“And this thing is supposed to talk in hieroglyphics to her?” Cyrus asked, holding the little microphone up to the light.
“Hieroglyphs,” said the Egyptologist. Mister Brown, something? Or was it Green?
“Huh?” Cyrus asked.
“Hieroglyphs. Not hieroglyphics. And that’s not the language. It’s—”
“So how do we get this started?” Cyrus interrupted.
Doctor Xi? – cleared her throat where she sat in front of the computer, eyes unblinking at the static scene. “Observe. Learn. Find out the answers to thousands of years’ worth of questions.”
Cyrus arched an amused brow. “Like if the aliens really built the pyramids?”
Xi snorted a laugh, but the Egyptologist’s eyes shined like a nerd with a new textbook. Brown, or Green, or whatever – dry-washed his hands in excitement. “Like how they pronounce names. More about their economic practices. Trade. Worship. Language. Funeral rites.”
Cyrus waved it off. “Sure, but what the company really wants to know is—”
“How an ancient civilisation managed to crack the code on cryosleep before our modern-day geniuses could,” breathed the doctor.
Cyrus snapped a finger in her direction. “Precisely that.”
“Let me speak with her first. Please,” the Egyptologist added the last quickly.
The boy’s half in love with her already! Cyrus shook his head but handed the mic to Green’s (he decided) anxious hands.
Green clasped the tiny sound implement to his chest. “It would be better if I could go in there and speak with her face-to-face,” he pleaded.
“Play dress-up and risk a breach of company safety?” Cyrus wasn’t getting sued today, or any other day. “This isn’t Indiana Jones, kid. Stick to the script.”
The young man’s mouth opened and closed as if he had more to say, but Cyrus shoved past him and bent over Doctor Xi to watch the screen. “Right, doc. Wake the girl.”
Xi pushed the spacebar (a bit underwhelming if he was being honest), and a pair of ancient young eyes blinked awake.