Searching For Andromeda 2 Believe

Archaeologists explore past civilizations by learning about historical artifacts, skeletal remains, and infrastructures with ancient significance. Archeologists work outdoors in the field, sometimes under rigorous and in remote settings, as well as in labs or offices to amalgamate and examine their discoveries. In addition to coursework, students in an archaeology bachelor's degree program complete independent projects. Graduates are qualified for job duties that include a.s.sisting with research projects and archaeological digs (excavation sites), working in museums, serving as consultants and teaching archaeology. Cla.s.sroom instruction is combined with expeditions and projects that can take place at excavation sites around the world. These projects are usually one month to six weeks long. Independent study projects and study-abroad programs are also available. There are, of course, just cla.s.sroom-based learnings.

And there is a boring one happening right now.

"Throughout history—individuals, states, or political factions have expanded their territories over const.i.tuencies through the use of war. The history of one of the earliest civilizations in the world, that of Mesopotamia, is a chronicle of just about continuous fighting." Says Professor Oswald, "Even after Sargon the Great of Akkad unified the region under the Akkadian Empire, the war was still waged in putting down rebellions or fending off invaders."

"In short, they're war freaks." He adds. "The Early Dynastic Period of Egypt (c. 3150-c. 2613 BCE) is thought to have risen from war when the Pharaoh Manes of the south conquered the region of northern Egypt, although this claim wasn't that reliable now."

The professor writes at the chalkboard, 'Zhou Dynasty gained ascendancy through battle in 1046 BCE,'

"And in China's Warring States Period ((476-221 BCE) was resolved when the State of Qin. . . ."

**

"Freaking Oswald's a bad teacher," Lucian exclaims, sitting beside Ephraim. They were now in the school's cafeteria. Lucian's tray was chockfull of food. He placed it at the desk and started to eat fervently. "I didn't understand the lesson one bit!"

"Me too," agrees another friend Ephraim had, a boy named Kyle.

"Ugh, tell me about it! He fills my head with information without giving the relevancy. I don't get it." Geralt agrees. "How about you, Raim?"

They were about four on the table at the cafeteria. It was lunchtime, and students loved complaining at this time of the hour—especially when your teacher was Professor Princeton Oswald, their teacher in History. Unlike the other teachers, he was the one closest to their age (he was just rumored to be 25), but he was one of the most boring teachers ever. He taught with the speed of a turtle, and with a monotonous informative manner like he directly read the contents of the book with zero discretion.

"The professor's telling information about the ancient wars," Raim commented, "he's giving us information, a background—I think. It's an introductory phase."

Lucian raised his brow, "are you seriously defending him?"

"What I'm saying is," Ephraim smiles. "He's boring."

Kyle laughed, "and for a minute I thought you might end up a teacher's pet."

"Raim won't," Lucian grins, "I thought so too when we were at middle school. He's stupidly nice, but he's mean inside. Don't misunderstand 'im,"

"You've been friends since middle school?"

"Kind of," Ephraim says. "I needed to take care of this buffoon so he won't get lost,"

"Shaddup," Lucian argues. "Anyways, what're your thoughts to Sir-So-Boring-I-WannPunch-His-Face?"

"That's a ridiculous nickname, Lucian,"

"Why thanks, took me a while to create it in Professor's boring cla.s.s—"

"Professor Oswald!"

Lucian, Kyle, and Geralt's face turned pale. Professor Oswald was sitting beside them—with a tray on their table. SINCE when was he here? The professor smiled at Lucian.

"So, Lucian," says the professor, "I think you had a very good time listening to my cla.s.s,"

"ab-absolutely, sir!"

The cafeteria is an intricate modern building with gla.s.s schemes combined with a touch of antiquity. It was neo vernacular in design, and it had mezzanines with spiral stairs. The infrastructure could speak for how much the academy's tuition worth. Ephraim was glad he was a scholar, to be able to attend such a private inst.i.tution. His father earns less than 2000$ in his monthly income, and his mother was a plain housewife. He was an only child, but they couldn't afford the academe's tuition fee. That is why Ephraim Hughes strived to be a scholar—this school was one of the best in teaching the degree he wants.

