The Flouc

Obelix's corpulence, Bérurier's banter, Colombo's raincoat and Maigret's pipe had never helped make Hyppolite Durieux a renowned cop, but today his abilities would be put to the test. . Indeed, a crime had just been committed in Noirmoutier in full departure of the Tour de France and its reputation could cross the borders of the island. He should not miss the opportunity.
His first concern was to go to the scene of the crime: a technical truck of a team in sight in this one hundred and fifth Tour de France cyclist, the "Great Loop". His divisional had made more recommendations than usual. It was not to tarnish the reputation of teams, the Tour and its sports organizers and especially, especially, those of local officials.
Arriving at the car park that housed the technical staff, he immediately recognized the logo of the team he was looking for. Anyway, an impressive cordon of police and gendarmes was already present. He could not have been wrong. His "nose" immediately told him that something was wrong.
Seeing the policeman arrive from his heavy gait dodeling on both sides of his prominent belly, the colleagues present discreetly moved away. He passed worthily in front of them, the basques of his open raincoat floating in the light wind, and entered the bus-workshop by returning his belly.
- Name of name, it is who who fucked me doors so p'tites. Do you think there are only wasps that cycle?
The interior of the truck was tidy. Everything seemed in its place and only a large blood stain was a mess in the middle of the vehicle. A policeman in white dress seemed to be picking up items from the storage shelves.
- And where is the stiffness? the policeman wondered.
- There is no corpse.
- No ?
- No. Shut up the guy.
- Name of name! I knew ben that would me shit this cunt!
- Inspector, let's see!
- Well, whatever happened?
And it was explained to him that the corpse had been discovered by a technician, about six-thirty in the morning. He had rushed to the team manager's office to warn him. He had to go to the brewery "La Terrasse" at Herbaudiere, at the end of the island, to find him and explain the matter at length, the director seeming not to understand and realize. When they came back, the body was gone, leaving only a trace of blood.
Durieux Hyppolite scratched vigorously with her tousled red hair. He went to settle in front of a café at "P'tit Noirmout" where he lit his first pipe of the day despite the early hour. He summoned the director of the team immediately. As usual, he immediately saw a possible solution with a procedure to follow to conduct his investigation.
- Hello Headmaster. I'm in charge of investigating this weird murder. I'm going to need your help to understand how your cycling world works since I do not know anything about it.
- Hello inspector. I understand your concern, but the Tour is leaving in four hours and my team needs me. I'm afraid you have to go without me.
- I will disturb you as little as possible, but must what is said here.
He decided to call all the members of the included riders team to question them. He began with the cyclists to release them very quickly, because he thought they were for nothing and that the start of the Tour would be despite everything.
The interrogations were brief and very succinct. Lieutenant Durieux absolutely wanted to keep with him the team director for possible translations, because he only spoke the purest French, according to him, the popular French that his uncle Herbert Defaitte, a donkey farmer, had taught him. job. Her (it was his nickname) Defait had raised him since his father had died at sea aboard the lobster "The Hardi". The ten riders on the team did not know anything, did not see anything, did not hear anything.
The inspector, however, heard comments outside him calling him soft-whipped cop and chuckles. He kept this for himself. For the moment, he told himself, for the moment.
- Bou diou de bou diou! There's no talking to your pedal guys, Hyppolite told the team director.
- You know, in our job, we are stingy with words. We need all our energy to pedal and it is not always easy, the director answered.
"Well, bring me the technicians," he said to his assistants, looking through the pockets of his dubious beige raincoat, his tobacco pouch to light a new pipe.
They passed one after the other, except for a certain Pierre Bennotte, a native of the island, who had to leave hurriedly this morning for an unforeseen family, "with the authorization of the team director" had declared with a pinch the technical manager. Technicians also nobody had seen anything, heard nothing. They were all busy preparing bicycles for their cyclists and did not waste time looking at what others were doing. The one who had discovered the corpse stated that the body was lying on his stomach and that he had not seen who it was. Inspector Durieux freed the technicians.
- I would like to go now too, inspector, asked the director of the team.
- Yes OK. I have to check, go ahead.
- Thank you, he said, getting up to leave.
- Ah, but by the way, one last thing. You told me that your cyclists needed all their energy. And if they do not have enough, what's going on?
- Well we lose the stage, we lose the premium, we lose prestige, we risk losing everything and that is inconceivable for a team of our fame.
- Ah ... Inconceivable ... Thank you very much.
The team director was about to cross the threshold of the coffee shop door when the policeman called again.
- And this guy Pierre Bennotte, you allowed him to leave for what motive?
- A problem in his family. His dying father, I believe.
- Thank you. See you soon.
As these interrogations unfolded, time passed and the hour of the great departure of the first leg was approaching at a crazy speed. The advertising caravan made a hell of a stir with its horns, the shouts of its mountebanks and those of the spectators who fought over the generously distributed giveaways. The speakers installed by the municipality for the occasion poured their flood of local advertising.
People were running everywhere, the gendarmes were trying to channel the many curious who were hailing from one sidewalk to another to greet each other. The journalists sneaked up, holding out their pickups and shouting their questions in the middle of this jolly mess. The sellers of French fries and sandwiches were already enjoying themselves, sweet smells of pancakes scented the atmosphere and the seagulls disturbed by all this upheaval shouted their offuscation.
The festive atmosphere contrasted with the wrinkled forehead of our inspector whose brain was looking for a way to understand what had happened this morning in this technical truck. While thinking, Inspector Hyppolite Durieux rubbed his prognathous chin and half closed his right eye.
The preliminary interrogations had given nothing. The only point of attachment was the technician supposedly left that morning. The audit was under way to control the information. Hyppolite Durieux then expanded his research and the police quickly questioned all the teams and all the staff present on the site. Time was pressing. The hour of departure was approaching and the tide was beginning to descend, which would allow the advertising caravan and the runners to pass through the goï, this road flooded at each high tide, to reach the continent.
That's when someone approached the inspector.
- Hi Hyppolite. I think I found a corpse.
- Bou diou! Albert, do you have me?
- Come see. I found it just now in a carnation, under a meter of salt. I slowly brought the salt to the edge of the eyelet with my and all of a sudden I saw a piece of hand that exceeded the mule.
The inspector noticed on the spot that his school friend was telling the truth. The murderer must have hidden the body to be discovered as late as possible, eaten away by salt. However, the corpse had been hidden there rather quickly and the pile of salt had been reconstituted by an amateur, in a hurry.
- That's why I wanted to raise the salt. The mulon was not compliant and I do not like when the job is badly done.
Hyppolite returned to the camp of the Tour. He thought that the traveler was Pierre Bennotte, a guy from Gueriniere, a few miles away, who apparently had not gone home, contrary to what had been said to the policeman. He began to orient his research towards this track when the UCI controller's manager came to see him.
- Hello Inspector. Is it you who is conducting the investigation? he said with a strong English accent.
- Yes my lord. Who are you?
- I lead the team of controllers of the International Cycling Union. Our job is to control the riders to avoid doping, and also to control the equipment, the bicycles, to see if they weigh the good weight, etc ...
- Ah yes. Those who have never seen that ... well let's move on. I had forgotten you. So what ?
- Then one of my controllers has disappeared. I had assigned him to take care of the team where the murder was committed.
- Oh, shit! Come with me. I'm leaving with the director of the team to see a corpse. I need to know who it is.
Once there, it was clear. The director said:
- It's not Pierre.
- My God, it's my controller exclaimed the Englishman.
The problem was getting worse. The policeman started pacing up and down, puffing at his pipe. His red hair was floating in the breeze of the sea charged with the smell of iodine and some sea spray torn from the tide came to whip his old formless rain. He hummed, imitating in this his idol Berrurier, a song of his own: "The walk of salt workers" ("Saunions, saunions, because we are salt-workers, my brothers." Let's sing about our muloons, because we are roosters with salt ... ").
An idea made its way into his head. He mumbled incoherent sentences between two stanzas and his assistants watched him walk, his head bent to his right, his pipe in his left hand raised over his shoulder. From time to time he stopped for a few seconds and then started again, pushing his big belly forward from left to right.
The sun was already high in the blue sky of the island, only troubled by little fluffy white clouds. The seagulls were yawning over the harbor, and were still circling near the Museum of Shipbuilding, above the Town Hall Square.
- Inspector, the advertising caravan will leave in a quarter of an hour. We let them leave the island?
- Yes Yes. They can leave. But not the controllers or the technicians. And not the team directors either.
