Stars, Dust & Dreams

No Hero

(Author's Note: written for Round 2 of the #UltimateSFSD
Prompts were, we Don't Need Another Hero by Tina Turner, and 2 of the following: Cleopatra, Elvis Presley, Marie Curie, Donald Duck and Laika of Sputnik 2
Word Count around 1700)

The sun blazed down from a cloudless sky, sending shimmers of heat across the distant settlement. Far from the impressive pyramid structures he had pictured, the buildings were low and flat roofed, the same colour as the mud and bricks they were built from.

The watcher crouched low, taking cover amongst one of the many palm groves dotted over the landscape. The desert sand was hot on his sandalled feet, the flimsy leather no real protection. The linen kilt he wore around his waist in case he had the bad luck to be seen, protected his lower half but Eric was certain his bare shoulders would be scarlet in a matter of minutes. Still, not long now. Eric adjusted the oculars for a clearer view.

The funeral procession before him was truly a sight to behold. White-robed mourners danced and sang while others wept and wailed and tore at their clothes. The coffin travelled in pride of place on a sled being dragged by two large oxen, and behind that, came servants—or possibly slaves—carrying a large urn, caskets, and other goods.

It has to be them, I'm certain, thought Eric. I was right! I knew it! He wiped sweaty palms on his kilt, one hand at a time so that he could still hold the ocular. He waited until the procession disappeared inside the largest building.

Painstakingly, he checked the location id. After all this effort, it would be a disaster if he couldn't find this place again.

Confident now, he re-programmed the device on his wrist and disappeared.

Eric reappeared 2130 years later, inside a concrete bunker, deep underground. He stepped off the raised platform and crossed to the only door in the small chamber.

"I'm back," he announced into the speakerphone. He couldn't help the excitement in his voice and a moment later the door swung open.

A dark-haired man wearing black trousers and a white shirt stood there.

"You found her, then? Are you certain?"

"As sure as I can be. All the indicators were there. The date, the location, the procession... it has to be her. William, I've found Cleopatra's tomb!"

"We, will find Cleopatra's tomb," corrected William, gently.

A week later, the archeological world was in raptures. After centuries of searching, the almost mythical tomb of Cleopatra had been found. Inside the mausoleum, were not only her mummified body, undisturbed inside the sarcophagus, but an urn of ashes reputed to belong to her lover, Mark Anthony. The sarcophagus and its contents would require further investigation under careful supervision, but pictures of the elaborate gold necklace found inside with the body were already attracting huge attention from the public. If some people thought there should have been more treasure, they had to admit the fact that Cleopatra had been a defeated Queen at the time of her death.

When asked what led them to succeed where so many others had failed, William Page, project sponsor and CEO of the Archeological Research Foundation gave the following statement.

"Our team has been working on this project for some years," Mr Page announced. "We began with the excellent field work conducted by Kathleen Martinez and Zahi Hawass, but then followed some new leads which arose from that research.

"We are donating all our finds to the Museum of Cairo where these treasures belong. Though in my opinion, the real treasure in this case, lies in the discovery itself. Cleopatra and Anthony, everyone! Surely one of the most famous love stories in history."