Teachers, staffs, and other academic personnel with students alike dine in the cafeteria without much fuss and meddling. But a teacher dining with his students was uncalled for, and never did Ephraim heard of one, except around the elementary grade when someone wasn't eating his vegetables and a teacher had to force-feed him (not in a violent manner). That kid had his circ.u.mstances; he was sick.

But n.o.body was sick at the table.

Ephraim flashed a smile. "Professor Oswald, we didn't notice you."

The professor was munching on the bread. He had black hair and very Asian features except for his jaw and prominent European characteristics such as his turquoise-blue eyes.

"Of course you didn't." He says. "I've been here since Mr. Guerrero arrived."

Ephraim blinked.

The professor flashed an apprehensive gaze at Ephraim and smiled afterward. He stood up, leaving his halfway-finished food and left.

"Wh-what the h.e.l.l was that?"

Ephraim proceeded to stare at the professor who was walking away from them, hands tucked to his pockets. He looked uncaring, and apprehensive even as he walked.

"W-will I fail?" says Kyle. "I can't afford to fail his subject!"

"Y-yea, me too," Geralt exclaims. "W-we're leavin' you guys,"

"Yeah, it ain't good to hang around Lucian now."

"You should know that, Raim," Kyle says before he left with Geralt with their trays.

"Oi," Lucian barks, "You leavin' yet?"

"Why would I?" Ephraim asks.

"Because I'm finished with the food?"

"So?" Ephraim scowls.

"So you could take the tray too,"

Ephraim scoffs and then sighs as he smiles.

"Dumba.s.s."

**

"The monster collision between Milky Way and a fellow spiral galaxy Andromeda will occur about 4.5 billion years from now, according to the new research, which is based on observations made by Europe's Gaia s.p.a.cecraft. Some prominent previous estimates had predicted the crash would happen significantly sooner, in about 3.9 billion years. . . ." Ephraim reads.

"The launching of Gaia is on December of 2013 . . . it's constructed to help researchers build the finest 3D map of the Milky Way. Gaia has been monitoring the positions and movements of huge numbers of stars and other cosmic objects; the mission team aims to track more than 1 billion stars by the time Gaia shuts its sharp eyes for good. . . ."

"M31. . . ." Ephraim writes to the notebook on his side. "Andromeda . . ."

--- Most of the stars Gaia is eyeing are in the Milky Way, but some are in nearby galaxies. In the new study, the researchers tracked the number of stars in our galaxy, in Andromeda (also known as M31) and in the spiral Triangulum (or M33). These neighbor galaxies are within 2.5 million to 3 million light-years of the Milky Way and may be interacting with each other, study team members said. ----

It was already past midnight, and Ephraim's lamp was 24/7 lit up. He was stuck on his newly-bought apartment, shut himself on the bedroom for the whole day—and whole night. There were still unboxed appliances around his room. Cup noodles and instantly made meals are stacked like a tower just under his desk, and then books of astronomy were scattered across the whole room. Its entirety almost covered in papers with scribbled names of galaxies and constellations, some sketches of the solar system, and several variations of drafts of outline and questions.

"I don't get it."

Ephraim reached to drink from his coffee mug, only to see it was empty. He sighed and rose to his feet. He sauntered down to the kitchen, and then he saw the unboxed appliances. It had been a while when he bought the apartment, and he was a hundred percent sure he was neglecting his duties. He hadn't unboxed the appliances, and it was just an empty s.p.a.ce here and there.

Ephraim wasn't like this on the usual.

But he was intrigued and stressed-out. He was working on for his future project in Cairo, Egypt. . . . only to have it taken away in the blink of an eye. Immediately after Cecily told him about the excavation site that night, he called Raoul, his friend who aided him (whom he also paid) to get the project—but he was unresponsive now. He could only lay his frustration to find answers.

But no.

Zilch. Null. Zippo. Nil.