- But it is inadmissible regimba the team director. My men need me. Finally, Mr. Inspector, it's not our fault if you do not move forward!
- And who tells you that I'm not moving forward? Hyppolite Durieux said looking at him in a funny way. But you are right. Let everyone go except the head of the UCI, this gentleman and his technical manager he said to his deputies while the team director exploded with rage.
The police inspector returned to town and settled in the brewery "Le P'tit Noirmout" near the Town Hall. The warm room, with its exposed stonework, its red painted beams and its wooden floor, helped it to reflect. He ordered a beer from the country, beer brewed in the neighboring commune of La Gueriniere.
- An N'O please Gaston. And a little dish of mogettes to the fressure.
- At this inspector's hour?
- Well what, we could right to fill his belly when it is empty?
He summoned again the protagonists of the affair. It had been almost four hours since he had received the instructions of the commissary. He felt confusedly that he was close to solving the riddle. He was pretty sure of what he was thinking. He had two things checked on the Internet and then he received the chief controller of the UCI first.
"Sit down, mister the Lord. And tell me everything.
- Tell you what, Sir Durdoyl? Or should I call you Sherlock? replied the sitting Briton who played his accent to maliciously misrepresent the name of the French policeman who teased him about his nationality.
- Well, tell me whatever you're looking for in this truck, for example.
- My colleague was responsible for checking the conformity of the equipment with the rules of the race. He had inherited this team in control by simple administrative designation. Nothing more.
- You mean that this team was not suspected.
- No team is suspected a priori. We are more focused on what controls are ... how do you say "deterent effect", oh yes, dissuasive.
- So your controller was doing a routine job.
- Yes, that's it.
- And this routine work led him into the truck.
- Uh, there, I would not say that like that.
- What would you say ? And, addressing the waiter while wiping drops of hair on his chin and his napkin hung by a corner between his neck and his shirt, Gaston, another ration of fat with a N'O, is pleased. You want a beer, Sir? One of us.
- No thanks. I would say that if he got into the truck, there was something that intrigued him, probably.
- Tell me, apart from the weight of the bike, what is it that might not be in accordance with the rules?
"Well, we have been looking for some time for electric frauds.
- Electric frauds! On bikes? Thank you, Gaston. Are you sure you do not want a N'O beer?
- No. Finally, no N'O beer. Or, an Ok.
- It's no ? It's OK ? Is it yes or no?
- Yes for an Okells brand English, we say an Ok, home.
- They are crazy, these English !! Hein, Gaston. Okay, so what are these electric bike stories?
The Brit sighed. He was beaten at this little game. He understood that the inspector had already inquired between interrogations and played with him in the cat and the mouse.
- These are small electric motors hidden in the tubes of the bike and help to turn the wheels when against the clock or in the mountains. This allows to go a little faster and especially to tire less. We win stages and therefore money thanks to this subterfuge.
- Is it really true? With this system, it is no longer necessary to use drugs.
"Well, yes, Mr. Inspector. It exists.
- So your controller could have gotten into the truck to look for rigged bike frames.
- Yes, or something else. We recently found a pedal with a mini electric motor hidden in the axis itself.
- In the axis? And how to discover this thing?
- We have electronic tablets that detect electrical waves when we pass them within a centimeter of the tube or the axis.
- Less than a centimeter! And if we go a little further, or so quickly ...
- We do not detect anything.
- And we have to go and control that in the truck.
- No, it must be checked at the start or on the road during the race to see the criminal use.
- So what made your controller in the truck?
"I do not know, sir, I do not know.
The interview stopped there. Hyppolite thinks for a moment before giving very precise instructions to one of his deputies. Then he brought in the chief technician of the team involved in the murder. The man looked sickly. His eyes seemed to look everywhere for something. He sat down and began to wring his hands feverishly.
- You are the technical manager of the team. How far is your responsibility? He said his mouth full of shreds.
- I must guarantee the proper functioning of the bicycles assigned to the riders. Every champion has his bikes. I mean every bike is tuned for one athlete and not another. And they all have three custom bikes based on their size, weight, how they pedal, etc.
- And you guarantee also the respect of the rules of the Tour?
- What are you talking about ? he replied, embarrassed.
- The weight of the bike, lenticular wheels ... Or to check that the bike does not include a little hidden thing ...
- Ah, it's the doctor who takes care of the possible drugs.
- The doctor also takes care of electric motors?
"I do not know what you mean," he replied, fidgeting in his seat.
- Boudiou! Is not it strange that a technician of your level does not see what I'm talking about? Who gives orders in your team?
- He's the team director. I do not know anything. It's not me who buys the bikes at the base.
- Why are you defending yourself? Are you hiding something or are you scared? And then I talked about electric motors, not buying bikes. There are electric bikes in your very famous team?
- I tell you it's not me. And worse this morning, I was not up at five.
So it was five o'clock. And the guy Pierre, he was at the truck at five o'clock. You confirm ?
- But I said nothing, me. It's not true. I do not know anything ! It's the team director who allowed him to leave, it's not me. The man was sweating heavily now.
The inspector did not insist more. He had understood everything. He pulled the techie out of the back of the brewery between two policemen. He took another pause and gave new instructions to his deputy after hearing the report he gave him about the deceased controller and Pierre Bennotte the missing technician. Then he brought in the director of the team.
The Tour had been gone for half an hour now. The director stepped into the chairs as he passed, apparently drunk with rage.
- It is unacceptable ! he shouted. Who do you think, little cop of a lost hole! A species of redneck! A little "flouc" is what you are. You will hear about me, I tell you!
- I notice an insult to a police officer in his role of representative of the police force. I order you to stay up and not move if you do not want to end up with handcuffs on your wrist.
The director seemed to be clubbed on the head. His fulminating gaze turned into a questioning gaze, then a shadow of fear passed in his eyes. He calmed down immediately. How could this redneck, this little cop, this "flouc", allow himself to speak to him like this?
- Tell me what you were doing in the truck this morning at five o'clock with the UCI controller and Pierre Bennotte.
"But, but, I was not there," he said, destabilized by this frontal and direct attack. I do not know what to talk to you about
- Well, I'll tell you: you were buying the controller's silence.
- No, I do not understand.
- Did you give Peter the money before or after the murder?
- But I'm innocent. I do not know what you're talking about.
- I'm talking about electric motors hidden in the axes of the pedals. I'm telling you that the controller was blackmailing you and that you had had enough. I'm talking about the murder that you committed to end this. I'm telling you about the corpse you asked Pierre, the local guy, to hide in the salt shakers. We have all the evidence.
Seeing that the pot with the roses was discovered, the director literally collapsed on a chair while exclaiming:
- I did not kill him. It's Pierre.
- Well then. My services have just discovered Pierre, hidden in the attic of his house in Guérinière. Not end the stone. In fact, he gave us the envelope that contained five hundred thousand euros on which we will surely find your fingerprints. He has already confessed almost everything, the inspector lied.
Then the director told the whole story. Engines hidden for two years in the frames then in the axis of bottom bracket. The day before, the controller of the UCI had discovered by chance the new system of cheating invented this year with electromagnets scattered all around the rim of the rear wheel. By controlling the frame, his tablet was close to the tire and reacted.
The controller had offered them a financial arrangement and the team director had accepted after consulting the main sponsor.
- It will be enough for me to pass the tablet to more than one centimeter of the frame or the tire and to pass it quickly so that nothing is detected, had promised them the controller of the UCI.
But at the time of the delivery of the envelope, in the truck, he had asked for a second for the following week. The director of the team had gone out of his way, he had jostled him and the controller had fallen, hitting his head on a shelf edge.
Pierre was in the corner, the director had asked him to remove the body in exchange for the envelope, and disappear for a day or two. It had been necessary to invent a story for the chief technician who only later understood the real reason for Peter's absence.
The truth was known to all before the arrival of the stage. The boss of the sponsoring company was stopped in the paddocks in La Roche-sur-Yon at the moment when the winner of the stage, a rider of the team concerned, crossed the finishing line with a little too much ease. Hyppolite taste.
Inspector Durieux was sitting in front of P'tit Noirmout's TV, a good N'O and a big cock in salt crust in front of him when the Divisional Commissioner called him on the phone to congratulate him.
- A case well conducted, inspector. Bravo. The results of this survey will be global. It's a real scandal. You will become famous. What is your feeling at the moment?
"Boudiou, commissioner, we should not take ourselves for nonsense! he answered his superior, sputtering everywhere. That's scandalous, is not it?
- Yes, Durieux, yes. This is what is scandalous.

