Human (38 page)

“Yeah, so?”

“I left him at it; but the whole scene was diabolical. Liam got totally out of hand. I think… actually I’m pretty sure he got arrested. He set the place on fire and got violent with the guards. The bastard nearly broke my nose.” Orrin gingerly pushed the bridge of his nose. It was still swollen.

Jayne eyed Orrin’s nose critically. “Maybe you deserved it.”

“Fair play, though I don’t think so.”

Jayne’s indifference abruptly dropped. “Wait – he got arrested?” Lines of worry pinched her forehead. “That’s not good. Actually, that’s
really
bad. Not for Liam, he can handle himself okay. But for those hobbits in the lab…” For a long pause she considered, seeming to forget Orrin was there. Finally, she looked up. “Not your problem anyway, I’ll deal with it.” Impatience crept back in. “What is it I’m meant to be helping you with?”

“The hobbits actually, the ones in the lab,” he said. “Where did they come from?”

“Transferred from a breeding facility I’d say,” said Jayne. “Before that, maybe the black market. Young females are usually in high demand.”

“No - no I don’t mean those ones specifically.” Orrin could see he had no choice but to reveal his apparent insanity again. “I mean, where did they come from
at all
? This species didn’t exist a week ago Jayne. Except as fossils.”

“Of course they existed. You’re a pretty lame scientist if you haven’t heard of our closest evolutionary relative.”

“Apparently so. What can you tell me about them?”

Jayne rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

At Orrin’s nod, she leant back in her chair, arms crossed. “Okay, well, they evolved in Flores, obviously. Then spread to the rest of the archipelago. They were discovered by Portuguese explorers. Their prehistory is fairly intertwined with ours in South East Asia. It’s complicated. Needless to say, in the last few hundred years they’ve become as exploited as every other ‘natural resource’ on the planet.”

“You mean the pharmaceutical research that Liam’s fighting?”

“That’s part of it,” Jayne said, relaxing a bit. “They’re perfect test dummies for human research. NASA even sent them to space in the first test launches in the early 1950’s. The most desperate issue is habitat; hobbits are uniquely adapted to Indonesia but their forests are all but destroyed. The concentration of rare earth metals in that area is unprecedented. It’s been strip-mined for the last fifty years. The industry is booming. Once the metal is stripped, the Palm Oil plantations go up in their place. It’s double consumerism. Even if the captive hobbits were to be rehabilitated and protected, there’s nowhere left for them to go. They’ll be extinct in the wild within a few years.”

“Jaysus,” Orrin muttered. “So, why bother studying them at all?”

“The same reason we study past civilizations of our own species of course. And why we study indigenous populations, colonial settlements and other primates we’re genetically close to,” Jayne said. “We learn more about ourselves in the process; what makes us human, what defines our humanity. We study the past to shed light on our future.”

“It doesn’t sound like there
is
much of a future for these hobbits,” Orrin countered.

“Well there should be,” Jayne said. “They’re an amazing species. People don’t realize how close to human they really are. Not just their DNA I mean, but their way of life.”

“But they look so primitive and manky,” said Orrin. “I think the one in the biology lab would have belted me given half the chance. She has an eye like a stinkin’ eel.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Jayne asked.

“She was watching me all the time,” Orrin said. “And whispering, really nasty. I’ve no idea what she was saying but if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under.”

Jayne rolled her eyes. “They have their own language, but it’s almost impossible to interpret because they’re so guarded with their communication. They don’t trust us, with good reason. We kill them.” Jayne looked thoughtful for a moment, and then continued with surprising reverence. “The thing is,
Homo floresiensis
are still very much a mystery. It fascinates me.”

“How so?” Orrin asked.

“Well, up until about fifty thousand years ago, hobbits had stone tools and subsistence patterns analogous to early human hunter-gatherers,” Jayne said. “They probably had family groups and care systems to match, of course, but quite primitive. Then suddenly,
bam!
Out of nowhere, they developed culture, art and symbolism. Maybe it was already there but they hadn’t found a way to express it. Maybe something happened to trigger a transformative change in their culture. I have no idea why they changed, no one does. That’s the mystery, I suppose.”

