Langolango tango

Sarah should’ve known. Maybe she sort of did. Her great expedition to the Berents Sea found her fetching coffee and kissing backsides. She would have rather called her dad to come help bail, than wind up watching Dr. Evan Tischer taking bows and curtain calls while her involvement was completely forgotten.

Yes there were discoveries. Her discoveries. Nobody having read the original manuscript as often as she, had much chance of finding the island in question. She had read it over and over in the months since she had found it. She had envisioned the island all sorts of ways, and not until she actually saw it did she know. When she saw it, she knew it. Then they landed on the rocky beach and she walked straight to the cave, or rather caves. There were more than one.

There was a lot of digging, of which she was left out. There was a lot of hoopla and patting the Doctor on the back when he, no matter who actually dug it up, found something. Then the translation. Sarah thanked every deity she could remember that she was tasked with transferring the stone inscriptions onto paper, she kept copies.

Dr. Tischer started his next text book on the relevance and meaning of the "Under the Edge" langolango. "Under the Edge" was a name the doctor slapped on the project, believing it a better transliteration than Sarah's "Bottom of the Edge." Sarah was unimpressed with Tischer’s habit of ignoring as unintelligible, characters that seemed to show up in the wrong place. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she was sure there was a pattern. Her first attempt at suggesting that there might be more to it, was lesson enough to be her last. Every night she punched scenarios into her laptop, wondering what she would do if she managed to crack the code. Admittedly, Evan Tischer was a genuine expert on the langolango language. Sarah learned a ton, in spite of her being shoved off into a corner.

One night, more than a year after she was returned home to Idaho, Sarah stumbled onto the pattern. She almost didn’t try again that night. She had a job in a shop on the bridge. Most nights she got home late and weary. After so many attempts, she was beginning to believe that she was wrong to doubt Dr. Tischer. She had read his book, she had to drive to Pullman to find a library that had a copy,. his translations were so complete. Yet, out of habit, before she went to bed she ran one more possible pattern through her computer. Funny, the program she was using was written by Dr. Tischer. Going to the kitchen, more to stay awake than to find food, she missed the beep that resounded when the program found a pattern.

As she came back to her desk she read. "Pattern match to Lexico Helos 98.3 %" she dropped her coffee cup and burned her left leg, her fingers needed to be on that keyboard. She typed "transliterate stone 1 line 1 :> Greek."

There it was, plain as the nose on your face. "astron kindundos asphalos eutrapelos astron." the tense didn’t make sense or was it the phrasing?

Wasting no time she sent an e-mail

"To: etischer@usa.gov.edu.usc
Subject: It’s All Greek To Me
Dr. Tischer, I can’t believe it myself. I compared the syntax from a stone, to Cgreek, and it printed out. Try your stone number 14E32 line 1. transliterate :> CoiHelos :> right to left..routine=T
I got "strong wind safely travel strong" or in modern terms "fair winds and following seas"
S.Smith

Another sleepless night and a grueling day at work, she couldn’t wait to get home and check her e-mail. Nothing, she hollered down the stairs. "Dad, did anyone call for me today?" Nothing.

It had been more than a week and finally a call one evening, not Tischer but from the other intern on the dig. "Sarah, this is Kent. What did you do? Dr. Tischer has published a new paper in Modern Philology, and your the bad guy. He refers to you as an unschooled and under experienced charlatan. Looks to me like a case of he who publishes first is the only one regarded."

Taken aback Sarah blurted, "No Kent, I just cracked the thing and sent the key to the doctor."

"He’s claiming theft of intellectual property. Says you took copies of unpublished translations and were planning to claim some credit for the decipher." Kent replied.

"Okay, I stole copies of untranslated lines of glyphs." She answered, "I spent every spare minute plugging in far fetched parameters, and the second I found something I turned it over to Tischer."

"You turned it over to him all right, sounds like he’s making sure you can’t claim your work." Kent waited for quite a while then asked with his best Sam Spade Slur, "what you gonna do cupcake?"

She was crying. "I could go to Krabchikov, and tell him my side."

"Too late Sarah, it’s already in print, you stole it." he responded.

More sniffling, then silence. Kent offered. "Sorry, I thought you should know. I wouldn’t fight it, Tischer’s reputation is unimpeachable. Keep laying low, I’ll call you again if anything changes. My guess is, that if you don’t respond, it will go away. Bye." The call disconnected with a click.

She pretty much cried for a month. Her dad couldn’t take it anymore. One day when she was coming in the front door he stopped her in her tracks saying, "I’ve got some money I might want to invest to clear your name. Is there anywhere you can go to find something that can’t be claimed by Doctor Cuckoo?"

She hadn’t considered such a thing. She started off again toward her room while it sank in. He called after her, "I mean it Sarah Jane."

Hours later in her room it came to her, Chile, and she was off.