Emilio sat next to Fraya in the shallow water of the warm ocean. Their legs were stretched out in front of them in the sand, the pull of the sea lapping at their feet with sporadic intervals. The strings of Fraya’s bikini that tied on her hips moved with the water. He felt an urge to undo them, to release the red fabric, watch it pull back with the tide and float to the bottom of the ocean, for all he cared. The thought that other men had seen her in that very same bathing suit filled him with an unknown possessiveness.
In the four days they had been here, they had made love everywhere–in the bed, on the patio, in the Jacuzzi, on the beach, and just now, in the ocean. He couldn’t possibly demand her again. Yet, his body could. He seemed to never get enough of his mate. She was different to any other woman he had ever known. And his feelings were different. Even his physical behavior had changed. What they were doing with such satisfying intensity was more than fucking. It was making love. Emilio couldn’t believe his luck. She was the perfect woman, and she was mated to him. For the first time in his life he almost felt happy. Almost. Despite their mutually satisfying lovemaking, he could still feel Fraya’s emotional distance.
He regarded her perfect body, shimmering with the glitter of droplets and sand stuck to her skin. She seemed preoccupied and he knew why. Her thoughts were no doubt milling around work. From the day he had learned about her history and her achievements, he had admired her strength and her intelligence. He loved that as much as he loved her body. He marveled at her independence as much as he doted on her sweet face. Yet, a part of him loathed the thought of having to let her go for another eight days the minute they got back home. The selfish part of him wanted her with him, day and night. The mature part of him realized that Fraya could not have her wings clipped or be commanded. Even as he demanded the physical part of her, he knew the day would come when he’d have to set her free. His only hope was that she would, by then, love him enough to stay. But more than anything, he wanted her to succeed. He wanted her to fulfill her dreams, even if it meant opening the tight fist he felt like wrapping around her, watching her go every eight days with an ache in his loins and an even deeper pain in his heart. He would do anything for this woman.
“Where are you?” he said, wiping her wet hair behind her ear.
She stared into the distance. “Am I not here?”
“We’re only scheduled to leave the day after tomorrow. If you want, we can go back sooner. I could get the plane here this afternoon.”
Her head turned quickly, her beautiful dark eyes looking both hopeful and uncertain. “Is it that obvious?”
“That you’re worried about work? Yes, it’s clear, at least to me.”
“You’re not mad?”
He touched her cheek, felt the smoothness of her skin under his palm. “I like that about you.”
She awarded him with a brilliant smile. “That I’m preoccupied?”
“That you’re dedicated.”
“It’s so beautiful here.” She looked back over the ocean. “This was the most thoughtful gift ever, Emilio.” She faced him again. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful.”
“I don’t.”
“So you won’t mind if we head home today?”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.” He saw her shoulders visibly relax. “What’s eating you?”
“It’s this problem I’ve got to figure out. I just can’t get my head around it.”
Emilio watched the little frown that played on her brow. He enjoyed studying her when her guard was down, when she didn’t wear a mask. Her answer was evasive, but he decided not to question her. Fraya was the kind of woman who had to work things out for herself.
Her face smoothed, as if her thoughts had shifted. She turned on her side, resting her head in her hand.
“I’ll never forget this. Thank you. At least we’ve had enough sex to still our addiction for another eight days,” she offered in an attempt of humor, he knew, but he was in a serious mood.
He moved over her, pushing her body into the soft sand.
“I need you less, but I want you more,” he said, searching her eyes, and then her lips.
* * * *
Traveling back to the observatory, Fraya’s mind wasn’t on the preliminary proposal she had spent her remaining two days in Santiago fine-tuning, or the unexpected ally she had found in Welser when she had presented her plan in his office. It was on Emilio and his sudden tenderness. Could he at last have forgiven her for her betrayal? Him being kind to her didn’t help her determination not to get hurt. It made it difficult not to fall for the man who didn’t love her.
