Went back to frame the story. Also, to give our protagonist a name.
I realize that, if I am going to actually physically write in this journal as a supplement (or hedge) to the digital record, I should be clearer about who I am, who we are, and why we’re here at the literal bottom of the world. After all, I have no idea who will eventually read this, or what language they will speak. Well, I know that it won’t be an alien language, because there aren’t any of those left.
Well. My name is Hank Campbell. PhD. in Archeology, although I don’t mention that much because people still try to get medical diagnoses whenever they hear the word ‘Doctor.’ I’m heading up the 2078 United Nations Antarctic Archeological Survey, which is really a joint American-Canadian effort, spearheaded by the National Science Force. To make it even more convoluted, technically it’s an American-Northern League effort, but the only two Leaguers are both Canadian. The NSF’s paying all of our salaries anyway.
So, our two Canadians would be Ted Hooper (my second in command, as much as we need one) and Ann Rochon. They also both have doctorates, as well as the fourth member (Ruskin Kamar); our fifth member is our lone grad assistant Jo Buckley, who will probably go on to become the most famous one of us. That’s usually how it works in these situations.
The Survey’s here at Amundsen–Scott to test out alien technology that was originally supposed to be given to us at First Contact with the ‘Amalgamation,’ three decades ago. Presumably we were also supposed to be given instruction manuals, or at least an idea of how the technology works, but all of that was preempted by the mass xenocides that ripped through this part of the Galaxy, four centuries ago.
So we’re practicing with the gadgets down here, where archeological digs are rare, and things which we’d mind seeing destroyed are even rarer.