beautiful, so complete. Almost poetic. My sandwich eaten, I put my head back to rest on the sandstone, staring upward into a bottomless blue sky. There were distant stars out there, I knew, invisible in the glare of our sun. The universe loomed overhead, all around, casting this little ball of rock into utter insignificance. Just one speck orbiting a tiny spark, lost on the edge of a colossal galaxy, itself but one of innumerable others. And unknowable vastness between and beyond them all.
Yet here I was, a living, breathing, thinking being, every cell in my body converting matter into energy, performing a thousand tiny miracles every minute. Sitting on that impossibly small speck, struck by the wonders around me, capable of imagining the wonders beyond my world.
I took a deep, deep breath. It was good to be alive.
After a moment I stood up, and gathered my lunch things into my backpack. The car and my gear was nearby, and the afternoon's work awaited me. Reluctant to relinquish my oneness with the world, I laid an almost reverent hand on the outcrop, my hand pressed flat against its ancient, grainy surface. It was warm and solid to the touch, seeming to radiate permanence, or at least patience. It simply was. One day it wouldn't be, but it had been for a very long time, and would continue to be, in that place, for a good while yet. It had seen innumerable ages, withstood glaciers and storms and aeons of burial deep in the ground.
Anything I imagined I felt was only the reflected, and highly unscientific affection I had for the earth and its rocks. I could not divine the history of this sandstone by touching it, any more than I could commune with some non-existent spirit and convey my own quiet awe. The secrets in the earth are revealed only by meticulous and exacting study. But out here, alone with the elements, I permitted myself such occasional flights of fancy.
I was not a religion person. But I imagined that praying might feel like this. My hand to the stone, I felt grateful to be alive and where I was. To be aware of these wonders that so many people took for granted, or never even thought about. Thankful that they existed.
Finally I tore myself away, chuckling at the thought of anyone at the university catching me like that. Even Glen would have shaken his head, smiling. He knew all about my love affair with the earth, he shared my passion for geology, after all. But I always felt that I took it more to heart than he did, just that little way further. And my imagination was more active (hyperactive, he might say).
I went back to my gear, back to the cold and clinical world of hard science.
--------
Something of that fey mood persisted in the back of my head throughout the day though, I suppose. When I got back to the village, I didn't want to be cooped up in my room at the B&B, eating noodles from a microwave. I decided to brave the local pub and have my meal there, for a change.
They all stared at me as I walked in, of course. A stranger, an Englishwoman, pink beanie crammed into pocket, armload of journal articles, short hair. Oh, the horror! My meal ordered, I retreated to an unoccupied booth. Entering the pub was one thing, but imposing an attempt at conversation on some stranger was not going to be on the agenda, regardless of where I was. I ignored the (possibly) imagined eyes on me and started reading about the zeolite facies. I kept reading papers as I ate – the meal was good, and if there was any spit in the food, I didn't notice. The beer was good too, and I got through several in the course of the meal and my reading afterwards. It just felt good to be relaxed, the quiet hubbub of conversation comforting in the background, the booth and the papers insulating me from the need to join in, the air warm from an open fire, smelling of wood smoke and not cigarettes.
Another beer arrived in front of me, just as I realised I'd read the same sentence five times and still not absorbed it. There was also the unmistakable sound of someone sitting down opposite me.
I froze. That barman was getting awfully bold, I thought from behind the paper I was unsuccessfully reading. I hadn't even ordered this one. I inched the paper down, and saw the top of a black beanie.
Oh, surely not.
I brought the paper the rest of the way down and laid it on the table, revealing Ed. A second beer rested before him. There was a faint trace of foam on the upper part of his goatee, stretched around another smile which was starting to look strained. I assembled a makeshift smile of my own.
"Small world," he said.
