Fic: Bones: In the Trenches, Part 28/30
Chapter 28: Honor Code
Author: amilyn
Rating: PG-13 (themes, abuse)
Chapter 27
Chapter 28: Honor Code
***
~June 1997~
Temperance's belongings were all in a self-storage unit, save for what was in the backpack-duffel at her feet. Her hair was pulled back under her boonie hat, and she wore light cotton khakis and hiking boots. Sweat dripped down her face and back.
Air pressed against her, as hot and humid as it had been in the Maxwell's trunk and on the sunniest runs in the Chicago August. Guatemalan summer had already set in, and waves of heat rose off the pavement. The slight breeze moved dust through the hot air so that when she scratched her arm, grit smeared with sweat into a streak of mud.
The other eight graduate students milled around, chatting and drinking bottled water, laughing. Several stood in pairs, demonstrating proximity that signaled sexual availability and interest.
Dr. Stires was talking to a man near a brightly-painted bus, then the professor nodded and headed towards the grad students. "All right, everyone," he called. "Bring your things over here. Valdez is going to stow them on top of the bus. Jeff, Maria, Daniel, get the equipment boxes. Stephanie, Deelu, Shin, get the team gear. The rest of you, hand things up to Valdez."
Temperance hefted her duffel. Valdez was already on top of the bus and hauled it up. Soon he was tying all the gear down with lengths of rope looping around the rack and crisscrossing the boxes and bags. The resulting multi-colored heap, atop the red, yellow, and green bus, looked almost like a modern sculpture.
On the drive to Chichicastenango, Valdez kept up a running commentary while pointing to various parts of the countryside. About every ten minutes, he pointed to the pictures of his children affixed to the sun visor and told a story about them. Temperance's crash course in Spanish was only equal to getting the gist of his comments and the occasional detail, but his pride in his country were evident.
The drive stretched longer than the expected four hours as Valdez picked up additional passengers. The laborers nodded politely to the Northwestern group as they boarded with their rattling metal lunch buckets. In the seat across the aisle, two chickens in a cage clucked in time to the rocking of the bus as it climbed the perilous mountainside roads. The smell of dust, feathers, and perspiration filled the air.
At the next stop Temperance motioned to a woman wearing a baby wrapped in a brightly-colored rebozo, indicating the woman should take the seat beside her. The woman gave her a grateful smile as she sank onto the worn vinyl, and Temperance waved at the baby, intrigued by the tiny hands that flailed ineffectually against the stuffy atmosphere.
As the sun set, mists trailed along the tree line, and the lush green was suffused with color.
Temperance leaned against the hard seat. Her shoulders drooped as the journey began to wear on her. According to her watch, they'd been traveling for nearly seventeen hours. Beside her, the baby slept against his mother's chest. Temperance's attempts to rest were thwarted by the bumping and jerking of the bus.
Then it was dark, and she realized she must have slept because the woman with her baby and the man with the chickens were gone, and the bus had stopped. There was a flurry of activity as they stretched, shook off fatigue, and unloaded. Temperance pitched her tent in a haze of exhaustion and settled in for the night.
For the next four weeks, the six who were there to assist on the dig worked ten-hour days in the heat and sun while the others conducted interviews. Even with the draining days, the group spent evenings together, and Stephanie and Jeff had bunked down in the same tent by the second night.
Temperance continued to avoid group activities, instead spending the hour after dinner reviewing and organizing her notes. Her ideas for a paper were coming together nicely before they were far into their second week at the site.
The others whispered of the genocide that had led to this mass grave's existence. Jasmina compared it to the recent massacre in Srebrenica, where her parents had grown up. Deelu talked about interviewing the villagers and her progress in analyzing the influence of Spanish on modern Maya-Quiche dialects. Shin shared what he'd seen in terms of medical facilities and how many Indian villagers he'd seen with health problems from old injuries from the time of the massacres. Eric shrugged, said the international community wasn't going to be interested if the villagers didn't clamor for action, and that the likelihood of any legal action being effective was hampered by so many Guatemalan government and law enforcement officials having been party to or directly involved in the massacres.
Temperance reflected on those political realities as she ate the expertly spiced black beans with rice, typical fare for the region, nourishing yet simple. The socio-political realities were anything but simple. She'd seen similar levels of corruption and caution in Rwanda last fall. She was still processing the sociological and anthropological implications of such pervasive and justified mistrust of authority.
