The Marshall College quad, filled with green trees and freshly cut grass, was much quieter than usual. In normal days, students would be moving back and forth across the cobblestone pathways cut between the foliage and the greens, sitting on benches, and congregating within their cliques. Now that it had become summer, the chatter and bustle had given way to the silent song of birds and the wind, with only a few trails of students making their way to whatever tasks they still had at the university during the holidays.

Marcus stood by the door to the Great Hall, where Marshall College's faculty administration and lecture halls laid. With his hands in his coat pockets, his eyes scanned the environment until they finally laid upon a familiar figure making its way across the quad. A grin spread across his face as he grew closer, and Marcus began to walk towards the other man to meet him halfway.

"Genius of the Restoration!"

"Aid our own resuscitation!" Marcus said, extending a hand out towards his old friend, "How are you doing, Henry old chap?"

Henry Walton Jones, Senior, smiled as he shook the hand heartily, the two men walking alongside each other as they made their way the rest of the distance towards the Great Hall, "Sad my tour is over, for sure. But, I think I've earned enough favors to allow myself a little time to pursue my own interests."

"The Grail?" Marcus asked, voice low and hesitant.

"The Grail," Henry answered confidently, "It's difficult, Marcus. The National Museum is uninterested in funding any real excavations, neither is the British Museum or... anyone else for that matter. I've put my lot in with some potential private investors, but we'll just have to see."

The two men mounted the stairs leading up into the mouth of Marshall's Great Hall. A hardwood floor clicked under their shoes as they made their way for the faculty wing. A few people bustled by, mostly custodial staff or faculty. Otherwise, the voices of the two old friends mostly echoed off of the walls through the silent space.

Eventually, after reversing the results of a wrong turn on Marcus's part, they arrived in the office section of the building. Long corridors were flanked on both sides by windowed doors with fogged glass, the names of the owners or purpose of each office written on it. As the two men chatted idly, Henry suddenly stopped, eyes locked on a door.

"PROFESSOR HENRY 'INDIANA' JONES - EGYPTOLOGY"

Henry Jones senior's visit to Connecticut had, very coincidentally, lined up with a point where Indiana was overseas. Marcus grimaced, deciding to at least attempt to uplift one of his friends to another one, "He's doing well in his teaching, you know. Even with all of the extra work he's been piled on with.."

"What is he teaching?" Henry asked, staying perfectly still, staring at the door with slightly squinted eyes, as if sizing up an ancient mural.

"He's teaching Marshall's course on ancient Mesopotamia, archaeology 101, a course on the ancient Orient..." Marcus placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, patting him a few times, "You'd be proud of him. He's struggled a lot, but he's overcome so many challenges..."

"I'm glad to hear it!" Henry said in a quick, jerky, clipped tone. He turned away from the door, walking forward again and forcing Marcus to catch up, "I would have been greatly happy to share in Junior's success, you know!"

"Henry, please..." Marcus pleaded, but was quickly cut off by a raised hand.

"No, no, I don't want to hear about all the ways I wronged the boy before he abandoned his father and the life I had built for him, in order to cowboy his way through the War and galavant around the world. I'm glad he's finally decided to settle down and find himself a real job," Henry almost spat, flexing his hands as they walked right by Marcus's office and began wandering aimlessly through the faculty area, "I'm happy for him, Marcus, I really am."

Marcus ran a finger through his collar, giving a glance behind himself at his own office door as they passed by it, "I'm- I'm glad to hear it, Henry."

Henry slowed down from his brisk walk, taking a deep breath and clasping his hands behind his back. Slowly, he turned and looked back towards Marcus, "...How is she doing?"

"She's with her tutor right now, going through her lessons," Marcus said, gesturing for Henry to follow as they went back the way to his office, "I am staying at Indiana's house every night, watching over her while her father is away."

"...Is she being taken care of well, by him?" Henry asked, not making eye contact as his voice dipped to a low tone.

"She is being taught a great many things. She knows Greek, Spanish... I hear he's starting her on some Oriental languages this year. She's excellent at geography, name a province that appears on a map and she'll point you to its exact placement without hesitation," a slight smile, "She's being taught shooting this year. A very educated young woman..."