"Small village," I countered. Should have bloody known he'd be staying here too, I berated myself. Still, what was I to do, hide in my poky B&B room out of fear of running into him? Nonsense. I glanced around, wondering if his family was in here too. No sign of the dark-haired woman. Probably still untangling her hair from three days ago, I smirked to myself. Ed must have thought I had warmed up to him, by my smile.
"I see you've not been lynched yet," he said, with a glance around the room at the locals. Eyes snapped away from the booth we occupied.
"Yet," I echoed in grim tones, but couldn't keep the poker face. How many beers had I had? Ed didn't seem quite such an arse with a few drinks in me, I mused. "Don't worry," I went on in a stage whisper. "Your dirty little secret is safe with me." I gave him an exaggerated wink, and he gave an amused snort, once he figured out that I was referring to his birthplace.
"I don't think it's just your Englishness making the locals hostile... they think you're surveying for the people wanting to build these wind turbines," Ed confided in lowered tones.
"Wind turbines? I don't know anything about that. And they can think what they like, I'll be gone soon enough."
Ed shrugged, and took a drink. I let the subject drop – I didn't really want to dwell on why half the village didn't like me.
"I'm not sure your wife would approve of your accosting a strange woman like this," I said after a moment, in my poshest tones. "And trying to get me drunk too, hmm?" I poked suspiciously at the beer.
"I assure you, madam, my intentions are entirely honourable," he replied, hand on heart. Somehow his accent made the statement sound deeply suspect. I had to chuckle.
"We'll see." I took a sip of the beer, and watched Ed do the same. He wiped the foam away this time.
Wait. Still wearing the beanie?!
"I've heard you go bald if you wear hats indoors," I said, all innocence. Ed nearly choked on a mouthful of beer. Spluttering gave way to coughing, which eventually became laughter. I was laughing too, infected by his mirthful over-reaction. He must have had a few beers before coming over here, I thought.
"I'll take the risk," he said, deadpan. I wondered what he might be hiding up there.
I noticed, quite randomly, that he had an oddly-placed earring in his left ear.
He tilted his head, trying to read the title of one of the papers, while I took another drink. "What are you reading?"
I scooted the paper across to him and watched him mouthing the title before attempting it aloud. "'Processes, facies and architecture of fluvial distributary system deposits'?"
I nodded. Lord, was he going to read the abstract? Yes, yes he was.
He gave up after a few seconds though, grinning ruefully. "This isn't the sort of rock I'm familiar with," he said, handing the paper back.
"Oh, you're into the igneous stuff, hmm?" I said, deliberately misunderstanding him. "Basalt, granitic batholiths? Volcanoes?"
"Volcanoes do hold a certain appeal," he said in his softly-spoken voice. "Hollywood has certainly cashed in on their popularity."
I made a rude noise. "Don't mention Pierce Brosnan to me," I said. "Although I suppose I shouldn't blame him. All these writers and producers want everything to be exaggerated. The swimming pool boils, the lake turns into pure acid, the bloody volcano produces two types of eruption at once, our hero drives over molten lava, AND outruns a bloody pyroclastic flow. A pyroclastic flow! In a beaten-up old jeep! And manages to survive only by ducking just inside the entrance to an old bloody mine shaft." I sighed a deeply disgusted sigh. Ed was chuckling.
"I'm sorry, that bloody film never fails to wind me up," I said, acknowledging my over-reaction with a chuckle of my own. I took another drink. "Don't even get me started on Jurassic Park!"
"I take it you're not a fan of volcanoes, then," Ed said, wisely avoiding the topic of dinosaur movies.
"Oh no, I love volcanoes," I replied, suddenly serious. "You gotta be careful, give them respect, especially the stratovolcanoes. With shield volcanoes you still have to be careful, but you can get closer to the action." I leaned forward, intense. "I've stood in the caldera of Kilauea, sulphur-laden steam pouring from the ground, the rocks and ashes warm underfoot. I've seen basalt twisted into fantastic shapes, the lava hardened in the act of flowing or splattering or dripping. I've seen colours shining on the surface of new lava rock like you wouldn't believe. I've walked through old lava tubes, and next to active flows... felt the heat of the earth's inner fires, bleeding out under the air and into the sea..."