"I wonder if there are studies of the differing responses of a people to the failure of the protective elements of their world," she said. "It could be approached from the standpoint of cultural anthropology, through the lens of cultural mores regarding independence or expectations of and attitudes toward authority, for example. Or the reaction of a people could be examined from a standpoint of culturally coded response to change, with attention to the stability of the culture and government prior to the protective failure. Had the government and/or law enforcement officials been trusted or effective prior to the failure? Were they already mistrusted or untrustworthy? Other factors that could contribute to people's responses and their sense of betrayal could include age, gender, family status..." She ticked off factors for which a study could attempt to control. "Studies could be done in various countries and cultures, and then the results could be compared to see if any factors predispose a community to a more positive outcome or even a greater rate of survival after a significant protective failure." She looked at the others. They were frozen in place, drinks half raised to their mouths, which were hanging open. "What?"
"Temperance," Maria began slowly, "weren't you the one who found the thoracic and lumbar vertebrae with machete marks on the ventral surfaces today?"
She glanced at her beer. "Yes. My preliminary findings indicate those vertebrae come from a single individual."
"And that doesn't bother you?" Daniel asked, setting his glass hard on the table.
She tilted her head. "I'm a scientist. I'm here to do a job. I can't do that job if I fail to analyze how our observations can help in the future as well as how my expertise can contribute to my field."
"Wait," Jeff said. "Are you saying we're not scientists?"
"Or that we lack expertise or objectivity?" Daniel added.
She shrugged. "That wasn't my primary intent, but my words could be interpreted with that meaning. I do believe that anyone unwilling to set aside their personal responses is showing an unprofessional lack of objectivity that compromises the expedition, its results, and its integrity."
"Now you're saying we don't have integrity?" Jeff demanded, scooting his chair back.
"Conway," Eric said. "Let it go. She's a bitch." He stood and put a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "Come on, man. Let's go."
Jeff clutched his glass and stared at Temperance.
She raised her eyebrows and put on her best indifferent expression as she returned his stare.
Jeff tossed back the rest of his drink, slammed down the glass, and stalked away. The others followed suit. Stephanie shook her head and rolled her eyes before turning to go.
Temperance took a drink, and the hops tasted more bitter than usual. She withdrew her notebook from her bag and turned to her notes from that day.
"You sure know how to win friends and influence people."
She turned. Dr. Stires eyed her over a half-empty beer bottle. "I'm quite sure I didn't 'win friends' just now," she said.
He smiled broadly then moved to sit across from her.
She folded her hands and rested them on her notebook, returning his gaze.
"One of the necessities of academia is the ability to gain support from one's peers," he said.
"Support comes naturally for accurate and meticulous research and factual analyses."
Dr. Stires laughed out loud.
She frowned.
When he stopped laughing, he stared at her and frowned. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Of course. It's the merit of our work and knowledge that speaks for itself." A tingle flickered uncomfortably through the backs of her arms.
Dr. Stires took another drink, then waved his bottle at the server. "Temperance, there's something you need to understand." He opened the bottle the server brought and sucked off the foam. "Academia is back-biting and vicious. Far too many very, very smart people are vying for too few tenure-track positions, for publication opportunities, and for grant money. The view you just expressed is, well, naïve at best, foolish at worst. You have to earn respect both personally and professionally. And insulting your colleagues is just not the way to do it."
She frowned. "But...I didn't insult them."
"Um, yeah, you did. I don't think you meant to, but you've got to listen to your words and take the possible interpretations into consideration."
"That's ridiculous. What I say is just what I say. Interpretation is for literature and data."
"Ah, but there's the rub." He looked at her.
She looked back.
He shook his head. "I mean that data is, like you said, interpreted. Your interpretations, no matter how well thought out, how brilliant, how thoroughly researched, are still interpretations, and they can be in error. And you can be in error. When that happens, you need to have colleagues who will collaborate with you rather than celebrating a chance to take you down a peg."
"Why would they do that?"
"Ego."
She sniffed. "That is entirely unprofessional."
"Doesn't matter. They'll want to prove you less important."
She stared at him and opened her mouth.
He held up a hand. "Or, worse, they'll try to discredit you."
She sat up straighter. "My work stands on its own. They'll have to have evidence if they want to discredit me."
"Don't listen, then." Dr. Stires stood up. "Go it on your own, do it your way, and see how it turns out. Good night, Temperance."
She walked back to her tent, wondering why the cool mountain air wasn't more refreshing.
***
Chapter 29
***
Posting Schedule: There will be 30 parts, which will be posted every day, until done on Sunday, the day before the next episode. The story is posted both here and at ff.net.
Author's Notes
Thanks upon thanks to my wonderful betas and sounding boards: jennasq, b1uemorpho, and havocthecat. HUGE and effusive gratitude to my line-editor and prodder to make this story as good as I could at this time, as well as encouragement and sounding board services while I planned and wrote for two years to Ayiana2.