Henry scoffed, though his face remained neutral, "Is she good with languages, like her father?"

"She's good, but not as good as Indy I don't think. The languages she doesn't practice are very sketchy, but she does seem to have at least a bit of talent with acquiring new ones," Marcus said, reaching into a pocket and retrieving his keys, inserting them into the lock of his office door and opening it.

"Marcus... I've been meaning to ask a favor of you," Henry said, reaching behind his head and scratching a bit, his hat wiggling as his fingers moved, "Since Indiana is out of town... could I see her?"

Marcus shook his head as he opened the door to his office: a larger-than-usual room flanked on either end with bookshelves and a window looking out over the quad. Inviting Henry to sit, Marcus himself sat on a luxuriant leather-upholstered chair at the head of his desk, "I couldn't go behind Indiana's back like that."

"Just because we are unable to resolve our differences doesn't mean I shouldn't be able to know her," Henry grumbled, walking over to the window and parting the blinds, drinking in the sun.

"Well I-" Marcus frowned. Indiana had the full right to control access to his own daughter, though Marcus didn't want to just tell it straight, "I think you would just damage your relationship with him further if you tried to do that."

Henry kept his back to Marcus, eyes gazing out the window, "...What if we don't see each other directly? Do you think it could be possible to... carry some correspondence to her?"

Marcus frowned. It still wasn't right, "I'm not sure, that still brings up many of the same problems..."

"Please," Henry insisted, turning around from the window. His face twisted into a pained grimace as he earnestly pleaded, "It's been nearly a decade. I shouldn't get to know my granddaughter through watching... newsreels. I- I don't..." he trailed off, reaching up a hand to clutch the salt-and-pepper beard that grew from his chin as he shook his head.

"If Indiana found out, he would kill me," Marcus said plaintively, "I would also be trusting her to keep a secret from her own father... i-it's just, it's just going to cause more pain down the road, Henry..." a pause, before Marcus lowered his eyebrows and asked, "Would just... going to your son and trying to work things out be such a terrible thing? He's not some... wild animal, Henry. I am sure he'll understand how you feel."

Henry paused, before answering with a question: "Can you do it, or not?"

Marcus reached up to rub his eyes, before leaning forward and steepling his hands on his desk, "Fine. Write a letter and I'll give it over."

Dear Anna Jones

I hope this letter finds you well. I am Henry Walton Jones, Senior, and your grandfather. The good Marcus Brody has taken the liberty of telling me much about you, including your origins in Panama, your personality, and your father's methods of child-rearing. I hear that you have learned Greek, Spanish, and that you know conversational German from one of your honorary Uncles. I remember teaching your father Greek personally, though in your circumstances it makes sense to have your tutor perform the task.

The purpose of this letter is to attempt to get into contact with you personally. As your father would likely not even read mail from me, I used Mr. Brody to reach you instead. I am a doctor of medieval literature, and am currently doing research into the lore of the Holy Grail - the famed cup of Jesus Christ. If you ever need to reach me, I live on 25 Pine Road, Ferndale, New York, USA. While I am not always there, as I travel the world consistently for my work, I maintain my mailing address there and will read and respond to any letters at my first convenience.

That being said, I am very curious to know you. Marcus has shared with me some of the footnotes that Dr. Johan Richter had made in his research, and I must say it is all very fascinating. I hear you are very interested in cartography and navigation, and that you are capable of flight. While I must say, it is far from my main passion, necessity and curiosity has driven me to learn some basic elements of mapmaking, particularly about how ancient methods of cartography are translated to modern survey maps. Despite your younger age, I am sure there are elements that you know of that you might be able to share with me so that we may indulge our mutual curiosities.

I would also like to inquire personally, if it is not too much of an overstep on my part, about the status of your home. I am quite familiar with the hardships of single parenting, and am curious as to how Junior is keeping up with his fathering of you.

I am looking forward to hearing back from you.

Best regards, your Grandfather, Henry Walton Jones Sr.

P.S. Considering I have missed every one of your birthdays since you were born, I would like to perform a bit of catch-up. If you could share with me some of your desires for gifts, I may be able to send you a parcel before your next birthday.