If I hadn't been staring into Ed's face, carried away by my own enthusiasm, I might not have seen something flash behind his eyes. We both stared at each other in a moment of silence, but then I blinked, sat back, and laughed ruefully. Ed shook his head, smiled, rubbed the back of his neck.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I've had a few drinks, and I tend to ramble if you get me started on geology." I felt an idiot, waxing lyrical to a total stranger about bloody volcanoes. At least my face was already red from the quantity of beer.
"Don't apologise," Ed replied. "I've been to Hawaii. I didn't spend as much time on the Big Island as I would have liked, though. It's a fascinating place."
I nodded in agreement. "I was lucky enough to live there for six months or so, years ago. I could settle there, quite happily!"
Ed chuckled dutifully, but an awkward silence had descended. I tried to look subtly at my watch.
"I should be going," Ed said, saving me the effort of saying something similar.
"Thanks for the drink," I replied. I wobbled to my feet, but something of the old wariness stopped me from saying something about owing him one. He stood, nodded, and took his leave.
Well, I thought. That was weird.
--------
I spent another few days in the field there, finishing the survey and taking the soil samples. I didn't have the ability to analyse them in the field, so I couldn't yet hazard a guess as to what might be causing the otherwise fertile-looking soil to foil attempts to coax crops out of it. Trees, grass, fine; but that was all. The geophysical map the magnetometer was creating was coming together nicely, however. There were several spots where I was sure the archaeologists would want to dig, some very clear reflections hinting at buried artefacts.
My last day of surveying took me into the area of the stone circle. Every time I walked up the valley, in the course of my grid, the circle loomed closer, then receded as I walked back again. I could almost feel it watching me whenever I walked away from it, through the contraption on my back. The circle itself wasn't technically in the scan area I'd been given, although only by 20 metres, and I had the feeling that it was inaccurately placed on the maps the university had. They were probably expecting me to scan in there, too, I kept thinking, as I walked back and forth. There's probably stuff buried in there. Graves or structures or offerings or something. But, it's not in my area. They can't say I didn't do the work if I don't include it.
Once I'd finished, and had the magnetometer plugged into the laptop, I wandered up to the circle again. I wrestled with my minor dilemma as I walked around the stones... I knew that I really should run the magnetometer over the whole hilltop, but for some perverse reason, I didn't want to. There was plenty of work for the archaeologists over the rest of the area, what's another few stone tools they won't dig up?
I made the decision. Let the ground here remain a mystery, for at least a little longer.
All the way back to the village, I berated myself for unprofessional conduct. What if they never employ you again? I asked myself. There are other universities, I replied, and besides, it's not as if I didn't do what I'd been employed to do. No one had mentioned that circle to me specifically. For all I knew, they didn't even know it was there. My professional self scoffed at that, and I had to concede the point. I had put my reputation at risk, and for what? No good reason at all.
-------------------
Disclaimer: All fiction. Highly improbable fiction, at that.
end of chapter 2:
--------
"The strange thing was, I took an instant dislike to him. From the second I saw him, he just... I dunno. It was weird. The guy's a jerk." I was surprised at the vehemence still in my voice. I think Glen was too, because there was a brief silence on the line.
"Jerks are all too plentiful, you know. I'm sure you told him where to go," Glen said, a knowing tone in his voice. I had to laugh.
--------------
Chapter 3:
--------------
The next three days passed uneventfully, just like most of the previous ones that week. I walked back and forth collecting data, took soil samples, plugged it all into the laptop and took copious notes. The familiar routine finally over-rode any lingering strangeness from that one day.