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The dead man who was still walking

The dead man who was still walking

To live without looking, to live by excluding from its field of vision a whole portion of the world, the inhabitants of the villages which surrounded the accursed place had become accustomed to it. It happened, however, that their eyes betrayed them and went, in spite of themselves, towards the furnace, towards that frankness of hell that the invader had opened on their land. At night, the flames rose to the sky to lick the foolish clouds of this sad plain. They could still be seen, thrilling, thirty kilometers away, those flames. They never looked at them, or at least never to many. This common look would have called a comment, an exchange to which all refused. But when you were alone, urinating in a farmyard at nightfall, you could not help but take a look at this conflagration, as if to make sure that the sinister curse on the country was still effective. . In the morning, in the air frozen by the cold, the column of smoke rose straight, like a waving tube, to go to smoke up to the throne of God and show him that the devil, here, had taken control. Then the wind rose. That day, he came from the East and Karol Grzegorczyk understood that he had designated them as a target. This day would be theirs.
He hitched the mare under the black snow that had been falling on the region for several months without stopping. But you had to live, you had to breathe that air, you had to never look in the direction of the cursed place. Maja, the heavy mare, set to work with her habitual placidity. Behind the little plow, the land of Poland turned on its sinister fertilizer which, at once, began to cover it again. Here, fed by the ultimate crime of men, potatoes came out of the ground that his wife and daughter were eager to pick up and put in baskets. Three years earlier, this work was done by telling jokes, singing songs and even laughing, sometimes, while passing a jar of clear water. Three years earlier, it was not rushed, just back to the farm, to clean the precious tubers from their stain. Three years ago, and still today, it was hard to imagine for a moment that this lost, untrammeled corner of Treblinka would become such a sad day.
This morning of August 2nd, 1943, the sun shines on the horizon and the earth, watered the day before of a short shower, already smokes. The ashes are so thick that Karol put his handkerchief in front of his mouth. For two hours now, noises have been coming from the camp and have come to strike the surrounding countryside as one knocks on a door behind which all the consciences of men have been hidden. These are shots slamming in this early morning. These shots, even if they are not exceptional, seem today more numerous, different also. They look like a battle, but a battle is the most unlikely thing that can happen in hell. Over there, everyone knows, even if nobody talks about it, we decided to exhume and burn tens of thousands of corpses, bodies massively buried under Polish soil for more than one year. It seems that the wind of history is itself spinning and that the devil of Berlin, caught in a sudden fear or modesty, has decided to erase the traces of his unspeakable crime.
The sun rises in the sky and Karol removes her wool. The heat will not delay to overwhelm them as already overwhelms the darkness that flies all around them. His wife and daughter wave to him and call him. He stops Maja with a click of his tongue and she immediately submits. Hanna points to the direction of the camp. The detonations are less numerous, but it seems that this time, it is the whole complex that flames. But there is something else.
Karol puts his hand in visor. As pushed by the sun, a column of men comes to them. Hanna joined him and stuck to his side with Agnieszka, their daughter. His wife's hand squeezes his forearm. A few words, which fear has repainted in the same black as rain, come out of his mouth with difficulty.
- Let's go back quickly Karol! Let's go in ... something is happening. Something we should not see. Something that ...
- Yes, let's go home!