Anna furrowed her brow as she looked up from the letter, "...So if I wanted to respond, I'd have to do it secretly?"

"Er, well..." Marcus folded his hands in front of him as he leaned on the wall next to Anna, "I wouldn't want to pressure you. If you ever wanted to write him, you could just give me the letter and I'd mail it for you."

Anna turned back to the page and her mind went to her typewriter, sitting in her room upstairs. The guilt of doing something her father would be sore at her about hung over her head heavily, but at the same time...

If you could share with me some of your desires for gifts, I may be able to send you a parcel before your next birthday.

Anna smiled subtly. Maybe it was worth sending her Grandfather a letter?

Dear Henry Walton Jones, Sr.

Thank you for your letter. I've heard plenty of things about you from Uncle Marcus and my dad, but it's still nice to hear from you directly! You say you studied medieval literature. Last year Uncle Marcus introduced me to some classical literature from his old library. It was really hard to read but sort of interesting. I'm going to be sticking more to modern literature though. I'm a big fan of adventure and fantasy. I even put some of my father's adventures to paper.

Aside from reading, I like to fly around. A lot of people say that just the act of flying itself would be fun to them, but really it's pretty boring to me by now. Probably a result of having been doing it for as long as I can remember, but anyway. The funnest part of flying is just being able to, with a spare hour or so, fly all the way out of town to some remote part of the forest and poke around without fear of getting lost or stranded. I rarely lose my way, but even if I ever did I could just fly south until I reached the coast, then follow it until I found New Haven New York.

Dad tells me Jesus Christ probably wasn't actually the son of God, but it's cool that you're looking for his cup anyway. How much do you think something like that would be worth? I mean they built entire churches around Jesus's handkerchiefs and shoes, so probably a lot of money! What's Ferndale like? I've been to New York City a bunch of times, but I know Ferndale is upstate quite a bit. Near Barnett College, right? I'd like to hear more about your home town!

As for Dad. He's a great Dad. He hired a private tutor so that I didn't have to go to public school, cause he said the other kids would bully me. I think that's fair enough, aside from my friends all the other kids my age just spread rumors about me around the block. He teaches me all kinds of stuff, like how to use a bullwhip, how to tie knots and live out in the wilderness! This past summer, he started to give me lessons on how to shoot. He even bought me a little pocket pistol that I keep in my drawer in case anybody ever breaks into the house. They call it a pocket pistol, but it's really just my size.

Hope to hear back from you too!

Sincerely, Anna Jones

P.S.: My request for a gift would be a compass. Something really nice and hardy, with a protective case. The last one I was given got smashed really easily.

Dear Anna Jones

I thank you for your timely response. Fortunately, the postal service can at least be relied upon to move between Bedford and Ferndale with good speed. I have had times in the past where letters would be delayed by months due to needing to move through third world postage systems. Heaven forbid I ever send anything with even the vaguest value from the Middle East, either.

Regardless, I ramble. It is good to hear that your education is varied and active. It is good to keep a measure of health with regular physical activities, especially for the young and the academic. Too often have I seen brilliant minds fall ill to ailing health and unsound bodies. What is your curriculum like? I assume there are home and social studies included along with language and the sciences? Do you have any extracurriculars planned out that meet your desired plans? I hear women of strong education now sometimes plan around going into a lifelong career, though I dare not presume anything about you.

Ferndale is a very nice, small, quiet town. There is a nearby park, some eateries, and a few houses. However Barnett College is actually in Fairview, which is just a few miles north of here. I used to teach actively at Princeton, but now I am in full-time field work instead. So, the remote location serves just as a place to keep my mailing address and to retreat to after a long journey overseas. It helps that it's so close to New York City, which is usually my gateway back into the United States after my trips to Europe and Africa.

I visited Bedford when penning my original letter. It is a very nice community. I have always preferred the feeling of small-to-medium sized college towns, especially in the New England area. I am a native of Princeton, New Jersey, and so is your father. I didn't get a chance to visit your actual home, though. What is it like? Comfortable, I would assume?