On this particular day, I ate my lunch with my back to a sun-warmed outcrop of sandstone. The sky was clear, although the cool wind still blew in fits and starts, apparently unwilling to release its grip on the turning season. Summer would have its way sooner or later, I thought. You may gust with your chilliest breath, wind, but the sun is growing stronger, the days lengthening, the earth warming relentlessly. Give it up and wait for autumn.
The wind has no patience, I thought, following my personification of the elements further. The earth knows how to wait. All things will happen in their own time. The wind is always rushing about, hither and yon. Clouds pile up and collapse again in minutes; mountains do so over millions of years. But it is wind and water that wear them down, so who wins in the end? Nobody; there are no winners. The particles from worn-down mountains become rock and soil once more, compacting into layers, waiting to be raised up again... or buried still deeper, undergoing yet another metamorphosis, closer to the fires at the centre of the earth.
It was all so elegant, so beautiful, so complete. Almost poetic. My sandwich eaten, I put my head back to rest on the sandstone, staring upward into a bottomless blue sky. There were distant stars out there, I knew, invisible in the glare of our sun. The universe loomed overhead, all around, casting this little ball of rock into utter insignificance. Just one speck orbiting a tiny spark, lost on the edge of a colossal galaxy, itself but one of innumerable others. And unknowable vastness between and beyond them all.
Yet here I was, a living, breathing, thinking being, every cell in my body converting matter into energy, performing a thousand tiny miracles every minute. Sitting on that impossibly small speck, struck by the wonders around me, capable of imagining the wonders beyond my world.
I took a deep, deep breath. It was good to be alive.
After a moment I stood up, and gathered my lunch things into my backpack. The car and my gear was nearby, and the afternoon's work awaited me. Reluctant to relinquish my oneness with the world, I laid an almost reverent hand on the outcrop, my hand pressed flat against its ancient, grainy surface. It was warm and solid to the touch, seeming to radiate permanence, or at least patience. It simply was. One day it wouldn't be, but it had been for a very long time, and would continue to be, in that place, for a good while yet. It had seen innumerable ages, withstood glaciers and storms and aeons of burial deep in the ground.
Anything I imagined I felt was only the reflected, and highly unscientific affection I had for the earth and its rocks. I could not divine the history of this sandstone by touching it, any more than I could commune with some non-existent spirit and convey my own quiet awe. The secrets in the earth are revealed only by meticulous and exacting study. But out here, alone with the elements, I permitted myself such occasional flights of fancy.
I was not a religion person. But I imagined that praying might feel like this. My hand to the stone, I felt grateful to be alive and where I was. To be aware of these wonders that so many people took for granted, or never even thought about. Thankful that they existed.
Finally I tore myself away, chuckling at the thought of anyone at the university catching me like that. Even Glen would have shaken his head, smiling. He knew all about my love affair with the earth, he shared my passion for geology, after all. But I always felt that I took it more to heart than he did, just that little way further. And my imagination was more active (hyperactive, he might say).
I went back to my gear, back to the cold and clinical world of hard science.
--------
Something of that fey mood persisted in the back of my head throughout the day though, I suppose. When I got back to the village, I didn't want to be cooped up in my room at the B&B, eating noodles from a microwave. I decided to brave the local pub and have my meal there, for a change.
They all stared at me as I walked in, of course. A stranger, an Englishwoman, pink beanie crammed into pocket, armload of journal articles, short hair. Oh, the horror! My meal ordered, I retreated to an unoccupied booth. Entering the pub was one thing, but imposing an attempt at conversation on some stranger was not going to be on the agenda, regardless of where I was. I ignored the (possibly) imagined eyes on me and started reading about the zeolite facies. I kept reading papers as I ate – the meal was good, and if there was any spit in the food, I didn't notice. The beer was good too, and I got through several in the course of the meal and my reading afterwards. It just felt good to be relaxed, the quiet hubbub of conversation comforting in the background, the booth and the papers insulating me from the need to join in, the air warm from an open fire, smelling of wood smoke and not cigarettes.
