Colony

  The navigation screen was a different matter. On inspection, the circuitry was ruined beyond repair, and that was a genuine handicap. He would have no instrumentation readouts, no GPS or mapping capabilities, no proximity sensor or statistical information display. Yet as lousy as it was, none of those things were show-stoppers. As long as the Centaur was up and running, he would just have to handle her the old-fashioned way. Instinct.

  He set to work. Time ticked by as he focussed himself on the task at hand, stripping out the damaged components, fixing in the replacements, rewiring and testing his connections, just as he’d been taught. Just as he’d practised, again and again and again…

  When he next checked his watch he could see that nearly two hours had passed. Another half an hour and he had reaffixed the top of the console and seated himself back in the operator’s chair. It was the moment of truth. With a cursory prayer, he flicked the primary control switch.

  The standby lights on the instrument panel lit up as one, accompanied by a soft whirr. It was music to Peterson’s ears. Not even the blank navigation screen could dampen his sense of achievement. He was one step closer to catching up with Volkov and then… well, then he’d have to improvise. The asshole was armed, dangerous and clearly insane. What he planned to do next, Peterson had no idea. But one thing was clear as piss in snow. He would be after the data stick. And that landed the surviving EIA team members in a whole world of shit. Why the hell had he left the damn thing with Ava in the first place? The answer was there, somewhere between his stomach and his brain, but it was beyond his ability to articulate. All he knew now was that the thought of her in danger because of his foolishness, left him sub-zero.

  He turned the dial to prime the engine. The little semi-circle of LED striations lit up a vibrant green one after another, indicating a full charge. He reached out, grabbed the power-up handle and slid it forward until the engine burst into life. The cabin shook with the sudden power surge. Then it stilled, leaving only the familiar hum of the electrical systems as the power switched from auxiliary to main.

  Slowly, carefully, he retracted the mechanical arms and took the Centaur down.

  2

  The mist had lifted. As far as Callum was concerned, whatever beauty he may once have seen in the glacier, the ridge and the rugged valleys and foothills had lifted with it. The swathes of red and yellow moss along the distant coastlines made him think of blood and bile. The green moss, which was much more frequent inland, looked like rot on the face of a blackened corpse. The air smelt stale, and the retreating mist had left behind a crust of rime, which crunched like brittle bone underfoot.

  With Darya’s help, he had used a wodge of undershirt and his belt to make a temporary tourniquet for his leg. It was a deep puncture midway up on his thigh. But despite all the blood, it seemed to have missed his major arteries.

  When they had rescued what kit they could from the emergency tent, Lungkaju removed the tourniquet, disinfected the wound and began to apply a proper field dressing.

  “I’m sorry,” Callum said. “I should’ve warned you sooner about those things.”

  “It is not your fault,” Lungkaju replied, taking a swig from his flask. “It is my fault for not killing it.”

  For a time, neither man spoke.

  Callum: “Fenris saved my life.”

  Lungkaju sighed deeply and forced a smile. “I told you he liked you, Doctor Ross.” He paused to begin wrapping the bandage. “He was a good dog. A good friend.”

  Callum placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “I do not want those things to eat him,” Lungkaju said suddenly.

  Callum stared at him. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Lungkaju’s voice had regained its natural command, but his eyes were still swollen with grief. “We cannot bury him in this rock and there is no wood to make a fire. But I cannot just leave him here… for them.”

  “We can build a cairn,” Callum said.

  “A cairn?”

  “A tomb. Out of rocks.” He picked up a nearby boulder. “Last time I checked, we’re not short on these.”

  Lungkaju seemed to consider it for a moment as he wrapped the final length of bandage and fastened it above the knee. “Will you help me, Doctor Ross?”

  Callum and Lungkaju carried Fenris from where he lay and, with the help of the others, wrapped him up in a length of tent fabric. They lowered him into a natural hollow at the base of a promontory. Lungkaju removed his pendant bearing the carving of Ngana’bta, placed it on top of his friend’s body and said goodbye. Then, taking it in turns to stand guard, they began collecting boulders and packing them into the hollow around the body. When the ground was level, they began building up.

  As the last of the tent fabric disappeared, Lungkaju started to sing. It was a haunting melody, sombre, beautiful. Though Callum couldn’t understand the meaning, the sound itself spoke to him.

  They worked tirelessly, packing stone after stone onto the mound. All four of them threw themselves into the activity, slotting the chunks of broken stone together to create something lasting. Even Ava seemed to lose her fear temporarily, finding focus in the raising of the cairn.

  When it was somewhere between knee and waist height, Lungkaju stopped singing. The sudden absence of his song was deafening and it brought the others to a standstill. Their muscles ached and their breath steamed into the air.

  “Thank you, my friends,” he announced. “But that is enough.”

  After passing around the water canteen, they stood silently before the grave.

  It was Lungkaju who eventually broke the silence. In a low tone, he said, “Just promise me one thing, Doctor Ross.”

  Callum waited.

  “If you ever come back here, please do not dig up my dog.”

  Callum had no idea whether he was serious or not, until the shade of a grin broke out across his face and he let out a chuckle.

