by Ron Rayborne
“And we let it happen, Julie. We let them bring it all down based on an elaborate, transparent pile of lies. That the earth was indestructible. That it’s resources would last forever. We didn’t stop them. Oh, some of us tried, just not hard enough, I guess. Mostly, those of us who understood what was happening, well, we were above that kind of fight. We refused to lower ourselves to their level. Big mistake, ‘cause these people don’t stop until they win, and they’ve won. And now ... now.” Karstens’ voice broke, a tremolo barely heard. “You know, as children we were closer to nature, most of us anyway. We knew that special joy, it filled our hearts and we couldn’t help but laugh. Then we grew up and learned that having such feelings was wrong and marked one as weak. A few of us never forgot, though.”
A tear formed at the corner of Julie’s eye. This was a man who loved the planet. And yes, she’d felt the same, exactly the same way. For a long time. It was a heavy load to bear. Insanity, perceiving the truth, knowing the truth, but unable to speak it. Unable to do a thing about it. To make people understand. To care.
Silence.
“So here’s the deal,” Karstens said, gathering himself, “we’ve done more testing - other testing. Like I said, this was not a one-off.” He paused to let that sink in. Julie’s expression was unchanged. She had stopped seeing and was now only hearing.
“Go on,” she said.
“We now know that time travel is a fact. I’d even say it’s easy, now that we know how. The problem is, it takes an enormous amount of energy, and, well, each time the energy needed grows almost exponentially. We don’t know why.”
“The blackouts,” she said inquiringly. “The LA Blackouts.”
“Quite, my lady. That was us,” Karstens acknowledged, looking embarrassed. The Los Angeles Blackouts had caused a stir because of the fact that there was no known reason for them. No weather, solar, geological or other conditions at the time that could have precipitated them. The first had knocked out the city for a day. The next for more than a week. Rioting and looting ensued. The latest would have lasted quite a bit longer had not the government been ready with supplemental power supplied by the huge McCready nuke plant in the Mojave. People got suspicious and were looking for answers. In the month following, though, other issues of import had consumed public attention and the blackouts were forgotten.
“The first time displacement incident was accidental. The second time, after much debate, we’d almost decided to send someone back, but finally opted to house a video camera in a “Strong Box”. The third time was the retrieval of that box - though it turned out not to be so strong. The box was smashed,” Karstens chuckled. “That caused a lot of angst and ‘I told you sos’. However,” and here he grinned and stuck his index finger in the air, “the camera was not. Julie ... we have video!” At this point he reached into an inner pocket and gingerly withdrew a sleek, flat, black square, laying it on the table. It clicked upon it like a tap shoe. “We discovered, my lady, that not only can we send something there, we can bring it back! That opens up a lot of possibility.
“Now it’s true,” he continued, “that what we have here is fixed upon a single location, which just means that we couldn’t get a 360 degree view. That was a condition of the Strong Box, so it doesn’t show everything. But what it does show is extraordinary!” He unfolded the plastiscreen and faced it toward her, then smiled. “Are you ready?” Julie watched as Karstens’ fingers lightly touched the top left of the square, her heart racing.
“No fainting now.” Instantly, the screen lit. There was a moment of static, then, suddenly, there it was in glorious color. Though the bottom third of the screen was blocked by green, most of the rest was bright blue sky and low mountains. The camera was positioned beneath a tree, which was fortunate, for it cut down on solar glare. The landscape here was moderately high, a mountaintop, yet locally level, rising somewhat in the distance. Off to the right, however, it dropped gently into a pleasant valley, and in that valley she could see small lakes. Farther still, was a long blue line, which she knew was the sea. All through, the ground-cover was dotted with color, wildflowers upon which some of the animals grazed. Lupines and Shooting Stars swayed in the breeze. Trees were also in bloom with beautiful pink flowers in varying hues here and there. Soon those flowers would become fruit as delicious as the flowers were fragrant. But it was what was moving among this lovely scene that quickened her pulse.
Indeed, Julie felt her breathing speed up, a typical sign that she was feeling overwhelmed, though she’d resolved to control it. For it was true. Quite obviously it was true. There was no mistaking. The Zygolophodon, a genus of Miocene mammoth, was grazing in the mid-distance, while around it, a variety of period horses, camelids, and other long extinct fauna, made that clear.