Reprimanding herself for not being focused on the task at hand, her thoughts went back to Welser’s reaction to her proposal. He had seemed supportive, but was evasive in making any promises. Welser had warned her that she would have to sell her idea to Saunders, and she wasn’t sure of the level of resistance she would encounter. Already Saunders wasn’t making a secret of how unhappy he was about her employment, and now she was going to suggest veering from the path of the objective laid out for her.
Walking into Saunders’s office on Monday morning, armed with her scientific paper, she reminded herself that this was her dream. It was what she had envisioned herself doing, and if not, her career would seem like a failure. Her goals were getting in the way of her job, but she still harbored the belief that the two could be married without stepping on Andrews’s toes, if only Saunders would see it in the same way.
Now she watched Saunders go through her document with agonizing attention, scrutinizing every line and every formula.
Fraya sat silently facing him. At long last he looked up, his expression incredulous.
“You’re actually asking me to change your job description,” he said tightly.
She focused on his creased shirt and mismatching tie, trying to remain still and not bounce her knee and bite her nails like she wanted to. “It’s possible to do both.”
“You’re proposing archeology, not astronomy.”
“It’s archeological astronomy.”
Saunders threw the paper down. “And your part in it is astronomy. You’re asking me to send you into the field. I signed you on for a desk job.”
“But the field work is integral to the astronomical side of it. I can’t do it properly if I’m bound to my desk.”
“We already have an archeologist on site. If we needed another one, the International Association would have appointed one. First you convinced me to let you meddle in cosmology with your dark matter theory, and now this! I’ve already busted my balls to get you time on the telescopes for a project that doesn’t fit your job description. I’ve made promises, created expectations, and now I need an answer to dark matter, damn it, not to mythology.”
“It would be an incredible find for the SWO. Funds would be granted from other governmental departments and international organizations if we can pull this off.”
“This is horse-shit crazy. You’re suggesting finding some acclaimed lost city based on mapping the stars.”
“Others have. They’ve revolutionized the theory behind the history of the Egyptian and Inca pyramids. We will do the same.”
“I’m familiar with Hancock’s work,” he said with irritation. “That’s old news. But Hancock was an archeologist. And you’re not. This is Professor Andrews’s territory.”
“Yes, but both Hancock and Andrews needed astronomers to match the geographic layout of the ancient sites to star constellations to determine a time slot for the actual construction of the sites.”
“And it had been done. They’ve fixed it at 10 500 BC. So what?”
Fraya pointed at the graph in front of him. “All the known sites are situated on longitudes spaced seventy-two degrees around the globe. They follow a line drawn from the Equator at the mouth of the Amazon River. The line crosses over the source of the Nile, the mouth of the Tigris, Euphrates, the Indus River and the Bay of Bengal near the mouth of the Ganges River. There are seven sites on the line. But the line also crosses over unexplored areas, such as the Sahara Desert, the Brazilian rainforest, the highlands of New Guinea, the underwater areas of the North Atlantic and South Pacific Oceans and the South China Sea. There must be other sites. Look at this. If we take the seventy-two degree division into account, there are two sites missing in the Southern World. Here,” she tapped her finger on the map, “and here. Zone 30, Atacama and Zone 78, Peru, close to the Nazca lines that lie two hundred miles south of Lima. Atacama is within our jurisdiction.”
“Stellar archeology–which is supposed to be your job–is one thing, and, granted, archeoastronomy is closer to what you should be doing, if we had the need for it, which we don’t, but suggesting an archeological dig based on astronomy is madness.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Fraya said excitedly. “Don’t you see? The number seventy-two is significant on both archeological and astronomical counts. Seventy-two is associated with the astronomical phenomenon known as precession, because seventy-two years is the length of time it takes for constellations to move one degree due to precession.”
“And your point is?”
“If the North Pole was in Yukon one hundred thousand years ago, the line connecting the ancient sites would have run around the equator at the time. It means that whoever built the sites, used astronomy to do so. It means that astronomy and archeology are not two separate sciences. For the first time in its history the SWO can use astronomy to uncover archeology.”
Saunders seemed to lose his patience. He moved his chair back. “Submit your theory to the Southern World Organization for Archeology and get on with your job.”
