A Short Science Fiction Story

In the last moments of my life, I recalled my conversation with Dr. Johnson regarding the time machine. He had explained that the machine could travel through time, but not space. So I could go forward or backward in time, but would remain in the same location. Johnson had indicated the platform on which the machine stood, and said "this is the very height, down to the millimeter, of the land at this location prior to the construction of this facility."

He was proud of the machine, of the scientific work behind it, and, strangely, of having built the simple wooden platform. The USAF had sent me to be his test pilot, and I was getting ready to see this little corner of Nevada as it was in 1850, though I doubt it would be too terribly different from what it was now, other than the lack of pre-fab standardized government-issue buildings.

I thought of this after the laboratory had vanished, and was replaced with a starscape and a darkness more complete than anything I had ever seen on earth. I thought of this as the capsule exploded around me, it's internal air supply forcing it's relatively weak seems to break against the vacuum. And I completed my thoughts of this conversation as space sucked the air from my lungs and I could feel my eyes turning to ice.




Note: I have always been puzzled by science fiction stories that portray traveling forward or backward in time while remaining in the same spot on Earth as travel through space but not time. The planet, Solar System, and even galaxy are always moving. So, if you were to travel through space but not time, you wouldn't end up in the same point on earth but in a different year. Statistically speaking, you would most likely end up in the vacuum of space.

Research vs. Management

I have had the strange experience these last few weeks of being confronted face-on with the difference between research-oriented archaeology and management/compliance-oriented archaeology.

I have been out in the Mojave again - called out at the last minute to help define the boundaries of archaeological sites in order to ensure that they will not be harmed by planned construction activities, in this case, the use of specific dirt roads to get to and from construction locations. This means that I have spent the last two weeks digging 50-centimeter wide holes, sifting the soil through metal mesh screens, and making a catalogue of what was found, and then filling the hole back in.

And those of you who were in the Army probably thought that you were the only people required to continuously dig holes and fill them back in again.

This process is not nearly as arduous as it may sound when you are finding archaeological materials or when the soil is easy to dig and to screen. But digging through it is a bit like digging through concrete. So, we have had long days of hard physical labor. One the one hand, it is commendable that my client is going through such trouble to make sure that it doesn't damage any archaeological sites. On the other hand, my hands, shoulders, and back have probably aged ten years in the last two weeks.

Simultaneous with this field work, I have been working on a paper for publication in an archaeology journal. It is based on my Masters thesis, and represents and effort to reconcile two strands of anthropological data that are frequently at odds with each other. While working on the paper, I have been reminded of both the difficulty of doing the work that resulted in my thesis, and also the intellectual pleasure that I took in analyzing the data and writing the document.

Or, put another way, I have been reminded of what originally attracted me to archaeology in the first place.

It's a bit demoralizing to be working on a project that is regulation/management-driven and so far way from any real archaeology while simultaneously working on a research project. I know that not all of my projects are like this, and that my line of work has allowed me to dig up airplane crashes, cling to cliffsides, climb mountains, get whisked around in helicopters, and all kinds of other groovy things. However, at the moment, I am feeling a bit low, and wondering why I didn't become a dental hygienist.

So it goes.

Good Line

Every once in a while, I see a line that gets me just right, a way of phrasing things that just amuses me no end. A classic example comes from Douglas Adams, who described a fleet of spaceships as "hovering int he air exaclty the way that bricks don't."

Today, I saw another example at my friend Evan's blog:

While I am not the biggest fan of McDonald's® I do find their playarea to be a convenient place to sit and talk with my wife without the need for a babysitter.

That's some good writing, Evan.

Drowning in Data

I am preparing a chapter in an upcoming book on Californian archaeology. The purpose of the book is to provide a cross section of the northern portion of southern California (which the locals erroneously refer to as "central California" despite the fact that it's not central), from west to East, starting with the Channel Islands and ending at the Sierra Nevada. I am writing one of the two chapters on the inland valleys.

I had thought that the chapter was due in November, and so I have been concentrating on writing another chapter for anotgher book by the same editor that I had thought was due in October. Turn out I had the due dates turned around - the larger paper (the one on the inland valleys) is due in October, and the second paper is due in November. Meanwhile, I have had a project in which we normally get lodging at a dormitory (the Hell Hole project) turn into one where we are camping (because the facility is being rented out by a third party during the time that we will be there). So, I have lost two weeks of writing time.

In other words, updates here will likely be sporadic for a little while, while I get the papers finished and do the field work for this project.

Ugh.