It’s hard to put a shovel in the ground anywhere in a modern Greek city and not find a relic from a bygone civilization. The metro in Thessaloniki was delayed for years by a buried Roman thoroughfare; the Acropolis Museum in Athens incorporates the ancient neighborhood uncovered by its construction.

Penelope Alexiou, digging in a corner of the Athens Agora, found shards of pottery, pieces of statuary, a comb and an almost complete bracelet as she swept and dug her way methodically down to the Classical Period. But she stopped dead when she saw the object. Then she fetched her supervisor.

 

Professor Pavlis said, “This must be a joke."

 

They bent down together to look more closely. Pavlis brushed away some dirt, revealing cracked glass and a scarred and mottled exterior. But it was in one piece and recognizable to almost everyone on Earth.

 

“The integrity of the stratum?” said the professor.

 

“Intact,” said Penelope. “Undisturbed layers. I took photographs.”

 

“Have you told anyone?”

 

“No. What would I say?”

 

“This depth is around 400 B.C.,” said Professor Pavlis. “I suppose you could tell them you found Socrates’s iPhone.”

 

* * *

 

Pavlis had Penelope cover the find with tarp and sent her home with strict instructions not to breathe a word.

Penelope emailed the professor the photos she’d taken. She hoped the images proved her story: she hadn’t introduced the object, nor was there any sign anyone else had disturbed the area. She slept fitfully, a nagging feeling of unease keeping her company.

 

The next morning, when Penelope returned to the dig, another student was at her station. She turned without a word and sought out the professor.

 

“I’m sorry, Penelope,” said Pavlis. “We have to reassign you.”

 

“But I did nothing wrong.” Penelope told herself not to cry but failed. “This is my life.”

 

“You’re not being fired. You can try to regain our trust by working in the cataloging department.”

 

That’s worse than being fired, thought Penelope. She’s buying my silence with false hope.

 

“Of course this posting is contingent on you not saying anything about the artifact.”

 

“Where is it? The phone.”

 

“That includes not asking questions about it.”

 

 

* * *

 

Penelope toyed with the idea of quitting, but she hadn’t lied — archeology was her life. She had to delete the images of the site and the object. If she went to the press with no evidence, no one would believe her. She couldn’t believe it herself, but she had seen the thing and touched it. It was as real as the phone she held in her hand.

 

The Stoa of Attalos Research Center housed artifacts from the adjoining Agora site. From her office, Penelope could see her former colleagues at work. She toiled diligently, matching pieces of pottery and mosaic flooring, inputting data into the system. It was tedious work, but she told herself it was just as important as unearthing a treasure. An uncatalogued find was merely a trinket.

 

One of Penelope’s new office mates was an older woman called Agnes who worked very quietly. After a few weeks, Agnes asked Penelope if she wanted to join her for lunch, and they sat outside overlooking the Agora site.

 

“You worked there, yes?” said Agnes.

 

“I did.”

 

“Why did you get sent here?”

 

“Oh,” said Penelope. “I don’t like the sun.”

 

“Did you find something?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I overheard a conversation,” said Agnes. “It helps to be unobtrusive. People forget you’re there.”

 

Penelope stared into her lunchbox.

 

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” said Agnes.

 

* * *

 

That Sunday morning, Penelope followed a map on her phone through a labyrinth of corridors in the National Archeological Museum. A man, white-haired and stooped, met Penelope and showed her into a dimly lit room. He said his name was Nikos.

 

“Whatever you see here, the knowledge of it remains in this room,” Nikos said. The man opened a tray and sitting on a field of velvet was the phone, cleaned.

 

“It’s a Seven,” said Nikos. “An older model.”

 

“But not that old,” said Penelope.

 

“By twenty-four hundred years. Beyond repair, alas.”

 

Nikos opened another tray. Penelope saw a handful of bullets.

 

“From Mycenae,” he said. “Similar era to the phone. Steel-cased cartridges from a Kalashnikov.”

 

The old man went around the room showing Penelope more treasures. A watch unearthed at the bottom of a well; a Swiss Army knife; a screwdriver. At each station, Nikos picked up the artifact in his gloved hands and turned it over while his eyes shone with delight.

 

“Who knows about this place?”

 

“A few of us,” said Nikos. “We keep it to ourselves. It hasn’t always gone well when foreigners get involved. You’ll note all our treasures in the British Museum.”

 

“Do you have any idea…?”

 

“Let me show you what Agnes found,” said Nikos.

 

Nikos unlocked a double door at the back of the room and flicked on a light. On a plinth encased in a plexiglass case was… what? Penelope walked around the object. It was about three meters square, a cube with a metallic surface that was scorched and blackened. One side was caved in, and inside Penelope could see a chair, like a pilot’s seat.

 

“It was found in a tomb on Crete. There was no body.”

 

“So this person travels to Classical era Greece and leaves mementoes for us to find?” Penelope said, and looked at Nikos. He nodded.

 

“He emptied his toolkit, perhaps,” said Nikos. “For the fun of it. Then his machine malfunctions and he’s trapped in Ancient Greece. Which means he’s been dead for more than two thousand years.”

 

“His souvenirs are all from today,” said Penelope. “He could be here right now, planning his trip.”

 

Nikos smiled and scratched his head. And winked at Penelope.