“You know what will happen if I do. They will jump on it, and if they make the discovery, they will claim it as their own.”
“You’ll get a mention in their paper, if anything ever comes of your farfetched claims.”
“But if the finding is ours, the claim will be too, and we’ll get the funding for pursuing an expedition in Peru. If not, all will be lost to us. The most we’ll be able to get is a fleeting honorary mention.”
Saunders got to his feet. “The answer is no. And I’m appalled at your hidden agenda. It makes me think that you didn’t want this job at all when there are hundreds of better qualified astronomers out there who would have given their balls for your position.”
Fraya sighed. She used her last trump card. “Welser was supportive of the idea.”
Saunders’s eyes widened. “You went over my head?”
Fraya instantly knew she had made a mistake of mentioning it.
“I was at head office and we discussed the idea,” she said defensively.
“You discussed the idea,” he repeated with disdain. “I tell you what, in future discuss your ideas with me, or find yourself another job, and another boss.”
There was nothing more to say. Fraya was defeated. For now. She got to her feet.
“Alright. Let’s leave it at that. For now. You of course realize that this information is explosive. It needs to be kept confidential.”
He sneered. “I have no intention of discussing your crazy ideas with anyone else. And this is no storybook tale in which I’m going to zip off and sell your information to some cowboy tomb hunter. Just get out of my office and do the job you’re supposed to do.”
Fraya turned for the door wordlessly. It had gone much worse than what she had imagined. She had hoped that Saunders would have taken the bait of international glory, but she should have known better. He was too task-driven to be sidetracked from the checklist, she thought grimly.
* * * *
The next few days Fraya spent sharpening her theory on dark matter, as aware of the seconds ticking on as the accelerated expansion of the universe. Precious time was being wasted, but she thought it wiser to oblige Saunders for the time being. Tim had pulled as much records as he could on star explosions and combustion rates, but sadly, it hadn’t been possible for all of them to be measured. The only viable solution was finding new explosions and putting her formula of measure into practice. Saunders wasn’t as opposed to the telescope time she had applied for now, his resistance maybe worn thin by her ‘crazy’ ambition, and it was in that same week that Fraya got a slot on all four of the AKMY telescopes.
It was 8 p.m. when Tim and Fraya walked into the AKMY main control room, armed with their maps and a list of the physical properties they would be looking for.
Gregory Smit, a stout Englishman in his late forties, was on the floor. He looked up when they entered. A sneer contorted his features.
“Greg, this is Dr. Fraya Riber,” Tim said, “the new junior astronomer.”
Smit leaned back in his chair, a bulging tummy peeking over the flashy silver buckle of his belt.
“I know who she is.”
Fraya propped her hands on her hips. “Then you’ll know I’m on the telescopes at nine and rather pressed for time.” She moved forward to step onto the control platform, but Greg pushed his legs forward and crossed one crocodile boot over the other, effectively blocking her way.
Tim’s stance became defensive. He looked like he was going to say something, but Fraya wasn’t going to let a man fight her battles. If she couldn’t stand up for herself the bullying would never cease. Before Tim could open his mouth, she walked up to Smit, who had to crane his neck from his chair to look up at her.
“I can see you have your balls in a knot,” Fraya said, “but you can go unknot them in your own sweet time. I have a job to do, and little time in which to get it done. Don’t force me to deduct lost telescope time from your pay slip, because believe me, it’ll be a pleasure to do so.”
Smit’s face turned red. “I’m a senior programmer. Who the hell–”
“Stop wasting my time, Mr. Smit. I’m a junior astronomer, but that still puts me way higher in the hierarchy than you. Move.” She added in a sweet voice, “Please.”
Smit looked like one of the combustible stars Fraya was hoping to encounter. She could see him weighing her words, but she knew he knew that she was right. If she laid as much as a complaint against him for obstruction of valuable telescope time, that cost the company millions of points per night, he could lose his job. Programmers were more easily replaceable than astronomers. Smit probably realized this too, because he slowly moved his legs to let Fraya pass.
