Angela raised an eyebrow.  “You mean like a spire?”

“Doubtful.  Unlike the spire, where the glass is all one piece, here it’s dispersed all over the surface in many pieces, which would actually make sense.”

“Why?”

“If this is the exit point of that energy, it would.  Exit points are always dispersed by passing through something no matter what the medium.”

“So, then,” said Rickards, “the energy is more concentrated going in than coming out.”

Townsend frowned.  “That’s what I just said.”

“Are you saying that’s what created all the desert glass?”

“That’s my suspicion,” answered the professor.  “Normal formation of glass silica typically requires high concentrations of energy and heat.  But it’s possible this form of silica was somehow made with less intensity over a much longer period.”

“How many people know about this glass?” Angela asked.

“Almost everyone, I’d imagine.”

Rickards continued listening while watching the crowd around them.  “But if we’re the only ones who know about this flow through the planet, how does everyone else think the glass got here?”

“Most scientists think it was a meteor.”

“A meteor?”

Townsend nodded.  “That’s been the prevailing opinion for a long time.  An explosion in the air close enough to the ground and with enough heat to form glass.  We’ve seen small examples like that around other impact sites but nothing like this.”

“I see.”

“But…” Townsend continued, “there’s just a tiny problem with that theory.”

“What sort of problem?”

“For starters, if the glass was created quickly, say in a meteor explosion, particularly over such a large area, there would be evidence.  Like a crater.”

“Even if it exploded in the air?”

“Yes.  The great glass, the explosion, would have had to have been close to the surface—close enough to leave at least a shallow crater behind.  But there isn’t one.”

“None at all?”

He shook his head.  “None at all.  Which is the proverbial thorn in their theory’s side.”

“So, all this time,” said Angela, “no one knew where the glass came from?”

“Not for sure.”

Rickards turned back to Angela.  “Sounds a little like your Egyptian history problem.”

Townsend paused and looked at the taller Rickards.  “Come again?”

Instead of answering, he grinned at Angela.  “Go head.  Tell him.”

Angela shook her head dismissively.  “It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“Apparently,” offered Rickards, “Egyptian history doesn’t have a history.”

Angela rolled her eyes.  “That’s not what I said.”

“I was paraphrasing.”

“Try butchering.”

“Fine.” He shrugged, turning to watch the bags as they finally began appearing in the carousel.  “You explain it.”

With a sigh, Angela returned her attention to Townsend.  “What I said was that a number of people, experts, are coming to a shared conclusion—that Egypt’s early developmental history is missing some pieces.”

“What do you mean missing?”