But they stay there, all three. Frozen by the spectacle that is offered to them.
They may be a thousand and they are moving right in their direction. They flee as if some force had banished them from hell. Karol, his wife and daughter, have now all three carried their hands in visor. All three, side by side, right leg forward, stand in slight imbalance on their ground broken by the plow. All three seem to pose for a photo that, if it had been taken, would have gone around the world for centuries. Agnieszka still holds a potato in his hand. She suddenly looks at her and seems to be wondering what to do with it. The basket is too far for her to throw it in. The column is approaching. Karol sees them better now. They are not men, but dead who walk towards them driven by the rising sun. They have no face, those who are bare-bones have only a thin cover of skin resting on their skeletal frames.
They are always moving forward. Agnieszka cries softly and Hanna shudders as if an icy wind had just risen. Karol now sees that some of these dead are carrying weapons. There is nothing scary about these weapons, they seem terrible burdens to all those bodies without muscles. They are almost on them now. The sun is still so low on the horizon, that it seems that this strange and frightful troop is preceded by another. This one lies on the ground and undulates on the plowed land. These shadows, Karol thinks, seem to want to tear themselves away from the control of their masters and flee faster than they do.
They are now all around them. They looted, like a flight of starlings plundering the sky, all the apples from the baskets. Some, almost without stopping, lean in a furrow on this earth, black ashes of their brothers. They then pick up one of these tubers forgotten by the Grzegorczyk, rub it on their legs and munch it raw. One of them, almost a child, suddenly crashes in front of Agnieszka that the stupor froze on an ultimate tear. Without a word, she gives him his potato that he puts in his pocket. He looks at her for a long time. He is only a look, his eyes have devoured his head. He stares at her as if it were her, not him, who seemed to come from another world. Finally, as if pushed by the collective consciousness of these beings, he leaves and loses himself among them.
All have passed and without ever having asked their bodies, the three have rotated and now look away. Maja herself turned around, before burning violently, as if to drive away this nightmare vision from her big animal head. This little army does not know where it is going, if it is not far from the flames. Tonight, almost everyone will have been caught and killed.
Agnieszka will die sixty-two years later, day to day, and even, almost, hour to hour. She will shake between her eyelids, just before the rocking, this image of a little dead man who was still alive.

On August 2nd, 1943, the deportees of the Treblinka camp revolt. They seize weapons and fight. A thousand of them escape and fifty will survive. To tell...

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What a story !

What a story !

A girl had been killed. There were four of us in the waiting room at the police station. Twenty years ago, a Swedish camper accused me of rape, we had drunk so much that night that neither she nor I could remember if she said yes or no. The affair had ended in a rut. Because of this old story, I was one of the suspects today. I pulled out my card as soon as something happened. When the girl died, I was at my cousins' house in Limoges, everyone had seen me at the mass, the bistro and the flea market. I am unable to rape or kill anyone. I should not have too much trouble convincing the police.

On the bench in front of me, there was a tramp ... They make good suspects, tramps, wander, booze and sleep anywhere. He did not look worried. He hummed and winked at us.
To my left, there was an Arab. Whenever there is aggression, there is always a witness who has seen an Arab! He was scared to death; for them, it's always more complicated.
And then, in the middle of the room, there was a madman running in circles, constantly shouting that he had killed the girl and asking that he be executed. He was the one the cops called first.
Very quickly, in the office, we heard shouts of voice. They did not keep it long. The door opened and they pushed him towards the exit.

- You make us waste time with your delusions, Marcillon ... Let us work. We do not want to see you anymore, do you understand that? Go see a psychiatrist and get treatment. And do you feel happy that you are not being sued for contempt and obstructing police investigation?

I had heard of those patients who accuse themselves of the most horrible crimes to make headlines or to be punished. They are lucky to live with us. In some countries, we do not waste time looking for evidence, confessions are enough. There, he would already be hanged or beheaded!
I was politely received: after the madman, I brought calm. They noted the names and addresses of the people I mentioned. Time to check my schedule, I had to stay at the disposal of Justice. It is always a test to be suspected, even if nothing has been done wrong. When I got out of the office, the tramp gave me a wink.
Arabic had a beaten dog look.
I was heading to the bar across the street. The iron curtain was slowly descending. He stopped halfway up when I reached the door and the boss made me a sign that he was closing. Customers were coming out, bending their heads under the curtain. Among them was the agitated accuser of the murder of the girl.

"They have not kept you long," he said.
- They quickly realized that I had nothing to do with this crime.
- Think again, they are stubborn and have understood nothing at all. Believe me, I'm in a good position to tell you. Did you come for a drink?
- Yes, but I think for tonight, it's missed
- I must have a whiskey background, I offer you one at home?

The guy looked a little exalted but did not seem threatening. These patients are rarely dangerous, aggression is directed against them. I followed him in a rather well-kept building. The apartment was tastefully decorated, many paintings adorned the walls and an impressive library sat in the living room. He made me sit in a deep leather chair and took a bottle of whiskey out of a rosewood bar. On a low table illuminated by a lamppost, I saw a copy of Edgar Poe's Extraordinary Stories, from which a papyrus bookmark went. The house evoked ease and the man had a certain class. The image of the sneering madman with a funnel on his head is reassuring: this madness is not likely to happen to us ... But the distinguished and intelligent crazy intrigue and I was eager to question this mouse who threw himself into the clutches of the While the majority of them spend their lives avoiding them ... This glass was probably a pretext and he would surely take the initiative to plead his case. He remained silent. To give me a countenance, I flipped through the Extraordinary Stories. The bookmark was positioned on the "The Stolen Letter" page.
- Have you read them? he asked
- Some, my memories are from college. Edgar Poe, an American writer translated by Baudelaire. As for the Extraordinary Stories, I had only read "The Golden Scarab" and an improbable story of a murderous monkey.
"We must read them all," he said. At this moment, I reread "The Stolen Letter" is a small wonder of psychology.