  As much with relief as anything, Callum joined in. “You have my word,” he said.

  After resting briefly the group gathered up what provisions they could. “The compound is only three or four hours’ walk from here,” Lungkaju said, shouldering his pack. He turned to Callum. “How is your leg?”

  “Nothing a handful of painkillers won’t fix.”

  “If it gets worse then you must tell me,” Lungkaju said. “I may need to change the dressing or it could get infected.”

  “Where is Ava?” Darya asked suddenly.

  “I’m over here.”

  The three of them turned to see that she had wandered away unnoticed and was now on her knees, pouring over one of the dead creatures.

  “Ava, solnishko, we need to leave,” Darya called.

  “Sure thing,” she replied. “Only, if anyone’s interested, I think I can put a name to these damn ugly faces.”

  The three exchanged a glance, then hurried to her side.

  “You know what they are?” Darya asked.

  “I think I might just do. Though I hardly believe it.”

  Callum was shocked to see that she had her hands virtually inside the dead creature’s mouth. It rang of that same academic tenacity he’d witnessed in Darya when she’d examined the polar bear. “So what’s the story?”

  She prised its jaws open wider and began examining its teeth. She placed the thumb and forefinger of her hand around one of them to form a frame. “Do you recognise that?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “Do I recognise it? Of course I recognise it. Over the last twenty-four hours, we’ve become rather well acquainted.”

  “No,” she said, scowling. “Do you recognise the shape of it? The shape of the tooth?”

  Callum made up his mind to humour her. He knelt down and stared at the selected tooth. Viewing it up close, it did look familiar. But where had he seen it before? His eyes followed the shark fin-like outline, with the
apically oriented serrations…

  “It looks like one of those fossilised teeth,” he said, suddenly. “Like the one you gave me back on the Albanov. Only bigger.”

  She smiled at him. “I knew you’d remember.”

  He laughed reflexively. “So what are you saying? That this is a dinosaur?”

  “Not per se,” she replied. “You probably wouldn’t’ve seen these exact same creatures walking around back in the Cretaceous, but I reckon you’d’ve seen their direct ancestors alright. And my guess is they’d’ve looked pretty similar.”

  There was a silence. Not for the first time, Callum, Darya and Lungkaju stared at Ava as if waiting for a punchline. When none came, Callum asked, “A type of evolved dinosaur?”

  She nodded. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  3

  Callum turned to the others. Their expressions looked the way he imagined his did: a cocktail of wonder, concern and outright disbelief.

  “An evolved dinosaur? And you’re basing this entirely on the shape of the teeth?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Ava replied. Just as when she’d spoken about the concretions earlier that day, all trace of fear had vanished from her voice. She talked plainly and passionately, as if presenting a lecture. “I know how this probably sounds, and trust me, if I was you I’d be thinking exactly the same thing. Hell, part of me’s thinking it right now. What a fruit cake! She must be delusional with fear or hunger or thirst or whatever the hell you’re thinking! Am I right?”

  For a while nobody spoke. Then Callum said, “Ava, nobody thinks—”

  “Ah, of course you do! But just remember that I was chosen for this project because I’m one of the best in my field. There are few people that know prehistoric fauna like I do. And I’m also an academic. Credibility is everything to me. I trade on it, same as you, Doctor Ross. I don’t go around making claims that I don’t one, believe in and two, have at least a reasonable evidential basis for.”

  “I know that you are very good scientist, Ava,” Darya said. “But what you suggest is that these creatures survived extinction event and lived in small isolated community for tens of millions of years after this. I’m sorry, but I do not think that this is possible.”

  “I agree it’s hard to swallow,” Ava replied. “But it’s actually entirely possible. Look. I think this creature may have evolved from a very specific late Cretaceous therapod known as Troodon. We’ve found plenty of troodontid fossils. I’ve pieced many of them together myself, so I’m pretty familiar with their anatomy. They seem to share the attributes of two different genera, the ornithomimids and the dromaeosaurs.”

  She ran her hand along the top of the creature’s pale grey snout. “The ornithomimids were anatomically very similar to modern-day flightless birds, African ostriches and emus, Australian cassowaries, and South American rheas. They had long, slender beaks rather than snouts. Their skeletons were lightly built. Their bodies were compact and their legs were long, allowing them to move with incredible speed.”

  “Not bad jumpers either,” Callum said.

  She pursed her lips in agreement. “They also had long necks and a comparatively small skull.”

  Callum frowned. “I wouldn’t call that a small skull.”

  “I agree,” Ava replied, patting the side of the dead creature’s cranium. “That’s where the dromaeosaur characteristics take over. Dromaeosaur anatomy was similar to that of the ornithomimids – gracile body, long necks, long legs – but their skulls were much more in proportion, allowing for increased brain size and intelligence.”

  She turned from the creature’s head and dragged her hand slowly down the line of the hind leg. Stopping at the ankle, she now placed her fingers over the retracted toe claw. With her hand for scale, it was clear that the formidable-looking weapon was at least seven or eight curved inches. She eased it cautiously forward and released it, letting it spring back into position. “Troodontids can also thank their dromaeosaur heritage for this little beauty.”