As she stepped around him, he said, “You’re barking up the wrong tree, pretty face.”
She took a folder from Tim’s hands and dropped it in Smit’s lap. “The coordinates are in there. Tick them off as you complete them, one by one. You received them last week, so I expect everything is programmed to my expectation. If not,” she leaned closer to his chair, “you’re not going to like the consequences.”
Smit’s lip curled up. “You won’t last a month.”
“If you don’t get your act together, you won’t last another day.” She took the chair in front of the main monitor, leaving the copilot seat to Tim.
From the corner of her eye she saw Tim grinning. She started to do a system check and sighed silently. So far, her only ally was Tim. And he didn’t really have a choice. He was her assistant. As for the rest of the men, it wasn’t going to be easy to convince them that she was man enough to do the job. Earning their respect wasn’t going to be a joyride. She knew what they thought, that she had gotten to where she was because Emilio had donated the land for their new development. Proving herself was going to be as hard as defining dark matter.
Satisfied that the program was correctly set, she said to Tim, “Get us some coffee, please. It’s going to be a long night. An exciting one. I need to stay alert for this.”
Tim cleared his throat. “I thought you’re not allowed to drink coffee.”
“Tonight doesn’t count. It’s my first night on the telescopes. I think I deserve to celebrate with something other than water.”
As her finger hit the green button, Antu, Kueyen, Melipal and Yepun–sun, moon, southern cross and Venus–slowly started moving to take up their programmed positions. “Come on AKMY,” she said, “give me something.”
At dawn, Fraya collected a stack of computer printouts and handed them to Tim for capturing. The morning team came on duty, the men eyeing Fraya openly, some with hostility, others with curiosity. Fraya and Tim weren’t due back in the office until the afternoon, so Fraya headed back to her condo to feed and exercise Al. Being hungry herself, she opted to have breakfast first, then a shower.
A knock on her door made her glance up from where she was dicing fruit.
Tracy entered with a big grin. “Welcome back. I heard you made quite an impression last night.”
Fraya wiped her hands on a dishcloth. “Already?”
“Talk was going around at dinner. Greg isn’t pleased.”
“He can get over himself.”
“The men are not happy.”
“I don’t care much if they’re thrilled or if their fragile male egos are bruised.”
“Good for you. It’s about time we had a woman around here who could stand her man.”
“I never realized the SWO was so chauvinistic.”
“It’s the Southern World, Fraya. These zones were hit hardest by the chemical genocide. With the female race almost wiped out, equality took on a different meaning. Women became more focused on mating and are sadly absent in the professional world. The men got used to it.”
“But that’s so old-word.”
“You’d be surprised at just how old-world some of these zones are. It’s as if the world crises of the last century has forced them several steps back into history. Many of the acclaimed tribes that formed in the last hundred years in Zone 78 have never been encountered. They’re evasive nomads that have fallen back on mythical religions and ancient gods.”
“No wonder they call it the revival of the Dark Age.” Fraya had finished preparing the fruit and pushed a bowl toward Tracy. “Want some breakfast?”
“No, thanks. But I’d love a quick cup of coffee before I have to clock in.”
“Sorry. No coffee. There’s herbal tea.”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. How’s the treatment?”
“I’m good.” Fraya switched on the kettle. “Thanks for the food. You don’t have to stock up for me every time I come back from Santiago, you know.”
“Consider it a friendly gesture from a female collaborator. I’ll let you do your own shopping in future.”
Fraya poured boiling water into a cup over a chamomile teabag. “I sure miss my coffee.”
“And your mate, no doubt.”
“He took me on a honeymoon,” Fraya blurted out.
“He’s so sweet, and such a catch, too.”
Fraya remembered the women’s reaction to Emilio at the opening of the new hotel. “It’s a tricky situation,” she retorted.
“How come?”
Fraya simply shrugged and Tracy didn’t fish for information.
Tracy got up. “I can’t be late. Will I see you tonight?”
“I’ll come in after lunch. I need to catch up on some work.”
“A true workaholic, I see.”
Fraya smiled. “What else is there to do around here?”