The plane landed around 1 AM at Bamako’s airport, all lights off. It parked in a remote corner of the tarmac. Under the ghostly glow of a nascent Moon, the only passenger rushed out of it into a small helicopter that took off immediately. It gained height and disappeared to the north-east. 

Two hours and six hundred kilometres away, the helicopter landed discreetly outside Bandiagara. The passenger stepped out, hunching to avoid the dust blown by the blades, and lumbered to the jeep which was waiting for him. He opened the rear door and stepped inside. The jeep peeled off.

“Monsieur le Secrétaire général,” a male voice said.

Geerd Hoegen turned his head towards his host. “Professeur Bergeron?” he replied with a strong Dutch accent. He reached out, and both shook hands.

“Peut-être pourrions-nous continuer en anglais ?” Bergeron proposed. “I was told French is not your forte…” He smiled.

“That’s right,” Hoegen replied. “I’m sorry.”

“Never mind, we’ve gotten used to it. It still stings, but… modern times I guess.”

Hoegen looked out the window at the solid darkness. Dawn was still hours away. He yawned. It’d been a long flight from New York. “So what’s the big story?” he asked after a while.

Bergeron sighed. “We discovered it two months ago. It was hidden behind scree, and unknown to anyone. Even the wise had forgotten about this place.”

“Dogons, isn’t it? But why—”

At that moment, the jeep lurched and stopped. Torch light flooded in. Hoegen was blinded, but he vaguely made out the shapes of armed soldiers outside. The driver lowered his window, exchanged a few words, and they moved on. 

“We have to keep nosy visitors at bay,” Bergeron explained. “The news has spread something had happened around here. So far, we’ve been successful at repelling trespassers, but secrecy cannot be maintained indefinitely.”

Hoegen nodded. The jeep drove a few hundreds metres ahead, then stopped. 

“We’ve arrived,” Bergeron said.

Hoegen got off and looked around. A few metres ahead, a sheer cliff wall rose into the night. At its base, illuminated by the car headlights, a wide crack ran up: the entrance of a cave complex.

“Come in!” Bergeron said, motioning Hoegen ahead. The professor drew a torch from his pocket and walked inside.

The crack led to a short, narrow tunnel, that stretched for about fifty metres before reaching the threshold of a large cave.

“This is ancient,” Bergeron said. “We estimate fourty thousand years. [i]Homo Sapiens[/i]’s début. Come here and look up!”.

On the white ceiling above them, Hoegen saw a rough painting, like dark points randomly spattered. A human-like figure stood below them.

 “These are constellations,” Bergeron explained. “And here –” with his torch he showed a group of three tiny points – “is Sirius A, B and C.”

“Sirius A, B and C?”

”Yes. Griaule had already found out that Dogons know about Sirius being a double star, which is clearly impossible given their technological level. But here, ‘they’ depicted Sirius as a triple star. Look closer…”

Hoegen craned his neck and squinted. He saw a faint line running from the third point. “There’s a line,” he said. 

“Yes,” Bergeron replied and he moved his torch along it until another painting came into view.

“Is that… a… dugout?” Hoegen hesitated.

“A pirogue, yes. A craft of sorts. And…” Bergeron moved his torch again along the line to a third painting.

“What the hell is this?!” Hoegen exclaimed. His eyes widened. He hesitated. “Horses?”

“More like ponies, if the painter respected the sizes. See the man here? Much taller.”

“Horses with wings and horns?” Hoegen asked.

Bergeron shrugged. “Who knows what truth the old legends hold. But look there.”

The spotlight moved to another part of the painting, depicting three ponies, bigger than the the rest of the herd.

“Those three have both wings and horns,” Bergeron said. 

“What’s drawn on those two’s flanks? Is that sun and moon?” Hoegen asked.

Bergeron nodded.

“And that star on the third one? What is it?”

“We have no clue, sir. We haven’t explored the other caves yet, since the passage is blocked. But I’m sure we’ll find other paintings…”

“Can it be a sham?” 

“Everything is genuine,” Bergeron said. “We triple-checked.”

“So, the Earth was visited fourty thousand years ago by a crew of sapient ponies…” Hoegen said.

“Apparently.”

“How the hell am I going to break that to the public?” Hoegen wondered, scratching his head.

Bergeron smiled.