"Congratulations!"
"Cheers to our new archeologists!"
"Welcome to the real world, mummy-finders!"
Ephraim laughed heartily as he watched his friends who are also his classmates—no, they were his colleagues now, chugging on beer. They were in an Izakaya—a Japanese pub; a rather larger one at that, rented by the President for its new batch of Archeology graduates. They were few in number, comprising of students that hadn't even reached 300 numbers.
Their school was a large university but BS and BA Archeology are both taken to a branching campus. Originally about 200 students, Archeology students soon reduced to a hundred and fifty as the years go by until it dropped to only less than forty students graduating the degree.
It was inevitable—the uncertainties of the program and its job opportunities made more than half of the students to shift courses. Ephraim witnessed how his friends slowly lost hope and interest with the degree. Some quit in their first year, some at the fourth. They told him it wasn't too late to shift, convinced him that there were better college degrees which could land easier and better jobs.
Ephraim wasn't tempted one bit. He loved studying archeology; he loved movies and books that explored history and relics. He liked sketching fossils, and above all else, he liked the touch of fascination he gets—that slight tingle and astonishment mixed with wonder—as he ventures to an unabridged new world entirely different from what he was accustomed to.
"My new archeologists." Says the President on his speech back at the graduation ceremony, "the path you've taken isn't an easy one. You all started with the number of 200, and now, we have polished thirty-five brilliant students out of those 200. Each of you will walk a path of your own, but I am certain my dear students; it is the path to success. It is the path of discovery. Of innovation. The new batch of Archeology graduates—I commend you all. May you have prosperity and continuous discovery."
The president gave them a meticulous and motivational speech. It sent some tough young men crying in manly compassion, and Ephraim couldn't blame them, for he was almost sobbing himself. It felt good to graduate, to label yourself, finally—as an Archeologist.
The president was buff and was the epitome of a blockbuster movie actor—identical to Rick O'Connell from The Mummy. Ephraim always associated people with movie characters—and he's convinced the President was the living copy of Brendan Fraser. After the speech, and when the parents were congratulating each other's children, whilst some took pictures with their diplomas, the president came to talk to Ephraim.
Ephraim wasn't surprised. He was a scholar and had only paid the miscellaneous fees. He also joined countless contests; he was one of the school geeks. His features already said so. He had freckles all around the bridge of his nose, and lighter ones spreading to his cheeks. He wore round spectacles, which complemented his blue eyes and honey brown hair (that is always tousled no matter how many times he combs it).
He was a nerd with an academic structure—head always buried on a book, or hands scribbling and sketching innumerable vestiges and fossil remains. It would not surprise Ephraim if the president would offer him a job, one that would give a fair income that'll make his parents stop telling him he had the worse decision made.
"Ephraim Hughes." The President calls at him and extended an arm. They shook hands a greeting. "You're no longer my pupil, huh?"
"Yes, sir." Ephraim politely says and smiles. "But I'm still a graduate of the academe, so maybe I can be considered one?"
The president flashed a small smile. "You are amusing."
Ephraim wasn't entirely sure what the president meant, but he was too happy to care. He also didn't have the time to think about it when the president told him of his agenda. Ephraim waited for the words: 'contract''job''excavation site'.
"I heard from the professors how good of a student you are." The president says, "And how you are a brilliant scholar who's actively participating in the school's events and contests. You have a bright future ahead. Archeology, after all, isn't one smooth path. It is ridden with stones and fossils you could stumble upon. It isn't a job most people would apply for."
Ephraim nodded, agreeing to the president's statement. Being an archeologist was a tough job. He was required to investigate historic and prehistoric sites, as well as physical remains to understand human links to the past, to preserve ancient cultures. In short, archeologists find clues about the past. They use a variety of extraction or digging techniques, they discover and they go through fossils in search of the unknown. Sometimes that meant rats (Ephraim hated them so much, but he could stand any other insect, reptile, an animal you could lay before him without batting an eye).
Ephraim found joy in excavating. Back when he was a child, he loved exploring as he quests for clues. He loved movies like The Mummy, King Solomon's Mine, and some books by Rick Riordan such as Percy Jackson and The Kane Chronicles. He thanked these forms of entertainment for giving him a push on getting a scholarship in Archeology. His parents did not like his decision and wanted him to be a doctor instead, but eventually, they gave in and simply succumbed to what he liked and supported him; although here and there, Ephraim could hear their incessant scolding.
Archeologists study past human activity by excavating, dating, and interpreting bits and pieces of numerous items from sites of historical interest. They implement excavation projects, informally known as digs, preserve archaeological vestiges and accumulate data that appraise their understanding of the past. Excavations and job vacancies are sponsored by the Institute of Archaeologists (CIfA), national newspapers and specialist publications such as Current Archaeology or those supported by the Council for British Archeology (CBA).
There are numerous ways to land yourself a job—Ephraim wanted to explore Egypt, or Greece, whose fossils are prevalent. After his graduation, he wants to explore these countries. Ephraim was one of the scholars who showed adept skills, and exceptional performances.
He was sure a company would pick him up to sign a contract after graduation—which was just a few days from now. He had received dozens of requests, yet it did not exactly fit the job he wanted. It wasn't like one of those movies and books filled with grandeur and fictional relics.
