Doctor Who_ Beyond the Sun - Matthew Jones [9]
Bernice was speaking rapidly to herself under her breath. ‘Probably a water pipe, built to bring fresh water to the Chelonian slave dwelling from the reservoir further up the hill – although the diameter of the pipe is rather large for a water pipe.’
Continuing to completely ignore Tameka’s complaints, Bernice knelt down to examine it further, her knees sinking into the soft mud. ‘This is no water pipe . . .’
Bernice turned to Emile. ‘Go to the Excavation Director’s office,’ she started, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. ‘Tell them we need a coprolite analyst down here at the double.
Hurry.’
‘Coprolite analyst,’ Emile repeated, carefully committing the words to memory. ‘OK, Professor S,’ he added, and nodded obediently before clambering out of the pit, levering himself up on one knee.
He hadn’t been that bothered about wearing one of the brightly coloured cagoules that were standard issue at the archaeological site. His was bright yellow and made him look like a giant jelly bean.
Tameka did her best to remove the worst of the mud from the back of her skirt and all down her woollen leggings. She suspected that the skirt was ruined. She almost regretted not having put on one of the waterproofs. But a promise was a promise. She’d made a solemn vow when she arrived on Apollox 4 that she would never put on one of the hideous fluorescent suits that most of the diggers wore. She was no fashion victim – not like the zero brains at St Oscar’s – but there were levels to which she was unwilling to descend.
Despite her earlier outburst, she couldn’t stop herself from feeling intrigued by Bernice’s sudden interest in the site wall. ‘What? What have you found?’ she asked, trying without success to shake off the slimy grey mud that clung to her hands and embedded itself behind her black-painted fingernails.
‘Correction,’ Bernice smiled, wagging a finger at her. ‘What you’ve found.’ She traced the dark circle with a brush. ‘This could be really important.’
‘Yeah, but what is it?’
Bernice was too busy with her own thoughts to answer. Which, Tameka already knew from spending a week in her company, was typical of the young professor. In many ways Bernice was a typical academic. She was completely absent-minded, often distracted, and sometimes she was almost embarrassingly awkward in social situations. But she was also warm, funny and didn’t ever use her expertise to put you down. It was as if it mattered to her whether you understood the subject. She was the first teacher Tameka had ever had who treated her students like . . . well, like people.
Tameka looked at the skinny woman, crouching in the mud in her battered combat trousers and cheap shirt. It had to be said, though, that the woman did not know how to dress.
‘This pipe must run down to the main system,’ Bernice muttered, completely lost in her investigation. ‘It’s rare to find them still intact. The Chelonians didn’t build their slave dwellings to last.
In a good waterlogged site like this one, there’s a chance that we might find some actual coprolites. That’s if we’re really lucky.’
‘Coprolites?’ Tameka had never heard of them before. ‘Are they valuable?’
Bernice began to loosen the mud packed inside the pipe with the tip of her trowel. ‘Well, no, not in themselves.’ She seemed to find something slightly amusing. ‘Not financially anyway. But from an archaeological point of view, they’re invaluable. They can help us form real insight about the lives of the people who lived here.’
‘Oh right.’ Tameka began to lose interest. ‘They’re not worth anything, then?’
‘If you want to find buried treasure, buy a metal detector,’ Bernice scolded. ‘This is archaeology, not beachcombing.’
‘OK, OK, I know. You don’t have to give me the lecture.’ Not again. ‘I was just wondering, that’s all.’
Bernice popped her head up from her work and winked. ‘I know you were, Tameka, I know you were.’ Her tone was gentle and affectionate. Bernice