I found your desired gift from a very respectable source. It took a while to ship, which is why I delayed this letter for so long. I hope it is to your liking and that it may brighten up your Christmas. I hope to be able to write you again before your birthday next year. After that, I will be out of the house for an extended period and will be unable to answer your mail. It will be a trip to the University of Sapienza - a risky travel at this time what with all those Godless Fascists crawling over that part of Europe, but it is unfortunately a necessary part of the job.

I will attempt to bring you something back. I feel like a simple piece of navigational equipment is not an expensive enough gift to warrant giving to you. Tell me a bit about some of your other interests. Do you have any hobbies aside from wilderness treks and literature?

Regards, Henry Walton Jones, Sr.

Indiana Jones was nose-deep in a book as snow pelted him. Walking up the steps to his home, he unlocked and opened the door, moving his body to shuffle in sideways so that his book didn't knock against the sides of the door as he walked inside.

Anna was waiting for him within, lounging on a chair by the window booth in the kitchen as lasagna cooked in the oven. She perked up as he emerged from around the corner, having kicked off his snow-covered boots and hung his hat up. Looking up from his research for a single spare moment, he reached into his coat and pulled out a paper-wrapped package.

"Marcus said this was for you," Indiana muttered distractedly, "Said he found it at a market sale or something..."

Anna took it, ripping it open to reveal a cardboard box. With a butterknife, she pried the tape off of the lid of the box and opened it, extracting a small, palm-sized wooden box that smelled of fresh polish and varnish. Licking her lips, a grin formed on her face as she opened it and revealed the compass nestled within. Its needle pointed straight and true to north... assumedly. She would need to take it up above the clouds soon to compare it to the sun.

"Hey, Dad, loo-" Anna began, turning around, only to find her father had already disappeared up the stairs.

With a sigh and a quick roll of her eyes, she looked blankly back down into the library book she was reading, already thinking about her next letter.

Dear Henry Walton Jones, Sr.

Dr Hanley, who is the local general practitioner who took over when my Uncle Johan went back to Germany, says that I am very fit. Possibly stronger than other girls my age, but I still get trounced by my father when it comes to arm-wrestling. Tommy still can outrun me as well if I don't try and fly. I don't learn anything really about domestics, but Uncle Rich taught me how to cook (Dad's really bad at cooking, so really it's a blessing that I can cook my own meals). My friends, who are all boys, learn things like woodworking and mechanical stuff. My extracurriculars are things like language and shooting, like I mentioned before.

I dunno really what I'm going to do when I grow up. Mr Sanders tells me that girls usually look forward to marrying somebody and having a family, but unless they find more people of my species I'm not gonna have very good luck with that. I think when I get old enough I'm going to try and become an archaeologist like my father. If not, I'll probably try and become a writer, but everyone says it's really hard to make money off of being a writer so I'm not really sure. Even after the Crash and everything, Dad seems to make enough money to go on trips and pay for all kinds of things for the house so it seems pretty financially viable.

Speaking of my house, it's real nice. It's got two floors and a garage. We have a gas pipeline for central heating, but we also got a fireplace which is nice and cozy after you've been out rolling around in the snow. We had to put in a rubber mat and towels next to the fireplace because whenever I warm myself up, there's inevitably snow caught somewhere in my coat that just runs off all over the carpet. Dad's very proud of some of the modern appliances we got. We have a washing machine, a refrigerator, telephone, radio. We actually just replaced our radio with a newer model, which has a lot less static and is smaller.

My Dad's really worried about the fascists. Apparently they sponsored one of his old enemies, Belloq. I only vaguely remember him from around ten years ago, when he tried to kidnap me aboard a ship. I still get nightmares about that ship, but apparently the guy I keep dreaming about isn't Belloq. Anyway, I saw in a newsreel that they elected someone who is a Fascist in Germany. Uncle Johan wrote me and told me that they're going to fix the economy or something.

I do have other hobbies. I really like Baseball. Sometimes we go out to games of it locally, or go all the way out to New York. I'm also a big fan of birdwatching. My Uncle Johan really got me into it before he left. I've been watching this flock of ducks on the nearby lake for a while now and feeding them when I can. Apparently it's really bad to feed them bread! I feed them grapes and corn instead, I think they're starting to like me. They come towards me when I land.

