Human (9 page)

Oliver turned to Ivy for confirmation and she nodded, impressed.

Travis shot Claire a dirty look. “
I’ll be back
.” Claire scowled at both boys.

Ivy began pacing the floor. “Okay guys, but one thing we need to keep in mind is that Homo erectus populations were extremely successful; in Africa, the ‘old world’, it’s generally accepted that Homo erectus became Homo sapiens and eventually anatomically modern humans- that is, you and I.”

“In the so called ‘new world’ of Europe and Asia, they’re considered to have given rise to archaic Homo sapiens and Neanderthals,” Ivy tapped at the wall map with her fingers, “and new research suggests at least one erectus population may have actually co-existed with modern humans in Indonesia only 40,000 years ago.

So, the question begs to be asked; could there have been even
more
descendant species of Homo erectus that haven’t been discovered yet? How big was this branch of our evolutionary tree?” Ivy stood in front of the class, animated, her eyes bright. “In those dark, hidden forests and caves of the new world, what
other
types of humans existed before we arrived from Africa? How did they evolve? And most intriguing of all,” Ivy paused for dramatic effect. “
Why
did they die out?”

Ivy lay her cello gently back into its case. She stood up stretching and pulling at her aching neck and shoulders. Once again she'd lost track of time. She crossed the small tutorial room, leaning out the shuttered window before pulling it shut. The sky was darkening outside and Kyah would be waiting for her to visit before she left for the day. As Ivy bent to pick up the cello case, there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for a response, Orrin's head popped around the corner.

“Found you.” Orrin winked at her.

Ivy raised an eyebrow, pausing midstep. “Apparently so, although I'm not sure how-”

“Jayne again.”

“Aah.”
Damn that girl.
Ivy pushed her fringe behind her ear, balancing the cello case on her foot.

Orrin looked around the room curiously. “Did you have an audience?”

“No, I just like practicing in here sometimes,” Ivy replied, critically conscious of their last conversation. The one where she’d rejected him. “The acoustics are good,” Ivy said, “and there's an audio recording facility set up for tutorial sessions. Students use it so they can slacken off in class and download the sessions later.” Orrin laughed and Ivy shrugged, smiling. “When it's quiet, I record my cello practice so I can play it back at home. It helps me pick up mistakes.”

“I bet there aren't any. Mistakes, I mean.”

“Ha, no of course not. I'm a regular Offenbach.” Ivy rolled her eyes, good naturedly.
Damn you Jayne.
She changed the subject. “You were looking for me?”

“Oh yeah.” Orrin took a deep breath. “The other night, I think I might have given you the wrong impression. Well, not entirely wrong maybe, but, I didn’t mean to mess you about. I was actually wondering if perhaps you might consider-” he paused, his eyes shining hopefully. Ivy felt a familiar twisting in her stomach.
No, no, no. Don't get distracted, you've been down this road. It’s messy. It hurts. You don't need this. You have work. Research. Kyah.

“Kyah. Kyah! Sorry Orrin, I have to go.” Ivy pushed past him, ignoring the rush that came when her shoulder grazed his arm. She could feel the heat course her neck and face and cursed having such pale skin. “I just remembered I was meant to call into the biology lab earlier – Kyah’s, um, medication. Damn it. I just- I really have to go. We’ll talk soon.” Ivy smiled apologetically over her shoulder as she walked away as fast as she could with the unwieldy cello case, lugging it down the stairs to avoid the risk of getting caught with Orrin in the elevator.

“The Dish”, Parkes Observatory, New South Wales

As Neil pulled into the Parkes Observatory he never failed to be impressed by the sixty-four metre radio telescope. As the largest of its kind in the southern hemisphere, “The Dish” as it was affectionately known, had become an Australian icon. The facility had become legendary for its role of receiving the images of the first Moon Walk in 1969. Now, over 120,000 visitors travelled the vast emptiness of Western New South Wales to marvel at its distinctive shape each year. The receiver was constantly upgraded with cutting-edge technology and remained a vital tool for astronomers. Decades of achievement hung in the visitor centre, complete with educational theatres and paraphernalia for tourists. As an added bonus, sightseers could even ogle the giant rotating dish from below, over a cup of coffee and sandwich from the café.

Primarily, the dish was used to measure the radio energy produced naturally by stars, galaxies and clouds of gas and dust within the universe. Tracking and receiving the data sent by space probes was a minor directive, as well as receiving radio transmissions from space craft during exploration missions. A team of twenty engineers and astronomers lived and breathed its glory, 24 hours a day, every day of the year.

Neil dropped his polished silver cigarette lighter into his pocket; the engraved nautical helm wheel on its front caught the red afternoon glare. Underneath was a single engraved word,
Benjamin.
Neil bypassed the straggling holiday makers as they shuffled back to their cars, ready to resume their journeys along the epic Newell highway linking Queensland to Victoria. Neil always preferred this time of day. The sun was setting a rich red across dead-flat sheep paddocks. A hot wind blew through the dry grass toward the distant Goobang Range and kangaroos dotted the horizon. He drew on his cigarette one last time, heeling it on the pavement.

