Colony
Page 10
“You betcha.” She moved over to stand beside him and gently lifted one of the larger specimens. “They’re from a troodontid, a late cretaceous bipedal species we find quite commonly at high latitudes. It’s possible they’re all from the same individual.”
Carefully, Callum accepted the tooth into his palm. It was about six centimetres long and a plaque of surrounding rock still clung to its surface.
“No, they haven’t been properly processed yet,” she said, reading his thoughts. “At the moment I’m just collecting a sample of the material I’ve located eroding from the cliffs at Nansen Rocks. They can be cleaned up after the field season, but for now I just need to be able to prove the scale of the palaeontological resource here.”
“Looks like you’ve hit pay dirt.”
“Put it this way. I located all twenty-four of these in a single day, along with a sizeable number of other much larger bones. That’s more than some palaeontologists recover in an entire season.”
Callum ran a finger along the serrations. “I’m guessing Mr troodontid was a carnivore.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” she replied. “He’s a therapod for sure, a predator, and the name Troodon is even taken from the Greek for wounding tooth.” She pointed a nail at one of the denticles. “But these prominent serrations are apically oriented, which is unusual in other therapods. They’re actually much more similar to those of herbivorous species.”
“So he was just a plant-eater with bad teeth?”
“More likely he was an omnivore, ate whatever he could sink those bad teeth into.”
“Presumably that’s why they survived well here, because they could eat whatever?”
“It’s one of the reasons, sure. But not the only one. They were also fast, agile and hugely intelligent. People have themselves convinced that the velociraptor was the most intelligent dinosaur, and they were smart alright, don’t get me wrong. But in reality they were also the size of a turkey, and their brainpower was nothing on Troodon’s. As far as we know, Troodon had the largest brain relative to body mass of any known dinosaur, and they also had enormous eyes and stereoscopic vision, which would’ve given them a huge advantage during the polar night. We can tell that they thrived here because they got bigger.”
“Their eyes?”
“All of them, the animals themselves. That tooth you’re holding now is twice as big as one you’d expect from a southern Troodon.”
“Steroids in the water?”
“Even better,” she replied. “Rich pickings. Even during the Cretaceous the polar environment would still have been harsh enough to deter most predators, so there would have been plenty of fresh meat for those that could stick out the low temperatures and light, and Troodon was one of them. Evolution took over, and badabing-badabum the Arctic Troodon packed on a few extra pounds of lean, toothy muscle.”
Callum went to place the tooth delicately back beside the others, but Ava took his hand and folded his fingers over it. “For your kid,” she said, smiling. “I know you’ve got a lot of making up to do when you get back. Maybe this’ll help some.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s not like there’s a shortage,” she beamed. “Just keep it to yourself, yeah? I’m not planning on opening a souvenir store.”
Callum slid the fossil into his pocket, where it clinked against the quartz pebble. “He’ll be over the moon, Ava. Thank you.”
Somewhere in the office one of the internal phones began to ring. Ava searched it out from under a pile of oddments and answered it. She turned back to Callum. “Spread the word, communications are back up and running. For how long, nobody knows.”
“Let’s hope they stay up a while,” Callum said, checking his watch. “I’ve got a call with Jamie in an hour. Night, Ava.” He went to leave.
“I meant to ask you,” she called after him. “Did you see Nikolai today?”
“Doctor Semyonov? No, he wasn’t at breakfast.”
“I missed him at lunch too,” Ava said. “Only I took a couple of rock samples for him from Nansen, and he was supposed to pick them up earlier this afternoon.”
Callum smiled. “You know what he’s like. He’s probably stapled his moustache to the desk or something.”
“True. But it’d take more than that to keep the obsessive old grouch from breakfast.”
She was right. Today was the first day Callum could remember when Semyonov hadn’t marched into the dining room at eight sharp, poured himself a coffee and a bowl of cereal, and plonked himself, alone, at the far table overlooking the island. “Have you tried calling him?”
She nodded. “No reply. You’re right, though. I don’t know why I agreed to help the crazy old bastard in the first place.”
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Callum said.
2
Back in his own laboratory, Callum stowed the ski-tip away in a locked cabinet and powered down his computer. In all the excitement earlier that day, he’d forgotten to quiz Lungkaju about the possible symbolism of the dead bird and pottery. The more he’d thought about it since, the more convinced he’d become that they must have formed part of some shamanic practice. There wasn’t much about Nganasan culture that Lungkaju didn’t know, so maybe he could shed some light on it.
Having locked up, he left the lab once more and made his way to the deckhouse elevator. Up on Deck 5, he headed past his own cabin and knocked on the door to 502. “Dan?”
A low voice answered, “That you, McJones?”
“Yes, it’s me, Callum.”
With no attempt whatsoever at a French accent, Peterson called out, “Entrez!”
Entering the room, Callum was as struck by the neatness of the place as he had been by the unexpected disarray in Ava Lee’s laboratory. It was as if the two of them secretly switched personae in private. There was no clutter, not so much as a misplaced sock, and even the air smelt oddly sterile.