Feedback is most assuredly welcome.
***
Author: amilyn
Rating: PG-13 (themes, abuse)
Chapter 27
Chapter 28: Honor Code
***
~June 1997~
Temperance's belongings were all in a self-storage unit, save for what was in the backpack-duffel at her feet. Her hair was pulled back under her boonie hat, and she wore light cotton khakis and hiking boots. Sweat dripped down her face and back.
Air pressed against her, as hot and humid as it had been in the Maxwell's trunk and on the sunniest runs in the Chicago August. Guatemalan summer had already set in, and waves of heat rose off the pavement. The slight breeze moved dust through the hot air so that when she scratched her arm, grit smeared with sweat into a streak of mud.
The other eight graduate students milled around, chatting and drinking bottled water, laughing. Several stood in pairs, demonstrating proximity that signaled sexual availability and interest.
Dr. Stires was talking to a man near a brightly-painted bus, then the professor nodded and headed towards the grad students. "All right, everyone," he called. "Bring your things over here. Valdez is going to stow them on top of the bus. Jeff, Maria, Daniel, get the equipment boxes. Stephanie, Deelu, Shin, get the team gear. The rest of you, hand things up to Valdez."
Temperance hefted her duffel. Valdez was already on top of the bus and hauled it up. Soon he was tying all the gear down with lengths of rope looping around the rack and crisscrossing the boxes and bags. The resulting multi-colored heap, atop the red, yellow, and green bus, looked almost like a modern sculpture.
On the drive to Chichicastenango, Valdez kept up a running commentary while pointing to various parts of the countryside. About every ten minutes, he pointed to the pictures of his children affixed to the sun visor and told a story about them. Temperance's crash course in Spanish was only equal to getting the gist of his comments and the occasional detail, but his pride in his country were evident.
The drive stretched longer than the expected four hours as Valdez picked up additional passengers. The laborers nodded politely to the Northwestern group as they boarded with their rattling metal lunch buckets. In the seat across the aisle, two chickens in a cage clucked in time to the rocking of the bus as it climbed the perilous mountainside roads. The smell of dust, feathers, and perspiration filled the air.
At the next stop Temperance motioned to a woman wearing a baby wrapped in a brightly-colored rebozo, indicating the woman should take the seat beside her. The woman gave her a grateful smile as she sank onto the worn vinyl, and Temperance waved at the baby, intrigued by the tiny hands that flailed ineffectually against the stuffy atmosphere.
As the sun set, mists trailed along the tree line, and the lush green was suffused with color.
Temperance leaned against the hard seat. Her shoulders drooped as the journey began to wear on her. According to her watch, they'd been traveling for nearly seventeen hours. Beside her, the baby slept against his mother's chest. Temperance's attempts to rest were thwarted by the bumping and jerking of the bus.
Then it was dark, and she realized she must have slept because the woman with her baby and the man with the chickens were gone, and the bus had stopped. There was a flurry of activity as they stretched, shook off fatigue, and unloaded. Temperance pitched her tent in a haze of exhaustion and settled in for the night.
For the next four weeks, the six who were there to assist on the dig worked ten-hour days in the heat and sun while the others conducted interviews. Even with the draining days, the group spent evenings together, and Stephanie and Jeff had bunked down in the same tent by the second night.
Temperance continued to avoid group activities, instead spending the hour after dinner reviewing and organizing her notes. Her ideas for a paper were coming together nicely before they were far into their second week at the site.
The others whispered of the genocide that had led to this mass grave's existence. Jasmina compared it to the recent massacre in Srebrenica, where her parents had grown up. Deelu talked about interviewing the villagers and her progress in analyzing the influence of Spanish on modern Maya-Quiche dialects. Shin shared what he'd seen in terms of medical facilities and how many Indian villagers he'd seen with health problems from old injuries from the time of the massacres. Eric shrugged, said the international community wasn't going to be interested if the villagers didn't clamor for action, and that the likelihood of any legal action being effective was hampered by so many Guatemalan government and law enforcement officials having been party to or directly involved in the massacres.
Temperance reflected on those political realities as she ate the expertly spiced black beans with rice, typical fare for the region, nourishing yet simple. The socio-political realities were anything but simple. She'd seen similar levels of corruption and caution in Rwanda last fall. She was still processing the sociological and anthropological implications of such pervasive and justified mistrust of authority.