We talked about literature, it seemed tense and I decided to set foot in the dish.

- What an idea to accuse you of the murder of this girl Monsieur Marcillon ...

He sprang from his chair and began to turn in circles as in the waiting room of the police station.

- It's not an idea, it's the truth! You will see well. They say I'm wasting their time, but it's them who lose it. It would be enough to listen to me. For the cops, a culprit must necessarily hide, run away, deny. But remorse, what do they make of remorse? The worst thing is that with their stubbornness, an innocent person may end up in prison. The tramp, the Arab, you ... maybe ...
- Did you really kill this girl or do you think you killed her? I said.

Marcillon gave me a bad look, I had just entered dangerous territory. I doubted, I implied that he could be delirious. He breathed deeply as if to control himself.

- I stabbed her and threw the knife into the bushes. They did not even bother to look for it.

According to the newspapers, the girl had been strangled with her headscarf. At no point was there any mention of stabbings.
We can be smart and completely crazy. This man seemed to me very ill and it would probably have been dangerous to contradict him. I thanked him and found myself in the street.
All this had made me cocky and I did not want to go back to my room.

I decided to visit Emma, ​​an old friend from the neighborhood who taught French at Collège François Villon. When I arrived, she was correcting some copies, I suggested that she return to another day. Emma told me that this work was not urgent and that in fact, she was moving a little. She put the copies back in a folder and she stuffed her red pen. We talked about the rain and the good weather and then, as I had big on the heart, I told him my day. Emma knows me well, she knows that I am a good guy and I have never hurt anyone, no more Swedish than this poor girl. I told her about my meeting with Marcillon. She described to me with scholarly words the clinical picture of self-accusing melancholy and attempts to explain their troubles.
I was speaking to the French teacher ...

- Do you think "The Stolen Letter" is a little marvel of psychology, Emma?
- That's the subject of the dissertation, professor?
- If you want ... Marcillon told me about it. I have not read it and I would like you to tell it to me.
"The Stolen Letter" is one of Edgar Poe's Extraordinary Stories and she's actually pretty cool. A letter of the highest importance was stolen from the King's boudoir. The police know when she disappeared and the identity of the thief. They search his home from top to bottom and find nothing. The entourage of the King is very worried, the owner of this missive could put pressure on him. The police then appeal to Auguste Dupin, a famous detective who restores a few days later the famous document to the Prefect of Police. The police had however disconnected the mattresses and cushions, probed the furniture in search of double bottoms, raised the floorboards, used microscopes ... The letter was placed prominently on a desk! It had been folded upside down, with another stamp and another writing. The genie of the thief, and then that of Dupin, consisted in thinking that the police would look for something carefully concealed and pay no attention to a prominent letter.
A week had passed. The investigation stalled and public opinion showed signs of exasperation. During a white march organized in memory of the girl, some eggs were thrown in the direction of the police station and the press did not hesitate to denounce "the impotence of the Police".
We were again summoned. On his bench, Marcillon had a big smile. His day had arrived and the truth was about to break out. We were finally going to believe it! The tramp was humming and the Arab carried all the misery of the world on his shoulders.
As I stared at him, Marcillon suddenly appeared uncomfortable.

- Why do you look at me like that? You too think that I'm dingo, is that right? I do not even know your name. What is your name first?
- Dupin. Auguste Dupin, I say. You're screwed, Marcillon

His face turned grayish and his mouth began to shake.
He jumped on me, his fingers closed around my neck. We rolled on the ground making a noise of thunder. Police came out everywhere and quickly separated us.

- Are you crazy or what? shouted the Commissioner
"No one is mad, Commissioner," I said. Especially not Marcillon that you would be well advised to listen carefully when he says he is the murderer. Marcillon, who has, from the beginning, put his "madness" prominently on your investigation, like a letter on a desk. Then it was enough for him to become so noisy and visible that he could not be heard or seen.
- I will end up believing that you are as disturbed as each other. What is this letter story on the desktop?

Marcillon had his head in his hands, he had just understood that he had lost and no longer wanted to fight.

"It's an extraordinary story, a little marvel of psychology," he said. I will tell you this, Commissioner.

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China plans construction of LHC 100 km circumference

China plans construction of LHC 100 km circumference

China is seriously considering building an LHC equivalent of 100 kilometers in circumference and looks set to achieve, by 2030, an electron-positron collider of similar size as a prelude, as the Europeans had done with LEP . The usefulness of these machines is unfortunately not self-evident ...
China has just let it be known that it still intends to rob Europeans of leadership in the high energy race in particle physics. Already in 2012, just after the announcement of the discovery of the Brout-Englert-Higgs boson (BEH), she had announced that she was embarking on preliminary studies for the construction of a circular collider larger than LEP ( Large Electron Positron Collider), a large electron-positron collider of 27 km circumference, according to 1989 to 2000 in the tunnel where subsequently replaced the LHC

With a circumference of 50 to 70 km, the Chinese Circular Electron Positron Collider (CEPC) was planned to make collisions between electron beams and anti-electrons at energies of 240 GeV. A review of six years of research has just been published, implying that the circumference envisaged was now 100 km and that prototypes of certain elements of the machine were really going to be built. Work on CRCI infrastructure is expected to begin in 2022 with inauguration by 2030.

If this roadmap is successful, the Chinese will initially have a plant capable of producing in about 10 years a million BEH bosons, 100 million W bosons and a thousand billion Z bosons. LEP, the CEPC would then be dismantled to make way for the Super Proton Proton Collider (SPPC), a 100 km circumferential LHC equivalent producing 70 TeV (70,000 GeV) collisions.

As Futura pointed out in the previous article below, the Europeans, too, have in their box studies for an LHC 100 km in circumference. A project, not a circular but linear collider of electrons and positrons, has already been completed for preliminary studies for years and is waiting for a green light to be built. This is the International Linear Collider (ILC). The Japanese in particular were very involved.
New particles out of reach even with a PPSC?
Futura had explained in detail the reasons for the completion of these machines and they are the same as for the CEPC and the PPSC. However, one can wonder today if the construction of these machines is very serious.