She stared it the scene, then began to recite the names of those she recognized. “Archaeohippus! Desmathippus! CormoHipparion! NeoHipparion! Hypohippus!” she exclaimed. “And there’s Megahippus! Yes! And Aepycamelus! Miolabis! Oxydactylus! And who’s that?” she laughed and clapped her hands together, “Tomarctus opatus!” Unbeknownst to Julie, tears were flowing down her face. There was a catch in her voice, excited as she was by a scene long gone. Suddenly, there stepped into view a very strange animal with a bizarre crown of horns: those on the left were much larger than those on the right. “Ramoceros!” she nearly shouted, “They’re all here!” She was beaming now, and despite the WNA, people were looking in their direction.
“And what’s that?” she continued, “What's that they’re eating?” She’d suddenly noticed the long, green, tufted ground-cover. It was backlit by a warm afternoon sun and seemed almost to be glowing. “GRASS!” Julie yelled. “THAT’S GRASS! I KNEW IT!” It went quiet in the diner, but she didn’t care. She was oblivious, lost in the moment.
Karstens looked puzzled. “Go on,” he prodded.
“You know, grass!”
“Yes, so...”
“This era!” she continued excitedly, “It was a huge debate. Though grass phytoliths were found as far back as the Mesozoic, because of a lack of direct fossil evidence, some maintained that it didn’t evolve until much later. But that may have been due to a low silica content. On the other hand, however, grazers were present at this time with hypsodont teeth, indicating abrasion and wearing. So the question was, what came first, the grass or hypsodonty?”
“‘At this time?’” Karstens said, repeating her words. “Are you saying, Dr. Pine, that you know what time period this is?”
“Well, yes, of course!” she answered triumphantly. “This is the middle Miocene. Specifically, the Barstovian. The Barstovian Land Mammal Age, and by the look of it, I’d put the date at around fourteen or fifteen million years ago. And what a time it was!”
“How are you placing it?” Karstens asked wonderingly.
“That’s easy. You see that elephant-like proboscidean there? That’s Zygolophodon proavus. Though Zygolophodon existed throughout the Miocene, proavus lived mainly during a two to three million year stretch within the Barstovian. On top of that, I’m seeing species that became extinct with others that were just evolving then. It’s unmistakable."
Karstens laughed and nodded. “You’re very good. We estimated the actual time at 14.5 and 14.8 million years ago.”
Julie looked at him thoughtfully, yet he offered no more, but only looked at her, waiting. Then it dawned on her. “The stars. You can tell from their positions,” she said.
Karstens smiled and nodded. “Relative to today’s, yes.”
“You have night video.” All at once the enormity of it struck her and she blurted, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” and found herself barely able to hold back the tears that flowed, for with all of her learning, and even in her dreams, she’d never conceived anything so beautiful.
“Well then, my lady, I have to ask you,” Karstens began, “are you interested? You’d only have thirty days.”
“Am I interested? In going to the Miocene? YES! YES, OF COURSE I’M INTERESTED!
” Julie answered emphatically through her tears.
Karstens noticed others watching and handed Julie a tissue. Diners turned away nervously at his glance, eyes sent back to their own business. One, though, held his gaze a moment, then nodded slowly, a gesture which Karstens returned. Then the man and his companion stood and left. Karstens looked back at Julie. “My lady, we have an appointment.”
Back in Karstens’ office, five other people waited. They had apparently been in conversation when Karstens and Julie walked in. They all stood, except one, and shaking Julie’s hand, introduced themselves.
“Have a seat, Julie,” Karstens said, waving her to an empty chair. The others sat also. Two were from the government. They didn’t give their names. One was a normal Blacksuit, while the other was evidently his superior. Both had a dark, no-nonsense aura about them, of atrocities committed and secrets kept. Though indoors, the Suits wore dark glasses.