He was so sure, for a second, that the president would offer him something good. Something better.
"I am stationing you with a task force consisting of a researcher, a biologist, a doctor, and a former sergeant-in-arms," says the President, as he explains how their team was entrusted with a duty to examine the desolated forensics lab at an abandoned former space station: ANDROMEDA.
"Pardon me Sir, ANDROMEDA? The space station abandoned more than fifty years ago?" Ephraim forced a smile. Space stations are not relics of any historical significance, except radioactive sites (which he would not like to visit). Space stations, abandoned or not, were modern and post-modern. They were not ancient; what would he expect to find there, an alien?
"Yes." The president says. "You are one of the Academe's brightest pupil. I believe you would find something significant in there. An object of great importance."
Ephraim smiled. "It would be an honor, Sir."
It was INDEED an honor the President came to personally assign him with a job in the blink of an eye; however, Ephraim's eyes were set to Cairo, Egypt. A friend had prepared an excavation site just for him a couple of months before, and it took an effort to do so—pulling strings here and there, talking to people, acquiring connections, et cetera.
Ephraim felt dejected, but curious at the same time. Even if this wasn't his cup of tea, he was a man living by scientific lore combined with history. He dreamt of creating his book as he ventures to archeological adventures (as he liked to call it).
The president smiled. "I will be handing you the details after a few days." He said, and then left.
"ANDROMEDA, huh?" A professor mumbles. "You're bright, but why did the President assign you that dump?"
"Pardon?"
Ephraim's Biology professor sighed, and then sauntered towards him. Professor Edward Brindell, one of the oldest professors of the academe. He had a cane to guide his walk and was one of the strictest professors ever in the academy.
"Professor Brindell?"
"That place has been the excavation site the President assigns to students whose grades are below average," he says. "why did he give it to YOU? Such a waste of time and talent."
Ephraim frowned. "What do you mean, Professor Brindell?"
"It's an open secret." He says. "Every graduating class' inept graduates are tasked to find an 'object of great significance,' in ANDROMEDA, but we assumed the President meant he wanted them to find 'purpose'. . . as a metaphor, you know?"
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I care, Raim," the old professor exclaims. "You deserve better than a project like this."
Ephraim stood unblinking, confused.
"Ah, I'm sorry. Congratulations, Raim." Brindell exclaims. "I'm just surprised. ANDROMEDA is isolated—without any object that would be of use to us. After all, the students always come back empty-handed. But maybe, you'll find something."
There was a hint of disbelief in the professor's voice. It was evident that he wasn't convinced of whatever he was saying.
"LET LOOSE, RAIM!" Yells Lucian, one of the liveliest classmates he got. "Give him a mug of beer! We just graduated, and he won't let loose!"
The other student seemed to agree, as the room was filled with throes of protest and waves of laughter. Ephraim snapped back from his thoughts and smiled. He accepted the beer and drank it in one go.
"Nice," he says. "Is there any more?"
"Arrogant Raim asking for more—so, yeah, give him more!" Shouts Lucian as they poured beer to Raim's mug.
"Chug! Chug! Chug!"
**
The night ended with Ephraim smiling as he observes the entirety from his spectacles. All of his friends, his classmates, are now wasted and mumbling. Mugs of beers, sushi, and some karaage were scattered across the whole room. Who said Archeologists are boring?
"What a mess you are." Ephraim mumbles. His tolerance in alcohol was a God-tier level. He never got drunk.
"Hngh . . . Raaiiimmm." One of his classmates' mumbles. It was Cecily, a girl he seldomly talks to. She was one of the students who barely graduated.
"What is it, Cecily? Do you want a cup of water?"
Cecily's flushed face was looking at nothing, and her eyes were ditzy. She mumbled and slurred her words, making them inaudible.
"What was that?" Ephraim knelt towards her. "Cecily?"
"Wh-why'd you the one to get ANDROMEDA. . . ." Cecily exclaims. "While I got Caaaiiiroooo? You're the smart oonnee . . . hic . . . not me. . ."
"Wh-what do you mean, Cecily?" Ephraim tried to smile and tried to process Cecily's drunken mumblings. He told himself not to take a drunk person's words seriously—yet here he was, waiting, waiting so anxiously—
"I . . . I . . . hic . . . I had the excavation p-project in Egypt . . . one you guys dreamt of . . ." Cecily started sobbing. "But you . . . y-you got ANDROMEDA . . . I—I overh-heard . . . s-sorry, Raim."
Ephraim blinked.
"You got which excavation project in Cairo?"
"The one with difficult a-access . . . hic! The one you said you've been working on . . ."
Ephraim inhaled sharply. "The one Raoul Alfonso's been getting for me?"
"Yes—" Cecily sobbed. "I'm s-so sorry, Raim . . . the president assigned me to it . . . I . . . I couldn't refuse."
Ephraim smiled and then wiped Cecily's tears with his sleeve.
"Hush now." He says. "I'll get you a cup of water. Don't worry about it."
"R-really. . . .?"
"Yes,"
Ephraim exited the room they rented, and then as he got out, he held his knuckles, which was turning white from clenching his fist the whole minute he was inside.