PLASTER    The man bent down, dropping one knee for a closer look at the artifact. Supposedly worth 6.5 million dollars and over 800 years old, it was currently the Burkley Museum's most famous exhibit and was drawing in thousands as history buffs and private collectors came from all over the country to catch a glimpse of the famous piece. The man snapped a few photos and then tilted his head to view the vase from a different angle. He frowned. Something about the piece just didn't seem right. He stood and circled it for a better view of the intricate yet ancient design painted on one side. Then, he caught his breath. It couldn't be. No, it was impossible... and yet... Turning away, he slipped through the crowd and approached the security guard standing nearby.    "Excuse me, sir... I'm a private collector and amateur photographer from Minnesota."    The guard smiled.    "You've certainly come a long way."    "Yes, possibly for nothing."    "The Vodskvich Vase wasn't what you expected?"    The man took a deep breath. "Oh, no. I'm sure the Vodskvich Vase is quite the spectacular piece of art and history, but... I don't think that's the Vodskvich Vase."    The guard was silent for a moment. "Excuse me?"    The man repeated himself. "I have reason to believe that the piece on display over there..." and here he pointed towards the artifact--which was, at the moment, hidden by the crowd, "...is NOT the famous vase, created by the youngest son of the Royal Vodskvich family."    The guard looked surprised for a moment and then frowned. "Now, look here, buddy... why don't you take your camera and go take pictures at some other museum. I don't want any trouble here."    The man remained calm, yet insistent. "You don't believe me? Go find a curator, then. I tell you, that vase sitting under that glass panel, under lock and key and a state-of-the-art security grid over there probably isn't worth more than about $50."    The guard rolled his eyes and moved as if to escort the man towards the exit. "Okay, buddy, all right. Whatever you say. I'll be sure to have someone look into it later. And while they're at it, you know I think I saw something funny about our Mona Lisa over in the gallery." He widened his eyes in mock concern. "You know I think they'd better take a look at that too while they're at it."    The man pulled away as the guard took his arm. "If you don't believe me, I'll find someone who will!" He pulled away, scanning the surrounding people for anyone wearing a nametag.    The guard hurried after him. "Hey! Stay where you are!"    The man paid him no heed, brushing past people and weaving in and out through the exhibits. He threw a glance over his shoulder to see if the guard was still in pursuit.    "OOF!"    With a yelp, the man was stopped short and fell over. He groaned and started to pick himself up and apologize, but a rough pair of hands grasped his shoulders and jerked him to his feet. "All right, wise guy. I tried to be nice..."    "Hold on a moment, Steve," came a refined voice. "Who is this man?"    The man looked up to see an elegantly clad women who appeared to be in her mid to late forties. Her dark hair and high cheekbones gave her an almost queenly appearance. Her tag identified her as the Head Curator. He smiled triumphantly, but the grin was shaken from his face as the guard began to turn him roughly around. "I'm sorry if this man was bothering you, Mrs. Blythe. He was causing a disturbance near the Vodskvich exhibit and I was just escorting him out," the guard said with a scowl at the man.    "Wait! Mrs. Blythe, I was trying to tell this gentleman here that I have reason to believe that..."    The guard interupted. "Don't bother Mrs. Blythe with your screwball stories, c'mon!" He gave the man another jerk towards the exit.    "Steve."    The tone in the curator's voice made the guard immediately cease tugging on the man and loosen his grip, albeit reluctantly. The photographer pulled free of the guard's relentless grasp and straightened his jacket. Mrs. Blythe looked at him, signalling that he continue.    "As I was saying, ma'am, I don't think that what you've got in there is the Vodskvich Vase."    The curator's eyebrows went up with surprise and interest.    "Oh? What makes you think that?"    The man beckoned her. "If you'll come and take a look, I'll show you."    The refined lady nodded and followed him, half curious and half amused. The guard was close behind.    They approached the exhibit and slipped under the ropes that cordoned off several feet around the display, the crowd parting for the guard and the head of the museum. The man bent down so that the vase was at eye level and pointed at the base of it, speaking to the curator in a hushed voice. She peered closely at the piece through the protective glass case and then shook her head at the man, her expression becoming somewhat skeptical. He motioned more insistently and straightened, tapping the case. The curator shook her head again. Then, the man laid a hand on the case and his words became softer and somewhat pleading. The curator stood silent for a moment and then slowly drew a ring of keys from her pocket. Selecting one, she inserted it into a cleverly concealed lock and opened it, this flipping down a small panel covering a keypad. She typed in a passcode and then let the pad read her thumbprint. It hummed for a few seconds and then flashed green. There was a click and the guard stepped obediently forward to remove to case, muttering something under his breath. He lifted it carefully up and away from the vase. The crowd around them had fallen silent at this point, both surprised and curious. Every few moments there was a flash as dozens of photographers grabbed the chance to capture the vase without the reflective plexi-glass casing over it. The man eagerly reached out for the vase once it was exposed, but the curator stopped him with a sharp exclamation. The man looked at her and seemed to object, but she shook her head again, firmly, speaking very sternly to him.    "I still cannot see anything wrong with the vase, sir. I think that you need to accept that you were wrong and drop the matter. I am very uncomfortable having the vase uncovered and unprotected like this."    "But don't you see? It's painfully obvious from one glance at the base that..."    "Yes, you've already explained that to me. Now, I will ask only once more. Please let the matter drop and simply enjoy looking at the piece UNDER its case like everyone else."    "Screwball probably just wanted a chance to take some photos without the case and made up this wild story," the guard insisted with a sneer, disregarding the fact that the photographer had not snapped one shot since the case was removed.    The man frowned. Fine. They wouldn't listen to reason... In one swift move he turned as if to go, knocking the curator towards the stand which the vase stood on. She let out a cry of surprise and dismay as she stumbled against the stand, jarring it. The vase wobbled and titled back and forth towards the edge of its platform. There was a loud gasp from the crowd and... in one smooth movement, the vase toppled over and smashed into the tile floor with a loud shatter, breaking into dozens of tiny pieces. For a moment, there was a complete, horrified silence during which no one breathed. Then, the curator, so shocked she'd gone white as a sheet, exclaimed, "PLASTER!?" At that, the room exploded with loud exclamations and excited hubbub. Everyone tried to crowd closer and get a better look, but could hardly see a thing with dozens of flashes going off from every side of the exhibit.    "I can't believe it!" Mrs. Blythe cried.    The man grinned triumphantly, but refrained from rubbing it in. The guard stood dumbfounded, scratching his head with confusion. The crestfallen woman knelt and picked up one of the larger pieces, staring at it with disbelief.    "But... but this can't be right! The vase was examined by countless scientists and experts... how could they have missed..."    "They didn't," the man broke in. "The vase they examined was the real artifact. This..." he ran a finger through the dusty shards, "Is a fake. A reproduction."    "But one of the world's most knowledgable pottery experts held and examined the vase before placing it on this very stand." She shook her head. "How could..." she paused and a horrified look crossed her lovely features. "Are you saying...?"    The man nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so. The Vodskvich Vase has been stolen."

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