Free Alien's Concubine, The by Kaitlyn O'Connor Page A

helping to prevent disaster.
The men hadn’t even had the chance to remove the chains when
everyone surged forward again to get their first good look at
it.
    Awe lit the faces of every member of
the archeology team, save that of Sheila, and the government
representatives. On their faces, Gaby saw pure avarice. She was
almost surprised they didn’t grab the beautifully wrought casket of
gold encrusted with gems and toss the remains onto the
floor.
    Without even being aware that she’d
done so, Gaby moved closer for an unobstructed view as everyone
reluctantly moved back so that Jimmy, the student designated to
record the findings on film, could get some shots of the
sarcophagus before it was sealed in the container.
    Tears blurred her eyes as she stared
down at it. She wasn’t even aware of them until the image blurred
and she had to blink to focus.
    The lid of the casket had been as
faithfully wrought as the statue, she saw, wondering almost idly
how the artists had created it. Had they made a mold of his body
and used it to pour liquefied gold? Or were they just that skilled
in working precious metals?
    She saw when she finally dragged her
gaze away that Sheila was studying her face, not the golden coffin.
For several moments they merely stared at one another. Sheila was
the first to look away.
    * * * *
    Stepping from the plane in Miami, Gaby
mused, was almost like stepping off a time machine, almost as
jarring as it had been to step off the plane when she’d first
arrived in South America. It would take a while, she realized, to
reacquaint herself with civilization after the months she’d spent
in the jungle.
    She felt strangely detached, not
joyful as she’d thought she would feel, not even relieved to be
back.
    When she’d deplaned, Gaby waited while
the ground crew unloaded the container she’d accompanied back,
feeling a bizarre sense of unreality, almost as if she’d escorted a
head of state to his final resting place. A half a dozen
representatives of the South American country where Anka had been
discovered deplaned before her. Most of the museum staff was
present to witness, and even some local politicians. Photographers
converged on them, held back by an inadequate line of security that
was made up of two airport security officers and two Dade county
police officers.
    Finding herself under such heavy
scrutiny was unnerving to say the least. Publicity wasn’t anything
she’d ever sought, even when she’d had occasion to work with the
police department upon the discovery of twenty or thirty year old
murder victims.
    She was too apathetic to be as
unnerved as she might have been otherwise, though. She didn’t
entirely understand the depression that had settled over her, the
sense of loss. It made no sense to her, but she couldn’t seem to
shrug it off.
    She was glad she was back, she decided
when she had at last made it through the ordeal of customs and
watched the container escorted off to the museum. Everything had
been prepared for the all important opening of the sarcophagus and
studies of what it held, but she wouldn’t begin her examination
before the following morning. She had tonight to rest and prepare
herself.
    Her apartment seemed alien to her, not
the welcoming comfort and security of something familiar. She
wondered as she stood in the center of her living room why she’d
ever thought the décor she’d chosen was homey. The place, decorated
in ultra modern chic, looked antiseptic.
    But then what did she know of
homey?
    It was appalling to realize that the
place looked almost as institutional as the Home for Girls where
she’d grown up … except more, somehow. Instead of looking clean and
bright, the whitewashed walls, pale beige carpet, white upholstery,
and chrome and glass tables and display cabinets made the place
seem cold, impersonal.
    Maybe it was personalized space,
though, she thought dully? Colorless, like she was.
    Dropping her bags in the middle of the
floor, she wandered