Another beer arrived in front of me, just as I realised I'd read the same sentence five times and still not absorbed it. There was also the unmistakable sound of someone sitting down opposite me.
I froze. That barman was getting awfully bold, I thought from behind the paper I was unsuccessfully reading. I hadn't even ordered this one. I inched the paper down, and saw the top of a black beanie.
Oh, surely not.
I brought the paper the rest of the way down and laid it on the table, revealing Ed. A second beer rested before him. There was a faint trace of foam on the upper part of his goatee, stretched around another smile which was starting to look strained. I assembled a makeshift smile of my own.
"Small world," he said.
"Small village," I countered. Should have bloody known he'd be staying here too, I berated myself. Still, what was I to do, hide in my poky B&B room out of fear of running into him? Nonsense. I glanced around, wondering if his family was in here too. No sign of the dark-haired woman. Probably still untangling her hair from three days ago, I smirked to myself. Ed must have thought I had warmed up to him, by my smile.
"I see you've not been lynched yet," he said, with a glance around the room at the locals. Eyes snapped away from the booth we occupied.
"Yet," I echoed in grim tones, but couldn't keep the poker face. How many beers had I had? Ed didn't seem quite such an arse with a few drinks in me, I mused. "Don't worry," I went on in a stage whisper. "Your dirty little secret is safe with me." I gave him an exaggerated wink, and he gave an amused snort, once he figured out that I was referring to his birthplace.
"I don't think it's just your Englishness making the locals hostile... they think you're surveying for the people wanting to build these wind turbines," Ed confided in lowered tones.
"Wind turbines? I don't know anything about that. And they can think what they like, I'll be gone soon enough."
Ed shrugged, and took a drink. I let the subject drop – I didn't really want to dwell on why half the village didn't like me.
"I'm not sure your wife would approve of your accosting a strange woman like this," I said after a moment, in my poshest tones. "And trying to get me drunk too, hmm?" I poked suspiciously at the beer.
"I assure you, madam, my intentions are entirely honourable," he replied, hand on heart. Somehow his accent made the statement sound deeply suspect. I had to chuckle.
"We'll see." I took a sip of the beer, and watched Ed do the same. He wiped the foam away this time.
Wait. Still wearing the beanie?!
"I've heard you go bald if you wear hats indoors," I said, all innocence. Ed nearly choked on a mouthful of beer. Spluttering gave way to coughing, which eventually became laughter. I was laughing too, infected by his mirthful over-reaction. He must have had a few beers before coming over here, I thought.
"I'll take the risk," he said, deadpan. I wondered what he might be hiding up there.
I noticed, quite randomly, that he had an oddly-placed earring in his left ear.
He tilted his head, trying to read the title of one of the papers, while I took another drink. "What are you reading?"
I scooted the paper across to him and watched him mouthing the title before attempting it aloud. "'Processes, facies and architecture of fluvial distributary system deposits'?"
I nodded. Lord, was he going to read the abstract? Yes, yes he was.
He gave up after a few seconds though, grinning ruefully. "This isn't the sort of rock I'm familiar with," he said, handing the paper back.
"Oh, you're into the igneous stuff, hmm?" I said, deliberately misunderstanding him. "Basalt, granitic batholiths? Volcanoes?"
"Volcanoes do hold a certain appeal," he said in his softly-spoken voice. "Hollywood has certainly cashed in on their popularity."
I made a rude noise. "Don't mention Pierce Brosnan to me," I said. "Although I suppose I shouldn't blame him. All these writers and producers want everything to be exaggerated. The swimming pool boils, the lake turns into pure acid, the bloody volcano produces two types of eruption at once, our hero drives over molten lava, AND outruns a bloody pyroclastic flow. A pyroclastic flow! In a beaten-up old jeep! And manages to survive only by ducking just inside the entrance to an old bloody mine shaft." I sighed a deeply disgusted sigh. Ed was chuckling.
