by B. C. CHASE
Doctor Ming-Zhen suspected a sinister reason for all the uproar against Chinese paleontology.
Before he published his infamous paper on the man-eating deinocheirus, China had swiftly risen to prominence as the epicenter of paleontology, with more discoveries surfacing there than anywhere else, and more experts in the field than any other nation. Because China now had such a large and thriving crop of its own homegrown paleontologists, scientists from the outside were rarely admitted to partake in the abundance, and if they were, they were mere spectators or dirt-pushers. For this reason, the rest of the world was dripping with envy, and Doctor Ming-Zhen's supposed fraudulence, and the Academy's silence on the subject, gave them the perfect excuse to shut China down. The ire was nothing more than basal human jealousy.
Regardless of the cause, he wondered what he possibly could do to redeem himself and his few perseveringly loyal students.
And then he received a call from his mother at the giant assisted living facility. She demanded an immediate visit. She did this very frequently. At first, he told her now wasn't the time, but she would not accept “no” for an answer.
So when he arrived at her tiny apartment and had sat down beside her, she said, “I've seen you on the news. It seems,” she coughed, “you've run into some trouble.”
He hung his head.
“Zhou, you know we did not support you becoming a paleontologist.” She took his hands in her withered ones, “But we could not deny that you became a good one. Before he died, your father told me that he was very glad you had not become an engineer after all. You made us more proud as a paleontologist than you ever could have as an engineer.” He felt like a child as tears welled up in his eyes. Though he didn't know it, his whole being had been yearning to hear this, it seemed.
She said earnestly, “You can prove to them that you are who we know you are. You are not a liar, you are a man of character and honor. You can prove to them the truth.” She firmly shook his hand between both of hers, “You only need to go and do it.” She then straightened in her seat, frowning, “And besides, it will keep your mind from negative energy.” She looked out her window absently for a moment, appearing to have a senile moment. Then she turned her head slightly and jumped in her seat at the sight of him. “You're not gone already?” she clucked. “Now go!” she waved her arms. “Go show them!”
His mother's little pep talk ultimately gave him the encouragement he needed to dismiss the uproar around him and to return to science for the evidence he needed.
It was when he was in the middle of this research that he was called to the head of the Academy’s office.
Babraham Road
Cambridge, England
Doctor Matthew Martin easily followed the familiar countryside road outside Cambridge. He had just passed the roundabout and was well on his way towards the city. It was a cool, black night and his windshield wipers easily kept his view clear in the light drizzle.
Despite being home to the park and ride, the road rarely had traffic; especially after dark. But Doctor Martin slowed as he saw brake lights ahead. Coming to a stop behind the line of cars, he squinted, peering into the darkness to try to see what caused the standstill. He could see some metal off the side of the road not too far ahead. Must have been an accident. The whole road must be blocked, he decided, because the opposite lane was vacant.
After a few moments of impatience, he wanted to get out to go see if it would be necessary to turn around. The rain seemed to get heavier just as he stepped out of the becar.
Nearing the mass of metal in the grass, he could see that it was a mutilated car. The roof had been peeled up off the top like the lid of a can. Blood was flowing over the matted hair and down the body of a figure that leaned forward against the seat belt. The head hung limp on the steering wheel.
He breathed, "oh God" to the dark sky as he quickened his pace. Blood was trickling over everything, spattered over the dash, the steering wheel, the ventilators.... The victim was a middle aged woman. She did not move. He grasped her right shoulder and pulled her back. When her head moved away from the steering wheel, a section of her skull flipped down over her forehead and bloodied, globular tissue swelled up from the skull. Reflexively, he jerked his hand away and he stumbled back, an agonized moan escaping his lips.
He knew this woman.
United Nations Security Council
Doctor Martin blinked away the memory, returning to the present. He stared up at the faces of eager listeners in the circle above him. “I was driving on countryside roads on the way back from a visiting lecture. Now, there at a certain point in the route there was a roundabout, with two roads to take, both of which would eventually lead me to Cambridge. One was shorter than the other. I naturally always took the shortest road. But on this night, as I came to the roundabout, I had this sudden, foreboding feeling. I had the sense that I should take the long road, that I must take the long road instead of the short one.