Peterson lay stretched out on top of his bed, his arm draped across his face. The midnight sun streamed in over him through the window.
“I brought you these,” Callum said, placing a box of painkillers on the bedside table.
Peterson looked up from underneath his arm and adjusted his horn rims. “That’s very good of you.”
“No bother,” Callum replied. “Archaeology and back pain are bedfellows, so I keep some handy.”
“You keep anything stronger handy? Morphine, maybe?”
Callum laughed and made for the door. “I’ll leave you to rest.”
“McJones? You ever been in love?”
Callum looked back to see Peterson’s eyes wide with anticipation. “Yes, I’ve been in love.”
“At first sight?”
“No, it took me a while to realise.”
“How long’s a while?”
Callum shrugged and perched on the arm of an easy chair facing the bed. “Couple of months, maybe. Something like that.”
“Do you think you could be in love with a person after just a couple of weeks?”
Callum laughed. “Is there something you want to tell me, Dan?”
“No not you, you lamebrain!” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You know. Ava.”
“Ava Lee?” The team had spent a lot of time together over the last few weeks and Callum had got to know the others well. At least he felt as if he had. And the thought of the no-nonsense Ava Lee and the younger, much more erratic Dan Peterson together was strange to say the least. They seemed so incompatible. Height-wise, age-wise, wise-wise. More like mother and son.
“I saw her once before, at a conference a couple of years back,” Peterson said. “Watched her give a paper on some ancient beast or other. Truth is, I didn’t give a goddamn what she was talking about, I was too busy looking at her and wondering whether I’d ever see anything so beautiful ever again. Felt like somebody had clocked
me upside the head with a nine iron.” He sighed. “Then I turn up here and damn me if she isn’t the first person I meet, after security, that is.”
“Well, does she know how you feel?”
“What, that I’m sweet on her? She ought to.” Peterson eased himself up into a sitting position. “You know that was a load of bullshit she sold you just now, right? About dropping things and knocking me into tables and everything.”
“It did sound a little far-fetched,” Callum replied. “So what’s the real story?”
“The real story is she dropped something in that room alright, but it sure as hell wasn’t her fossils!” He looked away and lowered his voice once more. “We were… you know… messing around.”
It was the first time that Callum had seen the man look genuinely embarrassed. His face was pale, and he looked as if he might just up and flee the room at any moment.
“It all got a bit heated,” Peterson continued. “I was hoisting her up and then I felt something crack. Truth is, I dropped her on her ass and upset her tray of whoosits trying to pick her back up. I thought she was plain gonna kill me.”
“Did nobody ever tell you love hurts?”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Peterson sneered. “But seriously, do you think I’m talking crazy? Come on, this is important. I thought it might be… well, I figured it might just be the real thing.”
“I’m not the best person to ask about this sort of stuff,” Callum replied. “I managed to screw up my own marriage and then I managed to screw up my relationship with my son, the two people I was supposed to love. So my track record’s not exactly great.”
There was a long silence before Peterson said, “You’re a straight shooter, McJones. I could tell that about you when we first met. Truth is, that’s why I’m interested in your opinion. I can be sure it’s an honest one, see?”
“Well, if it’s my honest opinion you want, Dan, then yes, I think you’re talking crazy.” He watched as Peterson’s smile melted. “But I suppose that can only mean one thing.”
“That I’m a lovesick fool?”
Callum cleared his throat and assumed his broadest Scottish accent. “But t’see her was t’love her, love but her and love forever. Robbie Burns.”
Peterson reached for the painkillers. “Now there’s an opinion I can trust.”
3
“What’s the password?”
“Great white shark! What’s yours?”
“Hmm…” Callum scratched his head and pretended not to know.
“Clone!” Jamie shouted.
“Whoa, hang on! I’m an old man, my memory’s not as good as yours. What are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?”
Jamie laughed. “I’m eight, Dad!”
“Ah, so you do think it’s me?”
“No, I don’t! One more go or you’re a clone.”
“Well, in that case…” Callum drew himself up and did his best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression. “Hasta la vista, baby!”
Jamie repeated it as usual, then said, “Okay, it’s you.”
Callum looked over to see the comms assistant smiling at him, and he smiled back. The man’s name was Gavriil, and he had the names of his own two children tattooed on the back of his knuckles in a thick black Cyrillic font: Антон and Наталья. Anton, aged six, and Natalya, aged twelve. Over the last couple of weeks the two men had got to know each other. No matter how tired or disheartened Callum had been after the day’s survey, he had made certain to speak to Jamie every evening before dinner, making him practically part of the furniture in the comms centre. Gavriil spoke only broken English, but the language barrier had barely been an issue, because they both spoke a shared second language: that of the remorseful absentee father. As the days ticked by, Gavriil’s interest in offering assistance on behalf of the company had quickly transformed into the concern of one struggling father for another.
Gavriil looked around. With no-one else in the room, he nodded at Callum and then stepped outside to allow them their privacy.