"I'm sorry, that bloody film never fails to wind me up," I said, acknowledging my over-reaction with a chuckle of my own. I took another drink. "Don't even get me started on Jurassic Park!"
"I take it you're not a fan of volcanoes, then," Ed said, wisely avoiding the topic of dinosaur movies.
"Oh no, I love volcanoes," I replied, suddenly serious. "You gotta be careful, give them respect, especially the stratovolcanoes. With shield volcanoes you still have to be careful, but you can get closer to the action." I leaned forward, intense. "I've stood in the caldera of Kilauea, sulphur-laden steam pouring from the ground, the rocks and ashes warm underfoot. I've seen basalt twisted into fantastic shapes, the lava hardened in the act of flowing or splattering or dripping. I've seen colours shining on the surface of new lava rock like you wouldn't believe. I've walked through old lava tubes, and next to active flows... felt the heat of the earth's inner fires, bleeding out under the air and into the sea..."
If I hadn't been staring into Ed's face, carried away by my own enthusiasm, I might not have seen something flash behind his eyes. We both stared at each other in a moment of silence, but then I blinked, sat back, and laughed ruefully. Ed shook his head, smiled, rubbed the back of his neck.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I've had a few drinks, and I tend to ramble if you get me started on geology." I felt an idiot, waxing lyrical to a total stranger about bloody volcanoes. At least my face was already red from the quantity of beer.
"Don't apologise," Ed replied. "I've been to Hawaii. I didn't spend as much time on the Big Island as I would have liked, though. It's a fascinating place."
I nodded in agreement. "I was lucky enough to live there for six months or so, years ago. I could settle there, quite happily!"
Ed chuckled dutifully, but an awkward silence had descended. I tried to look subtly at my watch.
"I should be going," Ed said, saving me the effort of saying something similar.
"Thanks for the drink," I replied. I wobbled to my feet, but something of the old wariness stopped me from saying something about owing him one. He stood, nodded, and took his leave.
Well, I thought. That was weird.
--------
I spent another few days in the field there, finishing the survey and taking the soil samples. I didn't have the ability to analyse them in the field, so I couldn't yet hazard a guess as to what might be causing the otherwise fertile-looking soil to foil attempts to coax crops out of it. Trees, grass, fine; but that was all. The geophysical map the magnetometer was creating was coming together nicely, however. There were several spots where I was sure the archaeologists would want to dig, some very clear reflections hinting at buried artefacts.
My last day of surveying took me into the area of the stone circle. Every time I walked up the valley, in the course of my grid, the circle loomed closer, then receded as I walked back again. I could almost feel it watching me whenever I walked away from it, through the contraption on my back. The circle itself wasn't technically in the scan area I'd been given, although only by 20 metres, and I had the feeling that it was inaccurately placed on the maps the university had. They were probably expecting me to scan in there, too, I kept thinking, as I walked back and forth. There's probably stuff buried in there. Graves or structures or offerings or something. But, it's not in my area. They can't say I didn't do the work if I don't include it.
Once I'd finished, and had the magnetometer plugged into the laptop, I wandered up to the circle again. I wrestled with my minor dilemma as I walked around the stones... I knew that I really should run the magnetometer over the whole hilltop, but for some perverse reason, I didn't want to. There was plenty of work for the archaeologists over the rest of the area, what's another few stone tools they won't dig up?
I made the decision. Let the ground here remain a mystery, for at least a little longer.
All the way back to the village, I berated myself for unprofessional conduct. What if they never employ you again? I asked myself. There are other universities, I replied, and besides, it's not as if I didn't do what I'd been employed to do. No one had mentioned that circle to me specifically. For all I knew, they didn't even know it was there. My professional self scoffed at that, and I had to concede the point. I had put my reputation at risk, and for what? No good reason at all.
-------------------
New chapter! And I got first review!
Volcanoes rule, volcano movies suck.
So that's what happened! Ed wore his hat inside too often. 
I still love you the best. 