Another, smiling, introduced himself as “Halverson, Roger Halverson in personnel.” Julie looked at him; he seemed familiar, then she placed him. The man in the diner who had been watching her, who, upon discovery, had looked away. Personnel, my eye, she thought. She stole a glance at his clipboard and noticed a logo in the center of the gold envelope, on top. A snake climbing a pole, the internationally recognized symbol of the medical industry. She looked back at him.
“Psychologist, I’d say,” she offered. Halverson raised an eyebrow. “Very good, Professor. Actually, that is one of my fields. I do other things as well.”
Julie looked at the man sitting behind Halverson, recognizing him too. She’d only met him once, at a “party” a few years previous. A bunch of life scientists, science librarians, and a few others, held a get-together. The real purpose of the meeting was agreeing where to house their most valuable artifacts; some sort of lockdown until the crazies were gone. For all they knew, that could be a long while. The location chosen turned out to be a vault deep underground: a large, old, forgotten bomb shelter. Truck loads of specimens were sent for weeks disguised as radioactive waste with official logos on the manifests. No officer was willing to check the contents of the trailers once they saw the paperwork. Since most museums had already been closed for sometime, no one outside of this circle knew what happened to the precious items. Museum workers were told that the relics were being sent to a safe place, but not where to. Still, it was assumed that the government knew. The government always knew. It would be virtually impossible to keep an operation of this size completely secret. That fact made the participants more than a little edgy.
Some advised against putting everything in one location. Finally, however, they took a vote, one last vestige of democracy in a world gone mad.
Julie remembered the leader of the subversives, Hodges, as a warm, intelligent man, an air of confident defiance about him. A man who inspired trust. He stood six foot five, which seemed to help. For some reason, people look to tall men as leaders. Something primitive about it. In Hodges’ case, though, it was deserved. He was old and gently spoken, always waiting for others to speak before he did. He’d weigh and consider the words of friend and foe alike before coming to a conclusion. He wore his grandfatherly glasses on the bridge of his nose like a trademark. Most everyone else who needed glasses, and could afford it, had had corrective surgery to repair less than perfect vision. But those were the old timers. For many years now, no one had been born with eye defects. Genetic modification pre-utero had, like so many other ancient health issues, simply erased them.
Julie stood again and so did Hodges. Suddenly, seeing him, she felt relieved. If Jim is involved in this, it’s okay. Hodges walked over. She looked up at him as to a father, and he smiled down at her, extending his hand. She didn’t know why she did it, but she ignored his hand and instead embraced him. Here was a man she’d admired for so long. As much as she knew about her field, she knew that Jim knew so much more. A feeling of excited anticipation flowed through her now.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Hodges smiled solemnly and nodded. They sat again.
“Julie, this is Dietrich Jaqzen,” Karstens said, gesturing to the last man, the one who hadn’t stood. She looked at him. Jaqzen gazed back, unsmiling.
“Glad to meet you,” Julie said.
“Um, thanks,” Jaqzen said in reply, his husky voice booming in the small room, then he added “You, too.” He put out a hand and Julie took it. Almost immediately, she wanted to withdraw it. Huge, strong and vice-like, his hand engulfed her own. It wasn’t that which made it objectionable though. It was the cold clamminess. She shook and let go. Jaqzen held on for a fraction of a second longer, then also let go. Almost imperceptibly, his eyes dropped and took her in, head to toe. Then he smiled, “Call me Deet.” A tiny shudder went through Julie, which she shook off. She also surreptitiously wiped her hand on her skirt, while smiling in return. Frowning inwardly, she wondered who he was and what his role was in all of this.
Jaqzen, pronounced “Jackson,” was tall and tanned. Muscles bulged under his shirt. His hair was cut in a tight crew, shaved at the temples. From the left ran a long angry scar. Above his right ear, she noticed a tattoo, but couldn’t make it out. He wore khaki pants with several pockets on each leg. The two on his calves contained undetermined items of some weight. From the lower one though, through just a bit of opening, reflecting an overhead light, was a glint of steel.
“Deet is a specialist, Julie. He knows how to, um, survive in rough situations. That is a skill that will come in handy on this mission,” said Karstens, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“Tell me about this mission, Bob,” she asked.
Karstens looked to Hodges. “Doctor?” he intoned.