Already in 2016, the Chinese physicist Chen-Ning Yang - a famous physicist for having won the Nobel Prize in Physics for his work on the violation of parity in particle physics with his colleague Tsung-Dao Lee, and for having been at the origin of famous Yang-Mills theories of all the physics of the standard model - had indicated that he was not in favor of the realization of the PPSC.

Although we can qualify and even refute some of the criticisms made by Yang for the construction of the two machines, as explained by the physicist and mathematician John Baez, we can not help but lean in favor of Yang.

Indeed, by the time the LHC entered service, there were many good reasons to expect a major revolution in fundamental physics. Indeed, several very credible theoretical arguments gave hope for the discovery, in a few years at most, of new particles predicted by the theory of supersymmetry, string theory and especially the production of black minitrous that evaporate by Hawking effect. energies of the order of a few TeV.

The LHC routinely made 13 TeV collisions, with beam brightness already high ... and no new particle showed even the tip of its nose. We have no theoretical arguments to really hope for new particles above 10 TeV, except for a few predicted by split supersymmetry, but recent experiments on electron dipole moment are more like a shower. cold in this respect. Worse, the low mass of the BEH boson suggests that the standard model may well be valid up to the Planck energy, which means that no new physics should appear in the colliders that humanity could build. , or at least no new particle.

We can therefore legitimately ask ourselves, in the absence of new theoretical and experimental arguments and the crisis that humanity is facing with global warming, energy and resources, if billions will not be better used for development of new nuclear reactors, eg thorium. It is true, however, that China has also engaged in this type of research.

WHAT YOU MUST REMEMBER

Proton colliders at higher and higher energies make it possible to track new physics by producing particles of high masses.
But they also produce a lot of already known particles, which make a background noise that is not compatible with precise studies. Collisions between electrons and positrons are then more suitable for a fine study of particles already discovered.
Europeans and Chinese are therefore considering colliders of these types even more powerful in the decades to come.

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When we discovered the net

When we discovered the net

When we discovered the net

Midnight! I had made good progress. I did not really want to sleep. So, like almost every night, I decided to go for a walk on the Internet. At the time, it was so amazing, innovative ...
Alas, there was not much interesting, I visited one or two sites and then began to get bored. Maybe someone had left me a message? I was going to consult my mailbox. Super, Xavier sent me a hello and a file to download!
I launched the download and was about to see the virtual show he promised me in his message. A little cigarette, download time and I settled comfortably in front of the screen smiling in advance of what I was going to discover.
Yes but that's it, impossible to open the file sent by Xavier. No software installed in my computer could read it, remember that we were at the beginning of the Net. I was trying through a video program, nothing to do, only a series of figures, letters and incomprehensible codes appeared on the screen.
I went into a program of image processing, nothing either, otherwise improbable sounds emitted by my computer that kept pointing out errors of misconfigurations and other barbaric terms that I did not understand anything.
By accident, I launched a word processor that managed to open the downloaded file, but still in a language of codes amphigouriques. I learned nevertheless that the file that Xavier had sent me was a sort of small virtual video staging our two children Eliot (his) and Fanny (mine) who were on vacation at his place. I was mad, it must have been nice to see. What a pity !
But I had no solution and it was late, so I decided to leave the program, and not to clutter my computer, to overwrite this unreadable file. To do this, I sent it to the trash of the computer. But by the time I clicked on the trash can icon to erase the file, I heard like a noise. Not a computer sound, not a funny little sound, almost a child's laugh. I listened, but everything seemed in order. I had to dream, it was probably a noise from the sleeping city, the TV neighbors or I do not know ...
I clicked on the icon in my trash again to erase the file. But at the same time, the little laugh came back.
Intrigued, I went to check by opening the window, to listen if it did not come from the street. But everything was calm and the cold of a silent night entered the apartment. Everyone was sleeping, it was time for me to do the same. After closing the window, I went back to my computer. Come on dodo everyone: the computer, the job and me!
But when I returned to my computer, an incredible shock shook my stomach, on the screen the icon of the basket was propelled by jolts in all directions, as if something inside wanted to leave!
Instinctively I closed my eyes to take back and control myself, but when I opened them again, the trash continued its incredible ride on the screen.
What was happening ? I grabbed my mouse and tried to click on the icon, without really knowing why, probably to stop it, to stop this ride.
But as the mouse pointer reached the trash. I heard a voice ... the voice of Eliot!
- Now, I'm screwing over. I want to go out and go to bed with a bottle of chocolate.
Febrile, I approached again the pointer of my mouse near the trash. It was Fanny now, who was talking to me, I was sure, I recognized her voice.
- Mom, we want to go out now! It's not funny anymore, to be there!
In spite of myself, I murmured in front of the screen.
- Fanny? It's you ?
- Yes mom. And we're tired of it! We want to get out of there!
- Where are you?
- In the file, Mom! In the file that Xavier sent you. He was laughing at his computer show, but now it's not funny at all. Eliot is tired, he wants to go home and me too.
What was happening seemed to me totally implausible. The virtual video sent by Xavier had finally started, but how could he have programmed Fanny's answers, how could he have foreseen my questions ?!
I was trying a new question.
- Eliot, do you hear me? If so, tell me peanut!
- Peanut Zabeth, but I want my bottle of chocolate.

Calm down, I had to stay calm, but my legs no longer supported me, and I could not hold back the uninterrupted tremor of my hands.
I tried to control myself, to reason. But that trashcan icon jiggling on the screen terrified me. I stood, stunned, in front of my computer, waiting for the rest, but nothing happened. Otherwise this basket that was moving in disorder and moans more and more agonizing of the two children.
- Mom, it's too small in there! I want to go back home.
Fanny's voice was not virtual, on the contrary, she was so present, so worried and tragic. I tried a new question to thwart Xavier's programming.
- 5 and 5, how's my chip?
- 10 Mom, but why do not you worry about getting us out?

