In the pit...

Professor Davis was brushing the dirt away from a chunk of bone, so by the time he heard the men approaching they were standing on the edge of the pit. He looked up, momentarily surprised, and then fear poured through him like a rush of icy water. Two of the men were just looking at him; two more were pointing guns at him; and the last two had their guns out but were looking everywhere except at him.

He was ashamed at the fear. He'd known it was dangerous to set up a dig here. He'd known he could easily be killed, either by government troops or by one of the local factions of rebels. It seemed that knowledge had done nothing to prepare him for having guns aimed at him, though. It seemed he was not as brave as he'd thought he was.

"What are you doing here?" The voice was softly accented, but perfectly clear.

Professor Davis swallowed and made an effort to think. The man who'd spoken was the shortest of the bunch, though none of them were exceptionally tall. He looked young, strong and lean beneath a layer of dirt and grime. His clothes were a mix of styles -- definitely not a uniform. They're rebels, then.

"Archaeologist?" asked the rebel, and professor Davis realized that the man was better educated than his appearance would initially suggest.

"Yes." He gestured emptily at the pit, the marked-off squares on the hillside, the wheelbarrow and the careful pile of dirt that he'd created. "This is... my work."

The man looked puzzled. "What are you looking for here?"

"Well... bones, mostly." Professor Davis hesitated. "I'm trying to find out what sorts of animals used to live here."

"Animals?" the rebel repeated.

"Yes. I'm looking for..." He hesitated, not certain he could explain. He focused on the young man, knowing that if he looked at the men with the guns, his mind would go blank with panic. "I can show you pictures, at my camp."

The young man considered that, then blinked and moved on: "You are here alone?"

"...Yes."

"Does the government know you are here?"

Some part of his courage began to seep back. "If they did, I suspect I would have been arrested -- or shot -- by now."

The young man nodded. "You know who we are?"

"I can guess." Professor Davis swallowed again. "But I'm an old man. I've been retired for five years; my wife died two years ago. If you plan to take me hostage, you might as well shoot me now. There is nobody left who might pay."

There was a brief, staccato exchange as the young man spoke to his companions. Professor Davis didn't understand one word in three; he caught here and alone and government, but little else. The men with their guns out listened, and asked a few questions, but it was the two without guns who were making the decision.

After a moment the young man turned back to him. "My captain says we must see your camp. I would like to see your pictures, also."

Professor Davis nodded. He wasn't safe yet, but he was relieved. It might be possible to reason with these rebels; if he could convince them that he was no danger to them, and without any value to them, he might yet be left alone. "I'm going to stand up now," he said. "Please make sure your friends don't shoot me."

Digging the Pit

There is a man, and he is digging. It is slow, painstaking work: laying out boundaries and borders, sorting the barren landscape into distinct areas, carefully disassembling it and meticulously documenting everything he finds. He works alone, because he has no choice. He has no one to assist him, and nobody is willing to fund a project like this. There is only the man, with his tools nearby and his camp some distance away, and the hole slowly growing around him.