Cover by Rocky Kelley
As we barrel toward the August 29 premiere of Rayguns Over Texas at LoneStarCon 3 (aka the 71st Annual World Science Fiction Convention) in San Antonio, I am presenting book excerpts, one contributor per day.
Today’s selection comes from Don Webb’s “The Art of Absence.”
Don Webb expertly unravels timeless mysteries — universal, personal, and
otherwise — as archeologist Peggy Reynman journeys to the red planet to
research the legendary Cylinders of Mars.
Her daddy used to bury little things in the backyard.
Mainly, George Reynman buried arrowheads that he bought at an antique store in town. Sometimes silver coins, ten cent pieces from a hundred years ago when they still made coins from silver (and had denominations less than a dollar). It was all for Peggy’s older brother. Of course.
Jack wasn’t doing well in school. He was three years older than she was, and he was going to look like daddy when he grew up. She was pudgy and not going to look like anybody. Momma was famous, beautiful and dead. Momma had died in the first Venus landing. Then Jack stopped reading and doing math, but she had escaped into books and studies. She lived on the nets.
Daddy had meant to awaken some romantic spirit in Jack. If Jack were turned on by finding these little treasures he might want to read about Indians or 20th century America. Jack might get excited, do well in school and not be so damn pale. It didn’t work. Daddy had to help Jack find the arrowheads. Daddy would uncover them with his feet, while the three of them were barbecuing. He would wait for Jack to spot them, and failing this would suddenly exclaim, “Oh what’s this?” or some other equally inspired piece of acting. Jack would look dully at the piece of flint, sigh, and go back to eating his hamburger.
But not her.
“Princess” would be thrilled. The arrowhead would immediately become part of her ongoing story. Usually a tale involving Daddy, herself and a dragon.
Daddy lost interest in trying to bury things for Jack.
One day, when she was eight, she dug up all of the things Daddy had ever buried. She washed them and displayed them on a big piece of burlap. Daddy looked at her as if he had never seen her before. “I’m so proud of you, Princess.”
He was glad when she told him that she wanted to be an archaeologist. He helped her find role models: Amelia Peabody, Jeanine D. Kimball, Guiniviere Marie Webb, and Mary Denning.
When she was twelve, he told her what had made him happiest was that archeology would keep her on Earth. He never talked directly about Momma dying on Venus. Momma was on a stamp. Captain Sarah Reynman.
Now, the landing on Mars was three hours away. Mars landings were no big deal, but, she was scared. Not of the landing, of the gap, the space she was making. She wanted a brave face for the cameras. Fifty-five and a couple of books on archeology behind her, she could make a brave face. Hell, she had faced failing freshmen, reporters shouldn’t scare her.
Excerpt from “The Art of Absence” © 2013 by Don Webb.