Disclaimer: The characters belongs to Anders; he stole them from RenPics... ;)
The Last Night
by Anders Hallin
She couldn't sleep. She sat outside her tent, looking out on the desolate dig from the small rise it was placed on. How could this have happened? She had woken up one day and realized that she was chasing a dream that had brought her naught but misery. Her father had died a disgraced man, the reputation his obsession had built; a spectre that would always hover over his name. Collaborator, graverobber, scum of the earth. That was him, alright. He'd always been a crazy old bastard. What did that make her? She walked in his footsteps, trying to find proof for something the entire archeological world saw as a myth, at best. They were a bunch of asses, granted, but they had been digging around the world for a lot longer than she had. She took another swig of her whisky, or tried to. She wondered when she had emptied the bottle. It was all useless.
Not that she had any options open. She was famous, after all. Had a pedigree. Pedigree of a mongrel. Lower than dirt. She angrily threw the bottle at a nearby rock, shattering the stillness of the small valley. A tent closer to the excavation area opened for a second, then the resident went back to his bedroll. They had gotten used to her.
She wondered for a moment how the world would respond if she went and died somewhere. Probably relief for most of those who had had business with her. Black sheep of the corps, she was. Not that there were too many who had done business with her to begin with. At least her crew would be upset... Would probably be difficult for them to get paid with her dead.
Fuck it all.
She wasn't at the end of the line quite yet. At least staying alive would piss Smythe and his ilk off. Come to think of it, she wasn't entirely sure if she had enough money to pay her workers anyway. Why the hell did booze have to be so damn expensive? She had bought quite a lot of it the last year, not that she had a problem with it, except for the prices.
"Hmph," she snorted aloud, "What's the worst thing that could happen?" She stood up and stretched, tipping her hat back to look up at Ursa Major in the night sky above. For a short second she observed the stars glittering above, then she turned around and walked into the tent and it's waiting bed.
She came about halfway to the bed before she lost her balance and fell in a crumpled heap on the ground. Maybe it'd get better tomorrow, money or no money. Though she probably wouldn't ever get what she really needed to move forward with this dig, now that Dr. Pappas was dead. Whatever scrub had succeded him would probably take one look at her name and then laugh in her face.
But maybe it would get better. Who knew, maybe they'd even find that bloody tablet.. Miracles did happen now and then.
Janice passed out.