ANDROMEDA and Andromeda galaxy are completely different. Their names were the same, but ANDROMEDA is simply a desolated s.p.a.ce station founded in the late 80s, but of course, the internet won't give him the exact answers he wants. It gave him a background of what the s.p.a.ce station is, but couldn't connect to exactly how it is linked with the galaxy itself. There wasn't any information in regards to how it is called ANDROMEDA in the first place.

**

The next day, Ephraim woke up early. He slept about 2 AM and woke around 5 AM, unboxed some things, and then he did his morning routine until he commuted to the Town Square where he was told to be picked up. A Lamborghini came thereafter 8 AM sharp and he was soon riding the Lambo with tough men in black suits.

Precisely after a painstaking an hour and a half ride, the Lambo was now traveling at a slower speed. There were tall trees at each side of the road, neatly cut. There was an ocean below, and Ephraim could see from a cliff a house (or a mansion) standing liberally unafraid.

"We're almost there," says the chauffeur.

**

"Ephraim Hughes," the President greets, smiling. He was wearing something now less formal, but still, it was a clothing that would be found in the Victorian times. His house was cla.s.sically modern, the arched windows and chandelier speaking of antiquity.

They were in the president's office, which had a large gla.s.s behind his desk with the view of the edge of the cliff, below was the vast ocean water. When the president sat on his swivel chair, it looked like he was a king sitting on his throne. A butler (a.s.suming that he is one from the tailcoat) handed Ephraim, who was sitting parallel to the president with a comfortable chair, a doc.u.ment.

"This is the information about ANDROMEDA," says the president. The butler proceeded to pour tea.

Ephraim examined the papers.

"Your team's biodata is also there," he adds. "You will be the team leader of the excavation site. I believe you have what it takes for the job,"—the president paused to sip at his tea—"you can also see their skills, what their specialty is, and their att.i.tudes."

Ephraim continued to examine the doc.u.ment silently.

"Any questions?"

Silence.

". . . President,"

The president's brow arched.

"Why did you give this job to me?" Asks Ephraim bluntly. "I heard from Professor Brindell how you give this project to students whose grades are almost below average. You tell them to search for an important object, but they always come empty-handed."

The president sneered.

"Sir," Ephraim exclaims. "I have been working with Raoul Alfonso for months . . . months already, to get the project in a dig at Cairo. I paid him, and I had been working double to get that project . . ."

"Ah, that excavation site. It's a good one," he says. "Cecily Schmidt will do well in Cairo, I believe,"

"Sir, have you been listening?" Ephraim says, almost scowling. "I was the one who worked hard to get that project. I was the one who was working on getting it for several months. I am the one who should get the project on Cairo,"

"In short," says the President. "You want me to give you Cairo, and Cecily, ANDROMEDA?"

"N-no," Ephraim mutters. "It's just that, I—I worked hard for it,"

"And in the blink of an eye, I got it for Cecily?"

Ephraim's silence was enough to tell his sentiments.

"Well," the president exclaims. "You are bright, and I see potential in you, Ephraim Hughes. Let's just put it at that."

"But you've given that project to people whose grades are—"

"Do you think grades define a person's potential?" The president says. "Perhaps so, perhaps not."

"But listen well here Ephraim Hughes; it is I who put you in this project because someone believed you can retrieve what was lost in there—someone believed you have the means to be the one to acquire what others don't for the past fifty years ever since ANDROMEDA was abandoned."

Ephraim blinked. "Someone . . . wanted me for the project?"

"I was thinking of following the tradition and put Cecily in the project," says the President. "But he told me you fit the job perfectly, and he's certain you can find it."

"Who. . . . ?"

"I believe you know who he is," the president smiles. "Former professor Princeton Oswald."

"Professor Oswald?"

"Yes," says the president. "The man who found a pirate's treasure and was featured in multiple magazines—your former professor in History,"

Ephraim stared at the doc.u.ments through his spectacles, bemused.

"Someone believes in you, Ephraim Hughes." The president smiles as he entwines both of his fingers, as his elbow propelled on top of the table. "And I hope he isn't wrong about believing you."