into phases, each of which seems to convey a thought pattern. The top two are mostly intact. The bottom two are”—I looked at Brynner—“less intact.”
I pointed to the northwest quadrant of the circle. “Here we have a repeating sequence of terms, some of which are welldefined; some required interpretation.”
Director Bismuth held up a wrinkled palm. “How can you be sure of the meaning if you had to interpret?”
“I can’t.” I waited for that to sink in. “Some words have definite meanings. Hieroglyphics are both ideographical and phonetical. Sometimes a symbol set means a word, and sometimes it spells out a word, and sometimes you have to put the two together.”
I pointed to a set of figures on the laptop. “Let’s say you have this phrase, which means ‘diseased,’ followed by this bird. What do you think it means?”
“Bird flu.” Dale’s electronic voice rang out, followed by laughter from everyone but Brynner.
Brynner shook his head. “Shitty.”
“Brynner Carson, you will apologize at once.” Director Bismuth shook her finger at him.
He didn’t back down. “I didn’t say, ‘It’s a shitty translation.’ I said it means—”
“He’s right.” The question, in my mind, was how he knew this. “The disease is clear. To put it together, you have to understand that ducks are nasty, filthy creatures. They smell, they crap everywhere. Think about how you’d feel being around one constantly.”
Recognition gleamed in the director’s eyes. “So ‘duck disease’ becomes ‘foul.’” She raised her eyebrows to Brynner, probably trying to get him to notice her rephrasing of his choice in words.
He wasn’t paying attention to her. No, his eyes never left me. Which made it harder to focus on what I was doing. For some reason, he focused on my face instead of my breasts, unlike like most men.
I struggled to regain control of my meeting and keep the swarm of butterflies in my stomach from showing. “So we combine phrases, phonetic meanings, and contexts to interpret. This section I translated for you before. It means ‘heart.’”
Their eyes followed the pattern, which circled the artifact. “And this is ‘important,’ or ‘holy.’ And this is ‘lost.’ So I believe that one of the key ideas is the Re-Animus is seeking something lost. Something important to it.”
I pointed to the northeast segment. “The section here also contains repetition. ‘The way,’ ‘appear,’ ‘travel.’ It could be an expression of desire to go home, or of the Re-Animus itself being lost.”
Absolute silence met me, so I forged ahead. “This segment was destroyed in a careless accident. Which also damaged the other. In it, I can only reliably translate four terms. ‘Ra,’ ‘the god of the sun,’ ‘pharaoh,’ and ‘daughter.’ If we take this last glyph and assume it was in fact a basket, the phrase would be ‘the pharaoh’s daughter.’”
Brynner’s gaze jerked over to the screen, as did Dale’s and the director’s. Then they exchanged glances among themselves.
The only phrase I’d ever said that got a reaction like that was years ago, when I told my ex “I’m pregnant.” And thankfully, that wasn’t the case now.
The director’s eyes narrowed on me, like she could somehow divine if I told the truth. “Thank you, Ms. Roberts. How likely do you find it that the term ‘heart’ might be literal?”
“Possible. Anything’s possible. We’re dealing with nonhuman intelligence trying to communicate with us in a language that isn’t precise.” I sat down.
Brynner stretched his arms. “Or it could mean ‘coffin.’ The coffin glyph looks just like this, only missing the tail.”
I pointed to the distinct edges. “There’s no outer mark to agree with that. See here, here, and here. I do this for a living. Trust me.”
He snorted. “Dad wrote in these all the freaking time. Day in, day out. I used to get chore lists in hieroglyphics. He kept a diary in them.”
Director Bismuth silenced him with a glare. “Mr. Carson’s translation skills rank at roughly a kindergartner with a foul mouth, so I greatly appreciate your attention and effort, Ms. Roberts.”
She turned to Brynner. “Where is the heart?”
“I don’t know.” He spoke so softly I could barely hear him over the hiss of Dale’s oxygen tank.
“Brynner Carson, tell me where it is.” She tapped a pen on the table in frustration while she waited.
“I already said I don’t know. I wish I did.” He hung his head, his fists clenched. “Dad kept it. He hid it.”
The sorrow in his voice hit me like a gut punch. Though the prudent thing to do was take my laptop and leave, I couldn’t resist