"I wonder if there are studies of the differing responses of a people to the failure of the protective elements of their world," she said. "It could be approached from the standpoint of cultural anthropology, through the lens of cultural mores regarding independence or expectations of and attitudes toward authority, for example. Or the reaction of a people could be examined from a standpoint of culturally coded response to change, with attention to the stability of the culture and government prior to the protective failure. Had the government and/or law enforcement officials been trusted or effective prior to the failure? Were they already mistrusted or untrustworthy? Other factors that could contribute to people's responses and their sense of betrayal could include age, gender, family status..." She ticked off factors for which a study could attempt to control. "Studies could be done in various countries and cultures, and then the results could be compared to see if any factors predispose a community to a more positive outcome or even a greater rate of survival after a significant protective failure." She looked at the others. They were frozen in place, drinks half raised to their mouths, which were hanging open. "What?"
"Temperance," Maria began slowly, "weren't you the one who found the thoracic and lumbar vertebrae with machete marks on the ventral surfaces today?"
She glanced at her beer. "Yes. My preliminary findings indicate those vertebrae come from a single individual."
"And that doesn't bother you?" Daniel asked, setting his glass hard on the table.
She tilted her head. "I'm a scientist. I'm here to do a job. I can't do that job if I fail to analyze how our observations can help in the future as well as how my expertise can contribute to my field."
"Wait," Jeff said. "Are you saying we're not scientists?"
"Or that we lack expertise or objectivity?" Daniel added.
She shrugged. "That wasn't my primary intent, but my words could be interpreted with that meaning. I do believe that anyone unwilling to set aside their personal responses is showing an unprofessional lack of objectivity that compromises the expedition, its results, and its integrity."
"Now you're saying we don't have integrity?" Jeff demanded, scooting his chair back.
"Conway," Eric said. "Let it go. She's a bitch." He stood and put a hand on Jeff's shoulder. "Come on, man. Let's go."
Jeff clutched his glass and stared at Temperance.
She raised her eyebrows and put on her best indifferent expression as she returned his stare.
Jeff tossed back the rest of his drink, slammed down the glass, and stalked away. The others followed suit. Stephanie shook her head and rolled her eyes before turning to go.
Temperance took a drink, and the hops tasted more bitter than usual. She withdrew her notebook from her bag and turned to her notes from that day.
"You sure know how to win friends and influence people."
She turned. Dr. Stires eyed her over a half-empty beer bottle. "I'm quite sure I didn't 'win friends' just now," she said.
He smiled broadly then moved to sit across from her.
She folded her hands and rested them on her notebook, returning his gaze.
"One of the necessities of academia is the ability to gain support from one's peers," he said.
"Support comes naturally for accurate and meticulous research and factual analyses."
Dr. Stires laughed out loud.
She frowned.
When he stopped laughing, he stared at her and frowned. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Of course. It's the merit of our work and knowledge that speaks for itself." A tingle flickered uncomfortably through the backs of her arms.
Dr. Stires took another drink, then waved his bottle at the server. "Temperance, there's something you need to understand." He opened the bottle the server brought and sucked off the foam. "Academia is back-biting and vicious. Far too many very, very smart people are vying for too few tenure-track positions, for publication opportunities, and for grant money. The view you just expressed is, well, naïve at best, foolish at worst. You have to earn respect both personally and professionally. And insulting your colleagues is just not the way to do it."
She frowned. "But...I didn't insult them."
"Um, yeah, you did. I don't think you meant to, but you've got to listen to your words and take the possible interpretations into consideration."
"That's ridiculous. What I say is just what I say. Interpretation is for literature and data."
"Ah, but there's the rub." He looked at her.
She looked back.
He shook his head. "I mean that data is, like you said, interpreted. Your interpretations, no matter how well thought out, how brilliant, how thoroughly researched, are still interpretations, and they can be in error. And you can be in error. When that happens, you need to have colleagues who will collaborate with you rather than celebrating a chance to take you down a peg."
"Why would they do that?"
"Ego."
She sniffed. "That is entirely unprofessional."
"Doesn't matter. They'll want to prove you less important."
She stared at him and opened her mouth.
He held up a hand. "Or, worse, they'll try to discredit you."
She sat up straighter. "My work stands on its own. They'll have to have evidence if they want to discredit me."
"Don't listen, then." Dr. Stires stood up. "Go it on your own, do it your way, and see how it turns out. Good night, Temperance."
She walked back to her tent, wondering why the cool mountain air wasn't more refreshing.
***
Chapter 29
***
Posting Schedule: There will be 30 parts, which will be posted every day, until done on Sunday, the day before the next episode. The story is posted both here and at ff.net.
Author's Notes
Thanks upon thanks to my wonderful betas and sounding boards: jennasq, b1uemorpho, and havocthecat. HUGE and effusive gratitude to my line-editor and prodder to make this story as good as I could at this time, as well as encouragement and sounding board services while I planned and wrote for two years to Ayiana2.
Feedback is most assuredly welcome.
***