Hodges rose once again. He looked around the room. “As most of you know,” he began, voice deep and sonorous, “almost all of earth’s native biota, plants and animals which existed here from time immemorial and up to the last century, are either now gone or pending extinction. All that is left, really, are the smallest creatures. Rodents and insects, things like that. There are, of course, a variety of reasons for this, all having to do with us.” Brushing aside the nervous coughs, he spoke now for the benefit of the others in the room, as Julie had no need for a refresher on mass extinction. “Skyrocketing population growth. Relentless habitat destruction and over-development. Deforestation. Mountaintop mining and removal. The cutting off of migration routes. Extreme hunting pressure. Climate change. Vast areas of land, sea and air, now polluted beyond remediation with radiation, PCBs, oil and other toxins, a variety of ozone destroying chemicals, et cetera, et cetera.
“Soon, we will be moving out to the stars. Humanity’s destination is there. A glorious future awaits us.” Julie was startled by these last comments. The last she knew, Hodges believed that all of this futurism talk was nothing more than a load of public relations BS. He continued, “If we can send a mission back, collect as much of the flora and fauna as we can, it would add immeasurably to our ability to survive.”
“But,” Julie spoke up, “we already have the seed bank at Svalbard. Tons and tons of seed pre-collapse set aside for just such an occasion.”
“Very true, Professor. We do have a lot of stuff stored at Svalbard and alternate locations, seeds, and later, the DNA of every species we could get it from before they went under. It’s all been carefully preserved for decades, frozen in underground vaults. Saved, as it were, for a rainy day. There’s a problem, though. While we do have seeds, we aren’t sure of their integrity. It’s been many years and likely a lot of them are no longer viable. Further, a large proportion of them are contaminated with biotech traits. Unfortunately, we are no longer sure which ones they are. If you’ll recall, a political decision was reached some time back to stop segregating those seeds. Thus, seeds were mixed together based solely on variety and without regard for the GMO factor. When the Transgene Crisis began and famine first swept through the world, some of us wanted to rid them all from our agricultural lands and start over. Couldn’t, by
then all of our crops were contaminated due to cross-pollination. Turns out that was the corporate goal all along. So the only uncontaminated seed left is at Svalbard, though we’d have to literally examine them all one by one to be able to tell what from what. That’s a lost cause.”
“But I thought - ” Julie began.
“That we’d destroyed them all? No. That’s what was told the media. It made people feel better. It was decided that GM contaminated seed was better than no seed at all, and so those seeds were left where they were.
“Fortune,” he continued, “has smiled upon us, though, and given us a chance to find clean, healthy seed. Virgin germ. All unmodified. It’s a spectacular opportunity which we cannot pass up.”
“Okay, say I go back to collect plants; what if it’s the wrong time of year and they aren’t seeding? Then what, wait around for who knows how long until they do? I thought I only had a month,” Julie badgered.
“Good question. While we prefer seeds, we don’t need them. All you need to do is to collect plant tissue samples and bring them back. We will then clone those, and from that first generation, we’ll get our seeds. This is vital in our plan to terraform the new planets we will encounter. It is a huge undertaking, a heroic undertaking.” Hodges’ eyes stole quickly in the direction of the two government men, then back to Julie.
Ah, of course, he knew he was talking smack. She, too, flashed a glance in the direction of the Blacksuits. They sat stone still, their faces masks of impassive non-expression behind their shades.
Likely, they knew Hodges true feelings, could read it in the slightly exaggerated edge to his words. They were able, it was rumored, even to read a person’s thoughts from a variety of clues, the inflection in a voice, the tilt of a head or eyebrow, the movement of the hands, the way that one stood. You’re not fooling anyone, Jim, she thought.
Karstens rose and walked to his desk. Opening a bottom drawer, he produced a box. He set it on the desk, placed his thumb on it and said, “Open.” It did. The man likes his gadgets, Julie thought. “A remarkable invention, this,” he said. “We call it ‘the Case.’ I think you will find it quite useful. This container will automatically record the genetic phylogeny of any bit of flora placed inside it. We estimate its accuracy at virtually one hundred percent. No homework involved.”