Jayne leant forward conspiratorially. “Prehistoric cave art is my real passion. Trust me, these hobbits had no art, absolutely nothing and then
wham!
There it was, fifty thousand years ago, complete with beautiful expression and form. With modern humans, you see a logical progression of change over time, you know? But with hobbits, there’s nothing, then suddenly everything. That’s one of the reasons I think they need to be saved. To figure out why.”

“And these stone tools you’re working on, they’re part of this research?” Orrin asked, skilfully re-directing the conversation.

“Sure, that’s what I do.”

Orrin studied Jayne’s face. She seemed less hostile. He took a deep breath.

“Well, this woman I know –
knew
– she wore an amulet around her neck on a silver chain,” he begun. “It was a black stone shaped like a large teardrop. It was… unusual. I’d never seen anything like it. It wasn’t fancy, but it just sort of, held your eye somehow. It had her initials engraved on the front ‘I.C.’ and on the back it had weird puncture marks, just five random dots.”

“Okay. I don’t see what this has to do with me though. I told you I’ve never seen her or the stone.”

“I think you have, Jayne.”

“Are you serious?
This again?
” Jayne’s indifference slipped quickly back to irritation. “You think I’m lying?”

“I don’t think you’re lying, just that perhaps you didn’t recognize it.” Orrin’s heart hammered as he hedged around the reason for his inquest.
If she refuses…
“Jayne, could I see those tools you are working on? The ones you had on the bench when I came in the other day?”

His request seemed to take her by surprise.

“I guess.” Jayne hesitated before pulling a labelled box from the cupboard under her bench. “But only because I’m morbidly curious.” She spread the specimen bags on the bench between them. Quickly Orrin sifted through them, his heart pounding. His fingers fumbled over the stone shapes.
What if he’d been wrong?
He gently turned the last stone tool over in his fingers and exhaled loudly.

“This is it,” he said.

“This is what?”

“This is Ivy’s amulet.”

Jayne scoffed. “No - that’s a stone tool from the Liang Bua excavation site in Flores. I’ve done DNA testing and radiocarbon dating on it. It’s fifty thousand years old.”

“It can’t be.”

“Well, it is. Hey, don’t do that!
Stop!
You don’t even have gloves on!” Jayne launched off her bench stool but it was too late. Orrin twisted away, slipping the stone from its plastic cover. Its surface was dull and layered with dust, with the exception of a small spot on one end where Jayne had taken her sample for testing. With feverish intensity, he ignored Jayne’s loud protests and rubbed his thumb against its smooth black surfaces wiping it clean.

“My God! You stupid, bloody idiot! You’ve just contaminated a fifty-thousand-year old artefact!” Jayne’s eyes flashed ferociously. “Get the hell out of my lab! I’m calling security!”

Orrin held the stone up to her. “Look, Jayne! Just look at it! It’s Ivy’s amulet – look at the markings, the initials, they’re all there!” He held the black stone in front of her face. Sure enough, cursive lines swept the dark surface.
I.C.
He spun it around. “Five random dots puncturing the black surface. The initials I.C. on the front” He poked the hard dirt through the top hole. “A hole, Jayne – for a chain. A silver chain.” He pulled the broken chain from his pocket with his spare hand and held it up. “This is Ivy’s; I know it is. I’ve seen her wearing this amulet, so she must exist!”
Brilliant!
The week of insanity Orrin had endured dissolved around him. He was right.
Ivy was real. She
had
existed
. The satisfaction Orrin had sought so desperately finally blanketed him, warm and forgiving.

But his internal revelry was short lived.

Jayne’s expression passed from anger to confusion and back again. She grabbed the stone from his fingers and retreated behind her bench.

“I don’t know why these markings are here,” Jayne growled. “I haven’t even had a chance to do any microscopy on it and now you’ve totally screwed my chances. What I do know, is that this stone tool was dated at fifty thousand years old. It was found in the same stratigraphic layer as all of these others. So it’s not your friend’s damn amulet.” Despite the conviction in her words, Jayne’s voice tremored.

