Timeline - Michael Crichton [40]
Site contamination was extremely serious, and they all knew it. Because it implied sloppy excavation technique, it called into question any other, legitimate discoveries made by the team. A typical instance was a minor scandal at Les Eyzies the year before.
Les Eyzies was a Paleolithic site, a habitation of early man beneath a cliff ledge. The archaeologists had been digging at a level that dated to 320,000 B.P., when one of them found a half-buried condom. It was still in its metallic wrapper, and nobody thought for a moment that it belonged at that level. But the fact that it had been found there—half-buried—suggested that they were not being careful in their technique. It caused a near panic among the team, which persisted even after a graduate student was sent back to Paris in disgrace.
“Where is this glass lens?” Chris said to Marek.
“Kate has it.”
She gave it to Chris. While everyone else was cheering, he turned away, unwrapped the package, and held the baggie up to the light.
“Definitely modern,” he said. He shook his head unhappily. “I’ll check it out. Just make sure you include it in the site report.”
Marek said he would.
Then Rick Chang turned away and clapped his hands. “All right, everybody. Excitement’s over. Back to work!”
In the afternoon, Marek scheduled archery practice. The undergraduates were amused by it, and they never missed a session; recently Kate had taken it up, as well. The target today was a straw-filled scarecrow, set about fifty yards away. The kids were all lined up, holding their bows, and Marek strode down behind them.
“To kill a man,” he said, “you have to remember: he is almost certainly wearing plate armor on his chest. He’s less likely to have armor on his head and neck, or on his legs. So to kill him, you must shoot him in the head, or on the side of his torso, where the plates don’t cover.”
Kate listened to Marek, amused. André took everything so seriously. To kill a man. As if he really meant it. Standing in the yellow afternoon sunlight of southern France, hearing the distant honk of cars on the road, the idea seemed slightly absurd.
“But if you want to stop a man,” Marek continued, “then shoot him in the leg. He’ll go right down. Today we’ll use the fifty-pound bows.”
Fifty pounds referred to the draw weight, what was needed to pull the string back. The bows were certainly heavy, and difficult to draw. The arrows were almost three feet long. Many of the kids had trouble with it, especially at first. Marek usually finished each practice session with some weight lifting, to build up their muscles.
Marek himself could draw a hundred-pound bow. Although it was difficult to believe, he insisted that this was the size of actual fourteenth-century weapons—far beyond what any of them could use.
“All right,” Marek said, “nock your arrows, aim, and loose them, please.” Arrows flew through the air. “No, no, no, David, don’t pull until you tremble. Maintain control. Carl, look at your stance. Bob, too high. Deanna, remember your fingers. Rick, that was much better. All right, here we go again, nock your arrows, aim, and . . . loose them!”
:
It was late in the afternoon when Stern called Marek on the radio, and asked him to come to the farmhouse. He said he had good news. Marek found him at the microscope, examining the lens.
“What is it?”
“Here. Look for yourself.” He stepped aside, and Marek looked. He saw the lens, and the sharp line of the bifocal cut. Here and there, the lens was lightly spotted with white circles, as if from bacteria.
“What am I supposed to see?” Marek said.
“Left edge.”
He moved the stage, bringing the left edge into view. Refracted in the light, the edge looked very white. Then he noticed that the whiteness spilled over the edge, onto the surface of the lens itself.
“That’s bacteria growing on the lens,” Stern said. “It’s like rock varnish.”
Rock varnish was the term for the patina of bacteria and mold that grew on the underside of rocks. Because