What comes around

"We are an old people." The ancient voice cracked and wheezed.
"But it was not always so." The old man squinted his rheumy eyes at the anthropologist, seeing past the form, into the heart. He coughed and sighed, then continued. "Once, we were young, defiant, proud in our ignorance of any strength beyond our own. We moved into the land and took it, as a conqueror. Like you."
The anthropologist formed an absent smile. It was going to be a long session. If she let the old guy go on like this, it might be hours before she got anything of value, but if she stopped him now, she might never get another word out of him. She shifted the recorder to a more secure spot on the rickety table.
"Your people are still strong and proud." She had a little trouble with the vowels in his archaic language but she was better at it than any one else on the research team. And the old geezer refused to respond to anything else but his own tongue.
The weather ruined face wrinkled into an amused smile. "Not as we were. We have learned, as you will. The earth is not to be used and discarded. It has it's own destiny."
The scientist dipped her head, the way she'd been taught these people acknowledged an elder's words. She could go along with the customs, to get what she needed. In fact, some of them were almost elegant. She could appreciate the non-verbal communication for what it was, a form of societal shaping to maintain order.
"Please, tell me."
The old man settled back, leaning on the wooden back of the chair. "You want to hear of our stories, of when we came. We were not the first. There were others before us. We swept some of them away like chaff before the wind. Others were stronger, more resistant. We fought them and they too were gone, or absorbed into our world, with remnants of memories. We thought they were the first, but they were not.
"Others, more ancient, stronger, and probably more far sighted, had been and gone. The land remained. When it wanted them gone, they left without a struggle. The ones who came after learned from the Ancients and they respected the land. They were allowed to stay much longer and when we came, they thought we would do the same."
The old man sighed. His worn body could not sustain the energy to talk for long periods but the scientist was determined to get as much out of him as she could.
She offered him a steaming cup of his favorite drink. "Here. Rest a little, then go on. You're helping all of us so much."
The old man cradled the cup in his bony hands, sipping and pausing, then sipping again. He shot a glance at the scientist, his blue eyes glinting with cold humor.
The anthropologist shook herself. Some of these old types acted like this project was an insult but this character was the worst. She couldn't escape the impression that he was laughing at her, her work and the rest of the team. Why he thought he was superior was beyond her.
A tattered shirt, coarse blue pants stuffed into decrepit boots, and an old leather jacket that desperately needed cleaning were probably his best clothes. She didn't want to imagine the hovel he lived in. Most of these people made do with simple electricity, primative plumbing and little else.
The scientist forced herself to concentrate on the project rather than this particular subject.
"Can you go on?"
The old man shrugged an agreement. "You want to hear how we can to be as we are?"
The scientist nodded absently, her eyes more on the dials of the simple recorder than the old man.
"When we were young and fearless, and had no respect for that which came before, some of my people began to search out the old places. They started with the idea of understanding those who were gone, but some wanted treasures to hold and covet, treasures that would give them power, riches and fame." A soft sigh escaped from the time thinned lips.
"Somewhere, no one knows where or how, a strange door was discovered. This door was small and narrow, hidden deep in a rock-strewn canyon. The way there was not inviting, or particularly safe but one man chanced it. The door, carved of stone, faced with wood and sealed with pitch boasted an iron lock rusted shut. The man worked for years to open the lock, unseal the door and see what lay hidden. All this time, his true treasures, a wife and children, a home and reputation, were forgotten, like some much dross. The wife raised the children and left him, the home fell to ruin and the reputation was forgotten.
"Finally, the day came when he could open the door. He was not aware of wars, rumors of plague, waves of anger and misery that swept the earth. He only saw the narrow door open.
"Inside was a hole. An empty, bottomless slit of nothing that led to nothing. A hollow into space. He beamed a light into it, and the light fell away. He breathed into it and his breath fell away. He put his head into it and he fell away. Then you came."
The old man sat back in his chair, spent. The scientist frowned, waved her hand for him to go on, and leaned forward. Silence. The old man sank with a final breath, his head dipped to his chest, eyes closed. No breath stirred his lips.
The scientist blinked. "Mr. Smith?" She used the old formal title these primitive people used for their men.
Mr. Smith did not move. She grimaced and reached out a tentative upper limb. No breath, no pulse. The old man had just died.
She tapped an irregular spot on her upper torso. "Dosquant, the subject is of no further use."
These earth being. She wanted so to understand them and every time she got one that made some sort of sense, something happened. They lapsed into senility, illness or in some cases, death. If this kept up, she would run out of subjects before she found anything of value.
Dosquant, short squatty body and wide lower limbs perfect for manual labor, stumped into the room. As he gathered the frail remains, he looked at the scientist.
"What? One of the survey teams has found a door, in a canyon?" The scientist stared at Dosquant. His mandibular structure would not allow him to verbalize but he had been fitted with a mental enhancer so he could communicate if he concentrated.
"Sealed, with a iron lock?"
She did not wait for an answer. After all this was her project, and if there was a find to be had, by the Moons of Qunida, it was hers.
In the space of one Solar day, strange creatures she had never seen, with terrifying new technologies swept through the outpost. The project was forgotten in the invasion.