“But the markings!” Orrin argued. “They can’t be fifty thousand years old – they’re in English! And engraved! No stone tool could be that precise with calligraphy. There’s no
way
this is a real artefact.”

She hesitated, scowling. “Well, I obviously can’t explain it.
Yet.
But I do know that you’ve totally stuffed my chances of doing any further testing on it, you damn idiot. It’s time for you to leave, Orrin.
Now.
”

“Testing,” Orrin exclaimed. “Yes! What about the DNA testing you already did? Ivy wore this so her DNA should still be on it - skin cells or something?”

“I don’t have the results yet,” Jayne fumed. “But regardless, there would be very slim chance of getting a positive cell extraction with that much dirt covering it. If it was blood it might be different…
Get out!
” With the amulet scrunched in her fist, she backed Orrin towards the door. Her face was blotchy with anger.

“But what if it
is
hers Jayne?” Orrin said. “What if she’s over there now, at the excavation site and she dropped it?”

“A site contaminant?” Jayne hesitated, clearly frustrated with the possibility. “I guess it could be, but the dates were very clear. This wasn’t found on the surface Orrin; it was dug from a pit over a meter underground, photographed, mapped and labelled. Archaeologists don’t just accidentally drop artefacts into pits and contaminate sites - they’re not as inconsiderate as you are. Now you said you’d leave when I asked you to, so I’m asking you now.
Leave.”

“Fair play, I did say that,” Orrin said. “I’m sorry I ruined your work, but I had to know for sure. That thing
is
Ivy’s. I don’t know how, but I swear to Jaysus, Mary, Joseph and all the Holy Martyrs that I’ll figure it out!”

Jayne’s face showed no sign of sympathy as she backed him into the corridor.

“Goodbye Orrin. Feel free
not
to visit again.”

“Sure, sure. I’m dead sorry for disturbing you, really I am.” Orrin placed one hand back on the door. “Jayne? Just one last thing - seeing as you can’t use it anyway now, could I borrow that stone? I could run my own tests…”

The door slammed in his face.

Orrin pulled into the busy car park. Above him, the golden wings of the mythical Garuda spread wide across the flag in the midday sun, its chest adorned with the shield of the Pancasila. The red and white checkerboard shield glinted proudly in the sunlight, boasting the five principles of Indonesia’s national philosophy.
One and only one God, just and civilized humanity, unity, democracy and social justice
. Gripped in its talons, a large scroll underscored its holistic message ‘Bhinneka Tunggal Ika’.
Unity in Diversity
. The motto had become an essential doctrine in the spirit of religious tolerance that had been passed through the ages by the 14
^th
century poet sage of the Javanese Majapahit Empire, Empu Tantulat. Nowadays, the many islands and faiths of the Indonesian Archipelago flourished under its wings.

The Melbourne-based consulate looked out of place on the hectic motorway, as if it had been placed there long ago and forgotten. Surrounded by sparkling corporate offices, the consulate was a whitewashed heritage, its small rendered face peering from behind thick bushes. Beyond the busy motorway, a channelled river glittered towards the city suburbs. Strangely, at least two dozen people were gathered on the lawn in front of the building.

With a deep breath, Orrin crossed the grass of the Consulate General for the Republic of Indonesia. He stopped halfway, slowed by a throng of reporters and camera equipment. He gaped.

In the centre of the lawn, two Indonesian men were chained to a palm tree with their heads bowed in what Orrin could only imagine was exhaustion. A dozen sympathizers and medics stood by watching but making no move to unchain them. Cameramen scuffled for the best view as their reporters spoke gravely down the lens. Orrin pushed his way closer to the spectacle, intent on hearing what one woman was saying.

“…marks the fourth day of the hunger strike by radical activists Budi Natalegawa and Darma Kusumaatmadja. In an effort to bring international attention to the environmental devastation faced by Indonesia and Malaysia as a result of strip mining and mass palm oil plantations, these two men have chained themselves outside the Indonesian Consulate.” The reporter thrust her microphone toward the closest protestor. “Mr Natalegawa, what message do you want the government to take from this action?”