Dimitri and Cassandra were waiting for him in the observers’ quarters. Dimitri was attacking his laptop with lightning fingers, still trying to resurrect the corrupted files. Cassandra paced the small living room flicking her shower of ebony hair as she turned. Her blue eyes were glued to the monstrous, polished white dish dominating the window frame. She startled as Neil strode in, loudly discarding his overnight bag to the tiles.

“Chill out Cass,” Dimitri murmured. “You’ll wear a hole in the carpet.” After a wary glance at Neil, the younger man resumed his focus punching keys.

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “You can talk Dimi. Christ, passive-aggressive tendencies perhaps?”

Neil studied the younger man's tense shoulders bent furiously into his work and the sweat shining from his pores.
Good.

Cassandra turned to Neil. “So how did we get in here so fast? I thought the La Trobe team were working on the Pulsar Timing Array.” Her smooth voice failed to hide an undercurrent of apprehension.

Neil moved to the centre of the small room, demanding Dimitri's attention. “I pulled some strings Ms Chevalier. Damn expensive ones. So you’d both better make this happen. Yanking the PTA team out will raise questions – and piss them off.” Neil's ‘Target of Opportunity’ proposal had overridden scheduled observations, effectively cutting out their competition. The proposal was rarely used. It had been created solely for situations where astronomical events of extraordinary scientific interest cropped up unexpectedly.
I’d class this as extraordinary.
“We’ve got the Dish for the next 5 days – no questions asked, under the Time Critical Clause – but it won’t last.” Neil scowled, to emphasize his point.

“Data Proprietary?” As chief number cruncher, Dimitri was all about data security.

“No deal. Cutting the scheduled observations kills our right to the eighteen-month period of data privacy. Whatever we learn here will be open to the public in seven days. Hell, what does it matter, in a few days it’ll be all over the news, anyway.”

“
We’ll
be all over the news…” Cassandra began.

Neil met her assumption with silence and a clenched jaw.
Correction –
I’ll
be all over the news.
Cassandra’s eyes flashed at the unspoken reproach. Her sycophantic facade returned.

“So when can we get in there,
Director
?”

As distracted as he was with this mess, Neil still considered watching Cassandra a leisure pursuit.
A few days stuck here and she might be willing to reconsider my previous offer.
“We get in there now kids. Get your stuff, John’s waiting.”

From the outside, the base of the dish resembled a clay windmill with three levels of small square windows. It seemed scarcely strong enough to support the massive parabolic receiving dish above it. The high precision wave-panel dish had been extended over the years by aluminium plate and steel mesh, culminating in one thousand tonnes of engineering precision.

The grounds were deserted. The operations manager greeted them, running through the usual reminders before retiring for the night. Well experienced with the equipment, they each listened with the patience of school children waiting for afternoon bell.

The control room was a cramped circular cave lined by white desks, cobalt monitors and high racks of equipment. Flashing lights and tons of electronic cabling connected sensors and experiments, giving the impression of organized chaos. Neil hunched over the motion control console, the familiar smell of country air still lingering on his tastebuds.

Astronomical navigation had always been Neil's strong point at university but the nitpicking of detailed research had irritated him. The money was bad and the food chain placement even worse.

He’d decided that his science career would only be worth pursuing if it
paid
, as it were. So, years ago Neil had dismissed the nitpicking in favour of corporate management. He’d exceeded his goals, and not through diplomacy. On rare occasions like this however, he enjoyed the moments of pure science. It had always called to him.
Like a sailor following stars…

With a rush of key strokes, Neil focused the master equatorial telescope hidden in the heart of the dish structure to the co-ordinates of their last known readings. The giant receiver began to slowly shift its gaze as the tiny guide tracked a new course across the sky.

Neil got to his feet. “Okay kids, fourteen hour shifts - you two can start. You’d better have something for me by morning.” Neil smirked, flipping his hard hat back onto his head as he pulled the door closed behind him.

Dimitri scaled the thirty metre tripod-leg that ascended to the sky from the centre of the dish, thankful he wasn’t acrophobic. Like an ant on the ground, Neil entered the observers’ sleeping quarters far below him.
Good riddance.
For a moment Dimitri contemplated the rumours. If he hadn’t overheard two of the board members himself, he mightn’t have believed it.

He’s giving us a bad name Charles…. the women, the booze…. It’s got to stop, it’s time…. he’s just gone too far…

A shuffle of feet. A sigh.
I know, I know. But think of what the poor bugger is going through Frank… his only son…

We aren’t the bloody AA, and since when has he ever given an inch? And the kid, it’s bloody awful, I’ll give you that. But, well, I’m not sure it matters anymore…to him at least. And this debacle with NASA… Jesus Christ, Charles, we can’t afford another mistake.