Ten, she had answered ten! As Eliot had said peanut! Xavier could never have imagined that I ask these questions. Reality froze me with fright. It was absurd, impossible, foolish, but it was too late to try to doubt, one had to act.
The first thing to do was to remove this file from the trash to avoid any mishandling. I did not even dare to imagine what would happen if I erased it.
My hands were sweaty by moving the mouse cursor. It is not so hard to move a file, I did it every day, but there, I was sure, it was critical, vital!
I was trying to control my trembling hand, not to let go of the mouse before reaching the "open" option. It was important not to empty this basket. I did not understand what was happening, but, I was sure, if this file faded, a disaster would happen.
- Mom, do not be mistaken, whispered the voice of Fanny, who understood what I was doing.
I finally opened the folder of the trash, the file was there, apparently intact:

File: COUCOU.mim (2867009 bytes)
Download time (28800 bit / s): <27 minutes
This message is a multipart MIME message and will be saved with the default filename COUCOU.mim

Quickly take it out of the trash folder, put it back on the virtual desktop of the computer, relax and think.
It was impossible, Fanny and Eliot could not be in there, they could not be in the computer, it was impossible. But it was just as impossible for me to hear them speak on the computer, I did not know what to think. One solution, to forget the stupid and wicked ground of reason to deal only with the problem of the moment: to get them out of there! It was necessary to open this file, to view it and the problem would perhaps be solved, but I could not open this file. I wanted to cry, to break everything, to forget this nightmare, I would have liked not to have opened my e-mail, to have no modem, not to have a computer, not to know this bullshit of Internet, but it was too late. My two little loves were stuck behind the screen and they were counting on me to do something.
I heard Eliot's voice, which became more and more poignant, he was thirsty, he was hungry, he was fed up.
Tears in my eyes, I stared, incredulous my screen. I was desperate, I was scared, but it was too late to complain, I had to find a solution.
- Do not worry Eliot, I'll get you out of here soon.
I had stuck my mouth close to the screen, so I wanted to comfort him. His little voice, stifled by the glass of the screen, answered me gently, he wanted to wait a little longer, but he was hungry. In my head, a thousand questions swirled, I did not know how to open this file, I did not understand this computer of misfortune. It was one o'clock in the morning, I did not know who to call for help and anyway if I had known, who would have liked to believe me?
First of all, it was necessary to calm the children, to occupy them to have time to think and find a solution. A crazy idea passed me by the head, but to the point where I was, I could always try.
Fanny loved to play with her Yes-Yes CD-ROM, so if I opened it and moved it to the file where they were locked up, it might occupy them. In addition to the game of Yes-Yes, there is a space with ice cream and sweets, enough to allow them to forget time.
- Fanny?
- Yes mom !
It was awful to talk to this file, without seeing it, without touching it, but I tried not to let anything go wrong.
- Fanny, do you want to go to Yes-Yes while I prepare for your trip? Maybe I can take you there.
Of course, the answer was not long in coming, the children cried with joy, nodding. I pulled out Fanny's favorite CD-ROM, inserted it into the reader, the familiar little music started. I crossed my fingers as long as the manipulation worked!
- We hear him mom, but how do we go? Fanny asked me.
- Wait, I'll try to put your file in the program.
I was afraid, and if it was the mistake not to commit, the "manipulation" inconsiderate, and if I damaged their file! But all of a sudden I heard them.
" Thanks Mom ! Thank you, Zabeth, it's great. Oh look there there is Pumpkin, come quickly we'll say hello. "
I held back my tears and shouted at them to think of asking the merchant for a big ice cream, tonight they had the right to take what they wanted. Then I left them, to try to solve my problem.
Although I entered the computer help program, I found no solution. In any case, I never understand anything about aid programs. I did not dare open the Internet to ask for help from potential correspondents, I was too afraid of losing the children.
I could not do anything. I only got coded pages, monstrously incomprehensible to me. Proof of my helplessness.

Sometimes I heard a burst of laughter, a song of Oui-Oui echoed by Eliot and Fanny who gave me courage while I froze with fright. When, how, could I finally get out of there !!

Going back from Windows Explorer to MS-Dos Commands, with a detour via Microsoft Exchange, after a recording in HTLM format, a glimmer of hope came over me, the file appeared to be finally open in reading. And while the hourglass of the computer forced me to wait, I began to hope. Perhaps I had finally found the solution. I did not dare to say anything to the children, I was staring at the screen. I prayed to all the gods, all the saints, all the networks, all the Internet servers on the planet. It had to work. It was necessary to leave this nightmare.

As the hourglass of the computer turned and returned, I made all the promises of the world, I would stop smoking, I would never eat a crumb of chocolate, I would walk to Silicone Valley, I would not I would never do it again, I would do all this and more if it works, but do it, make it work.
Suddenly the blued screen, then seeming to fray, turned into a multitude of greyish multicolored stripes, a strident and continuous beep emerges at the same time as the cries of Fanny and Eliot. Unable to catch my breath, eyes haggard, staggering panic, I saw the screen darken. Silence comes at once, along with a flashing message on the screen:

FATAL ERROR - ALL NON-REGISTERED DATA WILL BE LOST - FATAL ERROR

Almost whispering, I called, throat knotted:
- Fanny? Fanny? You hear me ? Eliot? How is it going ?

Nothing. No answer, otherwise this message unbearable on the screen. I was paralyzed, I was shaking all my limbs, yet it was necessary to ensure, find something, get out of this madness, recover them.
Normally, when the computer displays this type of message, there is only one thing to do: disconnect the computer, count to 20 and open it again. But if I did that, what would happen to the file where Eliot and Fanny were locked up? What will happen to them? I must admit, I looked at the screen without daring to do anything, I screamed in pain, I ran away from the screen, I did not want to know anything, forget everything! It took me several minutes to recover and leave this crazy state of panic. I came back to my office, ordering me to calm down, I sat down again at the computer. I put my hand toward the stop button and closed my eyes by cutting off the power. The apartment was monstrously quiet again, without the breath of computer ventilation. I counted to 20, without cheating, neither too fast nor too slowly, then I pushed back the power button.
At first there was the usual sound of the fan, which starts up again, then the sound of the screen, which starts charging and lighting up. I remained tense, waiting to be able to intervene again, but at the moment when the screen became readable: HORROR! I screamed to burst my eardrums: they were there, both, crying, nose against the window of my screen: Eliot and Fanny, their two faces stretched towards me, imprisoned calling for help, me begging to get them out of there.
They were stuck in my computer!
I put my hands on the screen, but they felt nothing of my caresses and cried by calling me. I was terrified, I was ashamed. I was unable to save them.
A start made me react, all that was not possible, it was a dream, a horrible nightmare. Fanny was not at Xavier's, I was not fighting with the computer, I was dreaming. The proof, I had only to get up, go to Fanny's room, see her and wake up completely to get out of this foolish dream. I rushed to his room. I was going to see her in her bed, sleeping quietly, I would only have to kiss her to reassure me completely. I could then go back to bed, laughing at what I would say to his father tomorrow when he returned from Brussels. It must be said that he is used to my incredible nightmares and will probably not be more surprised than that!
I gently pushed the door of Fanny's room. But when I got to her bed, I had to fall back into the horrible reality, she was not in bed!
She was locked in the computer with Eliot.
On his bed dragged one of his favorite stuffed toys, I took it crying, what would become of them? What could I do?