Regards, Anna Jones

Dear Anna Jones,

Archaeology is certainly a very ambitious path for yourself to pursue. I am in no means in discouragement of it, but I must state a few facts. Firstly, it is exceptionally hard for women to excel to the same levels of academic proficiency. The journal articles on studying you have given no real insights to any biological and psychological differences you might have to human women, but they are generally biologically unsuited towards intellectual work. They are tooled towards being caring, nurturing, and emotional, which is generally incompatible with intense academic work.

Secondly, even if you may be different on a fundamental level from a human woman, I am afraid the institutions will be stacked against you on a principle. Heavy scrutiny will be placed upon work and I fear that even though your circumstances may exempt you from many of the reasons the fairer sex does not engage with academia, that administrators and peers will not see it that way. My wife so much as being in attendance during my lecture tours would sometimes be treated as an outlandish thing.

That being said, there are examples of women breaking into archaeological fields already. I believe in Sweden, a woman managed to hold her ground and obtained her doctorate. So, I know it is not by any measure impossible. You have already defied expectations when that court case was won in your favor to earn you citizenship. Perhaps you may be so fortuitous as to do so again. Just allow me to warn you that this may be an endeavor that must be hard-won and fought for, with extra hard work and diligence!

Now, I hope I will not have put you off with my rather negative first paragraphs. I must clarify that I mean only the best for you, but that I am above all a pessimist when it comes down to it. I am actually glad that you mention cooking, though. One of my friends in Italy is a conservator of rare and obscure texts from antiquity. He wrote me to say that he was restoring an old Roman cookbook! Perhaps they will have something that is free of meat that you can use? I will try and secure a copy while I am there.

I find birds interesting, but have never pursued them in any scientific sense. Though, while pondering your letter, I think more and more on birds as they fly. I can quite understand the appeal of being able to fly, though not just for the fun of moving fast through the air. I find myself jealous of the ability to just fly away and isolate oneself amongst the wilderness, or to spontaneously travel. We humans find ourselves chained to the ground, needing to pack, drive, walk, and take trains to our destinations with all kinds of hubbub. Perhaps I would visit my old friends in Princeton more often if I could make the journey as the crow flies.

I would warn you against Fascist rhetoric. It is the fancy new ideology these days, popular with all the kids who haven't had the life experience to resist its wiles. When I was young, Communism was in Fascism's place. Both equally godless, feckless pseudo-religions made by men who lost their connections with God and their conscience long ago. Don't allow yourself to fall prey to their lies, Anna.

I should be back by summer this year. Perhaps I may write to you earlier than then from Italy, though I will be unable to read your response until I am back home to check up on my mail.

Regards, Henry Walton Jones, Sr

For: Anna

Note, I wasn't sure if you had learned either Latin or Italian. I was given the choice between an Italian and Latin translation of the book, so I chose Latin as it was the more respectable language in my opinion. In case you need to learn, I included a dictionary and translation guide.

My tickets are finalized and I will be returning home on the 13th of July.

Indiana bit down on his breakfast, a mixture of confusion and unique taste swirling in his mouth. Before him was a dish of egg with some sort of smokey, earthy sauce spread all across it that tasted of nuts. Licking his lips, he looked curiously over to Anna, who was casually writing down notes on her father's latest adventure.

"Where'd you get this?" Indiana asked, poking his meal with his fork.

"Huh?" Anna looked up, "Oh. Uncle Marcus gave me a cookbook of old Roman recipes."

"You know Latin now?" Indiana asked, blinking a few times.

Anna shook her head, "No, that's why he gave me a translation manual. I kinda had to just go page by page and translate everything."

Indiana forehead smoothened as he nodded to himself. It was definitely like Marcus to give Anna a version of the book that hadn't been translated into English. He went back to eating, giving a hum as his taste buds slowly adjusted and found the dish palatable (this was not a hard feat by any measure, as Indy commonly contented himself with eating the seediest street food during his travels).

"Anyway, you were saying something about the Philosopher's Stone?" Anna asked, licking her lips as she continued to scrawl on the page.

