Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time Read Online Free PDF Page B

at his temples. Somewhere around forty, she guessed.
    “We’re all lined up to sort our lives out with the great dictator DNA.” He gave her a congenial smile.
    Germaine nodded in what she hoped was a pleasant way. Her head was really pounding now. Just talking seemed a huge effort. Her eyes kept drifting forward to Conan.
    “And what is your field?” she asked. Always the standard opener at these conferences—both informative and protective. You didn’t want to make a too critical a comment about someone else’s field of interest. At least, not until you knew them better.
    “Experimental archaeology.”
    Oh, no . She knew the text book definition: the modern replication of ancient structures, artifacts and activities. In other words, he built something to see how it was made in the past. Sometimes, it was useful, but she didn’t think much of it and tried to be polite.
    “Yes, a very interesting field.” Her head was splitting. The sugar and caffeine remedy had failed, and she considered taking two aspirin. Curing jet lag and a hangover at the same time was complicated, especially if she wanted to stay upright and mobile.
    “A very practical method of archaeology,” he said. “Sometimes by recreating things from an ancient time period, we find out how people made them. At Tavistock Farm we try to live as people did in the Iron Age. We live in exact reconstructions of Iron Age roundhouses, grow the same crops and make most everything we use.”
    At that, her head pulsing, Germaine found it hard to remain noncommittal.
    “That reminds me of that series on the BBC, Surviving the Iron Age ,” she said. “Modern people trying to live the life of an Iron Age person. It was so contrived. They all looked cross and dirty. I’m afraid I like to get my dirt at a dig and come up with a real artifact or a bone. Something that shines a true light on the past, not made anew by modern people.”
    She was feeling cross herself. He raised one eyebrow. She could tell from the mild look of surprise on his face that this might not be the best opening comment she could have made.
    “Right on. And when you unearth a small bit of wood from a roundhouse site, you carry it back to your university and X-ray it, run the most modern carbon dating tests, and analyze it in every possible way. And still you know very little about the house, or how it was actually built. I can build it and find out more.”
    His voice seemed accusing to Germaine’s time-lapsed mind. She frowned.
    “Of course, testing is only the first step,” she said defensively. “ Then we try to figure out how it was made.” She was snappish, but didn’t stop.
    “If we don’t use the science we have, we’ll be back in the days when only rich lords and adventurers went searching for lost treasure and called it archaeology.” She winced at the sound of her own voice, lecturing this man whom she had just met.
    Nicholas Greenwood didn’t seem offended. He shrugged his shoulders, shifting his weight on the cane.
    “True,” he continued, in the same friendly tone, “but there are huge gaps in prehistory that science can never explain. I find those parts mystifying. If there is no written record, neither of us finds out how people thought or what they believed. Or who were friends or lovers. We rarely know even a name. It’s all pretty impossible without a written declaration from the past.” He raised that eyebrow again and smiled at her. It was a strangely beautiful smile that transformed his face.
    “In the end, we know little about what really mattered in their lives.”
    What really mattered in their lives? His last words repeated in Germaine’s mind.
    What really matters is ... A whisper of a voice trailed off.
    Shocked, she stood quiet for a moment, listening. The voice sounded so real! She felt badly off balance, both physically and emotionally. Apparently Nicholas Greenwood hadn’t heard the voice; he was still smiling at her. It must be some