That's when this incredible idea came to me. If I could not get them out of there, I only had to join them! I was going to scan myself, scan myself, to join them, then we would all three via the Internet find the server Xavier who could perhaps, him, save us. I quickly wrote a note that I put prominently on the table next to the computer. Then I started the scanner program and closed my eyes and put my head on it first.
It was not really unpleasant the heat of the scan lamp.

***

I do not know if people have understood the little word that I left, I do not know if they are many to look for us behind their screens. But what I do know is that all three of us have a hard time finding ourselves in this mess of paths and the Web. If only someone could direct us to: XAVGTET@compuserve.com, it's been so long now, maybe he changed email address ....

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Earth has entered the age of Meghalayan

Earth has entered the age of Meghalayan

Earth has entered the age of Meghalayan

Earth has officially entered a new chapter in its history, the age of the Meghalayan, the third and last period since the beginning of the Holocene era nearly 12,000 years ago, says the International Stratigraphy Commission ( CIS), the organization responsible for establishing a geological time scale of the planet.

A text by Alain LabelleWe are currently living in what is called the Holocene epoch, which reflects everything that has happened in the last 11,700 years, since a major warming of the climate has ended at the last ice age.

It is now subdivided into three periods, explains the CIS, the most recent of which is the age of the Meghalayan.

The beginning of the Meghalayan is marked by the occurrence of a great drought and a sudden cooling of the climate, which weakened the old agricultural societies and led to the weakening of many civilizations, in particular in Egypt, in Greece, in Mesopotamia, in India and China.

A unique moment

Professor Stanley Finney, of Long Beach State University, explains that Meghalayan is unique among the many intervals of the geological time scale, because it is related to global human event resulting from a global climate event .

This is the first time that the CIS has considered a human-made event to define a period since, usually, units of the geologic time scale are based on sedimentary strata accumulated over time that contain types of sediments, fossils and chemical isotopes that record the passage of time and the physical and biological events that produced them.

Challenges

A first that is not without stirring in the scientific community, some members believe that there has not been enough discussion since the concept of Meghalayen was first advanced six years ago .

Other scientists even claim that the Holocene era is over. According to them, the evidence of the influence of human activities on the Earth has become so convincing that it can be said that the planet has entered the Anthropocene, a new geological era marked by the human.

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March 2020: NASA unveiled the site where the rover will look for traces of life

March 2020: NASA unveiled the site where the rover will look for traces of life

March 2020: NASA unveiled the site where the rover will look for traces of life

NASA has just announced that the March 2020 rover will land in the Jezero crater where the mission team is convinced that this site is home to many fossils of micro-organisms, if they existed of course. NASA has also paved the way for a mega-mission! Indeed, at the end of its initial mission, the rover will probably be directed to Midway, another site conducive to the discovery of traces of life. The interest of exploring two sites with different geological characteristics increases the scientific return; It is also a pragmatic strategy for the return of the samples that the rover will collect. Indeed, several points of collection are planned which are as many possible options for the rover which will come to recover them. Our explanations on this mega-mission with Cathy Quantin-Nataf, director of the ERC e-Mars team, in charge of the selection of the landing site of the ExoMars 2020 rover.

NASA has chosen Jezero Crater as the landing site for the rover March 2020. This rover is due to leave Earth in 2020, inside a launch window that opens July 17 and closes August 5, 2020 Its main objectives are the direct search for signs of past microbial life, collecting samples that will be recovered by another mission, and preparing for the arrival of a first inhabited mission on the red planet. His landing on Mars is scheduled for February 2021.

It will therefore land inside the crater Jezero which has an environment of interest for exobiology as well as for its geological diversity. Of the four competing sites, the Jezero crater was also the favorite of the project's scientific team. It had also proposed to Nasa a mega-mission combining not one site, but two! An unprecedented strategy made possible by the confidence inspired by Curiosity, which has been rolling for more than 6 years on the planet, and whose design of the rover March 2020 is inspired by yet additional improvements.

March 2020: two sites to maximize scientific return

Concretely, Mars 2020 will first land inside the crater Jezero then, at the end of its initial mission, will join Midway, a site that also has an environment of interest for exobiology and offers a great geological diversity. Distant about twenty kilometers from the crater Jezero, several months will be necessary to join him.

The Jezero Crater was once, about 3.5 billion years ago, a lake draining streams from a basin of about 15,000 square kilometers. Many fossils of microorganisms, if they existed, could become trapped in its clay layers. As for Midway, this site has the particularity of having geological layers, which are not the ejectas of the crater, even older than those of Jezero. They are very diverse in their composition and some are rich in olivine and carbonate. An association of materials that, on Earth, is very favorable to life.

Samples to better date the history of Mars

While they both favor the search for bio-signatures and potential proofs of a past life, Midway and Jezero have been shaped by different geological processes. A strategy that will optimize the scientific return and collection of samples by taking them from several different locations. It also has the advantage of offering several collection sites and therefore, option, for the future mission that will collect these samples to return to Earth.
If the search for an extinct form of life is the main objective of the study of these samples, dating is one of the great scientific interests of this return of Martian samples. It should be known that the ages given on Mars are established thanks to the method borrowed from the Moon and based on the number of craters per square kilometer. This method assumes that the older a land is, the more it is cratered. It made it possible to establish three major Martian periods, the Noachian, the Hesperian and the Amazonian (periods classified from the oldest to the most recent), themselves divided into sub periods. But, if it is accurate enough to date the history of the Moon, this method applied to Mars has a lot of bias. The dating error can be very important. Thus for periods of Martian history between 1 and 2 billion years, the uncertainty can be a billion years! By cons, around four billion years, this uncertainty is less (some 200 to 300 million years).

Note:

This article was written with the scientific lighting of Cathy Quantin-Nataf, professor at Lyon 1 University and researcher at the Geology Laboratory of Lyon. She is also the director of the ERC e-Mars team, in charge of the selection of the Space Agency's ExoMars 2020 rover landing site.

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