"Right..." Indiana said around his mouthful, swallowing before continuing, "So, we landed in the Honduras-"

Dear Henry Walton Jones, Sr

I used the translation guide to just put the book into English, so that it would be easier to read. Thanks! Dad seemed to like the From the Egg to the Fruit. I dunno why they called it that considering it's basically just boiled eggs with a unique sauce. Still, it's pretty nice.

It's pretty funny that you came back home when you did. Dad was only a few weeks ahead of you and he left all the way back in January. He was out in Honduras and Libya for some more fieldwork. I'm gonna write all about it in Indiana Jones and the Philosopher's Stone. He brought me back a nice kite, though for some reason I think he got it in New York rather than overseas since it's rather normal. Still, I like kites quite a bit. You can really get an extra dimension of use out of them while flying around, rather than just using them from the ground like humans do.

This summer I'm being taught how to use a rifle rather than just a handgun. This time I didn't get my own rifle, though. He says that he only got me a handgun because it was just supposed to be for me to defend myself with. After a scare I had with some hikers the other day in the woods, he got me a custom-built belt that has a holster for my gun, since my normal belt is at my waist and is at a really awkward angle to draw from unless I'm flying.

I really don't like shooting, though. Guns are really loud and I'm not a very good shot. Dad says that that will mend with time, though.

Regards, Anna Jones

Dear Anna Jones

It is good to see a letter from you waiting as I settle back into my home. I am very fascinated to hear about the stories your father has told you. I did see a newspaper article with his name in it, though it wasn't for any sorts of archaeological find of such mythical importance. Instead, it talked about him being a grave robber. I understand the media can sometimes exaggerate things, but I somehow doubt that he found something as mythical as a magical alchemical stone.

Regardless, I am also glad to see that you enjoyed what I sent you from Italy, though I felt it ended up being more of a homework assignment than a real gift! I will try and get you something before the year is out. I know your clothes are all custom-tailored by your adoptive uncles and your father, so I will have to think of something else a bit more physical. Do you own your own copy of the world atlas?

It makes me concerned that your father was absent for such a long period. Who takes care of you while he is gone? In other news, I suppose I am unsurprised that he has chosen to educate you in the art of defense and violence. He was always a bit of a cowboy, and I suppose he may know a thing or two about gun-fighting considering his status as a veteran. Just try not to get too carried away. If there is any influence I should impart upon you, it should be that I ensure you do not run off to join a war.

If you may send me a draft of your novelization, I would be most interested in reading it. I am not educated in any respect on the fine points of literature, but I may give you my best feedback on its various qualities. No matter the quality, I would be absolutely delighted to see any work my granddaughter has produced.

Regards, Henry Walton Jones, Sr

Dear Henry Walton Jones, Sr

A lot of people say they don't believe my father's tall tales. I've already written a bunch of stuff about how he went to kill Dracula, about him finding the interior world, finding dinosaur eggs, and all kinds of things. I believe every single one of them is true, cause my dad's got the scars and stories to prove every single one of them. I just really hope one day I can go with him. He keeps telling me that maybe he'll let me when I'm older, but I'm fourteen now. Biologically, I'm fifteen, even!

Still, it's sad that he misses a lot of Christmases and birthdays. He promises he'll be around for my next birthday, though. He has some work scheduled near then in China, but he says that it'll be happening in February. Usually all of his adventures are spontaneous, so him saying it's scheduled really makes me think he won't miss this one.

I'll have Uncle Marcus carry some of my old work over. I didn't include the one about the interior world, since I wrote it when I was nine and it is yuck! I gave you my two most recent ones, the one on Dracula and the dinosaur eggs. The one on the Philosopher's Stone is still being written. These things take time, and a lot of ink and paper. Seriously, one time I felt my forehooves tingling because of all the vibrations from my typewriter going off!

Anyway, have a good Christmas, Grandpa! Hope you like my books! See you next year!

Regards, Anna Jones.

Author's Note

IT'S TEMPLE OF DOOM TIME BABY LET'S GO WOOOOOOOOO

GET HYPED

I am personally very, very excited.