“Got something for you.”
Jamie’s eyes lit up. “What is it?”
Callum held the fossilised tooth up to the webcam. “Dinosaur tooth.”
“Whoa! A real one?”
“Sure is. I had to swap him one of mine. Look.” He opened his mouth wide and pointed to his wisdom tooth gap.
Jamie laughed. “Is it from a T-Rex?”
“No, it’s from a…” he racked his brain, “…a Troodon. But they were meaner than any old T-Rex.”
“When can I have it?”
“Not long. I’ll keep it safe for you until I get back.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
They talked about school for a while – one of Jamie’s poems had been put up on the classroom wall, which was great, but Fraser had called him a dicknose again, which was not so great – then Callum leant forward and whispered, “Want to hear a secret?”
Jamie nodded.
“I found something cool.”
“What?”
“A mummy.”
“What? Like an Egyptian? We did Egyptians last year with Miss Summers.”
Callum smiled. “Not quite. This is an ice mummy. A frozen man.”
“Is he dead?” Jamie asked, his nose wrinkled with curiosity.
“For a long, long time.” Callum checked the doorway behind Jamie’s shoulder to make sure that Moira wasn’t listening in. He could hear her voice clearly inside his head: Don’t you fill his mind full of horrid things before bed, he’ll have nightmares and I’ll have to pick up the pieces, blah blah blah… He was nearly nine, for God’s sake, and there were worse things than mummies on the news.
“His name was Ngana’bta. You want to hear what happened to him?”
“Unga butter,” Jamie said.
“Close enough, son.”
After saying goodnight to Jamie, and showing him the dino tooth one last time, Callum made his way over to a phone terminal and rang Jonas. They had spoken a number of times since his arrival on the Albanov. But the conversations, though comforting, had always been a disappointment, as there had been nothing at all to report back. This time things were different. Not only did he have something to report, but it was something big, potentially massive.
As the dial tone started up, he couldn’t wait to hear the excitement in his friend’s voice. For somebody who had dedicated his entire life to archaeology, news of the ice mummy would be like a restorative shot in the arm for Jonas, and just when he needed it most.
He shook his head. A fortnight ago if somebody had told him he’d be enjoying himself like this, there was a good chance he would have punched them in the face. But it was undeniable. He was enjoying himself. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so engaged with his own life. Not only was he on the verge of something massive with the ice mummy, but he was somehow managing to patch up his relationship with Jamie too.
“Hello?”
Callum recognised the voice as that of Sarah Olsen, Jonas’s wife. “Sarah? It’s Callum. Callum Ross.”
“Oh, Callum, hello.”
“How are you?”
“I’m…” Her words trailed off and she began to sob.
“Sarah, what is it? Is it Jonas?”
“They… he…”
Callum closed his eyes. Her meaning was loud and clear.
4
Callum drained his glass and poured himself another whiskey. It was nearly one o’ clock in the morning. The lounge on Deck 8 of the Albanov was empty and silent. The electric shutters were fully lowered, leaving only the light of the muted television set to come between the gloom and complete darkness.
As he tipped another shot across his tongue, the door to the lounge cracked open and Darya poked her head through. She entered and walked over. She appeared
to be dressed in full outdoor gear. “I thought I could hear somebody.”
“Sorry,” he replied, “I was trying to keep it down.”
She looked at him puzzled. “Keep what down?”
It was easy to forget that English was not her native tongue. “The noise,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I was trying to be quiet.”
She sat next to him on the sofa and watched as he poured himself some more whiskey. “Your plan is to get drunk alone in the darkness?”
“So how come you’re all dressed up?” he asked, changing the subject.
“I am going over to Harmsworth.”
“It’s one o’ clock in the morning.”
“This is not a problem.” She raised one of the blinds a fraction, allowing a band of sunlight to stream into the lounge.
Callum watched the light reflecting off his measure, before swirling it around and downing it. “How could I forget?” She seemed unaffected by the relentless daylight. Where he and the others attempted a regular sleep-wake pattern, as recommended by the on-board medical team, she carried out her research at all hours.
“Besides,” she continued, “wildlife does not wear a watch.”
Callum made no reply and instead refilled his glass.
“There is something upsetting you,” she said, her eyes meeting his. “I can tell this.”
“My friend, the man who was supposed to be here instead of me, I just found out that he’s gone. Passed away.”
The touch of her hand on his told him that, this time, she understood his chosen phrase. “That is very sad, solnishko,” she said. “He was not in great pain, I hope?”
“No, if there’s one good thing it’s that there wasn’t any pain. From what his wife told me, there was some kind of complication related to the tumour in his brain. He was unconscious in his armchair when she found him. They did what they could for him in hospital, but he never woke up.”
“This is very sad,” she repeated. “I am sorry that you were given this news.”
“So am I.”
She squeezed his hand. “I lost a good friend also last year. I did what you do now and drank. Tried to forget. Then I realised that they did not want me to be that way. They would not have liked me that way.”