  She went to continue, then noticed the uncomfortable look on Lungkaju’s face and moved her attention to the creature’s forearms. She stretched one out and straightened it at the elbow. “Both ornithomimids and dromaeosaurs had long arms, but dromaeosaurs in particular had these long, slender fingers, tipped with curving claws. They were certainly capable of grasping objects palm to palm, and they were arguably even more dexterous.”

  “And the massive eyes?” Callum asked, trying not to think about those dextrous claws digging into his shoulders. “Do we have dromaeosaurs to thank for those as well?”

  “No,” Ava replied. “Those are all Troodon’s. They’re what allowed him to hunt so effectively in the dark and probably to out-compete his dromaeosaur cousins. If you notice, they’re forward-facing as well. This would’ve given another big advantage. Stereoscopic vision.”

  “And the feathers?” Darya said. “This is new development?”

  “Feathers are just highly developed scales,” Ava replied. “With advances in technology over the last decade or so, we’ve been able to discern that lots of later therapods had them. With feathers, some species of oviraptor now look so similar to birds that there are calls for them to be reclassified as birds.”

  “Could they fly?” Darya asked.

  “No.” Ava plucked a couple of longer plumes from the underside of the creature’s arm and handed them to her. “Some species evolved to fly, of course, eventually surviving on the wing. But for the non-avian dinosauria, they served a number of different purposes; almost certainly display, increased thermo-regulatory capability, perhaps, and in the case of Troodon, plain old aerodynamics. His long tail gave him an exceptional sense of balance whilst moving, but he could also use those underarm feathers in particular to give him increased manoeuvrability when running down prey at high speed. For example, he could manipulate them to help him make rapid adjustments in speed and direction, to corner more sharply.”

  “So kind of like the flaps on a modern aircraft wing.”

  “Pretty much,” she replied. “They were really a wonder of predator evolution. Only sharks come anywhere close in terms of streamlined predatory potential, hence their success.”

  After fanning through the individual fibres, Darya passed the creature’s feathers to Callum. He looked them over then went to pass them to Lungkaju, who just shook his head.

  Ava continued, “As I’ve already explained to Doctor Ross, we know that a northern troodontid population emerged here in the high Arctic and it grew to be genetically distinct from the main genus. It grew even bigger, faster, stronger and more intelligent. Its visual acuity seems to have increased dramatically, and its teeth and jaws developed to allow it to exploit a wider range of foodstuffs.”

  “I’m pretty sure the creatures that attacked me and Darya this morning were chasing fish before they were chasing us,” Callum said.

  “That’s entirely plausible. Probable even,” she replied. “As Doctor Lebedev will know, if there’s one food source which remains abundant year-round in the Arctic, it’s marine life. If I’m not mistaken, the polar bear, the known apex Arctic predator, subsists almost entirely on seal meat. At any rate, all of these adaptations allowed Troodon not only to survive but to thrive in harsh Arctic conditions.” She laughed. “It’s remarkable when you think about it. This is one of the harshest environments on earth – adverse climate, limited food supply, long periods of complete darkness. But it was nothing evolution couldn’t handle.”

  “This is true,” Darya said. “And what you say makes lot of sense. But surviving in the Arctic is very different to surviving mass extinction that kills almost every living thing.”

  Ava smiled. “You’d think so. But it’s not necessarily all that different. Whichever version of the extinction event you subscribe to, in all likelihood the thing that finished off those remnant dinosaur populations – the animals that wer
en’t killed immediately, that is – was a long volcanic winter. The huge quantities of ash thrown up into the atmosphere, be it from volcanoes, a meteor, whatever, would’ve blocked out the sun, plunging the earth into darkness and cold. It would’ve been like one long polar night, one that would’ve lasted years, maybe even decades. Without light, most florae would’ve died away. Herbivorous fauna would have perished, and with no fresh meat on the menu, the carnivores were next, unless—”

  “They’d already adapted to similarly harsh conditions,” Callum said.

  “Precisely. It’s like I was telling you before, Doctor Ross. The idea that some species of dinosauria may have slipped through the Cretaceous-Tertiary boundary is nothing new. I’ve been advocating it most of my career. But I’ll admit, I never would’ve expected that species, or any derived from it, to have survived all the way through to present.”

  “Sixty-five million years is a hell of an innings,” Callum said.

  Ava nodded. “Damn straight. If it’s true, then it’d make this creature a member of a very exclusive club: one of the most successful faunal species known to man.” While talking, she had manoeuvred herself around to face the others, perching herself on the creature’s torso as if it were now no more than a beanbag. Her eyes were alive with discovery, her cheeks flushed with colour. “It’s not unprecedented, though. It’s what’s known as a Lazarus Taxon.”

  “A Lazarus Taxon?”

  “After Lazarus in the bible, the guy Christ was supposed to have resurrected. Palaeontologists use the term to refer to groups of animals, taxa, that go AWOL from the fossil record only to reappear alive and well.” She looked to Darya. “You’ve heard of the coelacanth?”