“Now, I am not a person prone to superstitions or premonitions or any of these sorts of things. I like to think of myself as quite rational. So of course I ignored this sense and took the short road. Just a brief drive down the road, I saw brake lights ahead. Stopped traffic, of course.
“I waited there for only a brief moment or two while cars lined up behind me. I could see something on the side of the roadway in the distance. I thought of my premonition, and something in my rational side made me determined to prove it wrong. So I left my car and marched over to see just what was going on and see if, perhaps, I could get things moving again.
“There had been a horrific accident, a fatal accident. An entire family had lost their lives; mummy, daddy, and three little ones. I saw their bodies strewn all over the place. Totally, dreadfully mutilated... The driver of the truck that hit them was also in a bad way, but he, at least, was still living.
“Worst of all was that I knew these people. Intimately, I knew them. It was—” he swallowed a sudden frog in his throat. With white-knuckled fists he gripped the edge of the desk. His voice faltering, he said, “It was my very dear sister...and her family.” He paused, closing his eyes and swallowing, regaining control.
“So when I did get back to Cambridge, I mulled the incident over in my mind, as I have a tendency of doing. Why and how had something told me not to take the short road?
“There were two very disconcerting things about this question. The first was that the premonition did not seem to come from events which had already occurred or which were occurring at that moment. No, this was a premonition about a future event.” He allowed the audience digest that for a moment.
“The second was the fact that I felt the premonition in response to human fatality, indeed, the fatality of someone who was very close to me.
“You often here about 'life-force' or some interconnectedness between us. Of course it all sounds like so much rubbish until something like that happens. Then you begin to wonder.
“Well, eventually I had more or less concluded that there was nothing to it but a simple and conceivable coincidence and that, whatever the case, there was nothing I could do about it even if there was something to it.
“I went on with my life as if nothing had happened. And then, I was slapped in the face with something. And I was no longer able to rationalize my way out of it. No, rather, it became my life's work and a complete and total obsession. A miserable obsession,” he giggled oddly “you might say.”
The White House
Karen Harigold, Secretary of the United States Department of Health and Human Services, was furious.
“Why can't I see him?” she shouted down at a man in a motorized wheelchair.
The man, Abael Fiedler, Chief of Staff, had a horrible knotted scar on his face from his forehead across his eye to his cheek. And although he was seated, he was hunched over. There was a grotesque, boney hump in his back, and even his arms were gnarly with bulges and juts like the roots of a tree.
Karen knew why he looked th
is way: he suffered from fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva, an extremely rare genetic disorder in which bone grew anywhere there had been even a slight injury, and sometimes just appeared randomly. It was a long, tragic disease that started in early childhood and grew progressively worse until mobility was increasingly impaired. Anyone who had it wasn't expected to live past forty. Most died much earlier than that.
And yet Abael Fielder was forty-one. Karen knew that virtually every minute of those forty-one years had been painful, cruel and horrific. She wondered if that's what had turned him into such a power-seizing, conniving devil. He had survived, but it was clear: time was running out for him. For Karen, it couldn't come soon enough.
For now, though, he was here, and he didn't flinch under her rage. He spoke steadily, “The President is with his family.”
“Like hell he is! You know as well as I do he hates his family. We're facing what could be the worst health crisis since 1918 and I can't even see the President?” She knew she might be exaggerating, but it was worth it to try to get this guy's attention.
“Karen, he'll be back in an hour or two. I'll have him sign it then. I'll even have him call you.”
“Right, as if that will happen. Just like he was going to show up at the last six cabinet meetings, you—” she swore at him.
“Cabinet meetings have no real value. A simple publicity stunt is all.”
“They're as good as gold if I'm stonewalled by his Chief of Staff and he doesn't return calls, doesn't respond to emails, and doesn't even bother to see me when I come all the way down here to talk to him!”
“Karen, the truth is I will decide when and if he sees your request, so you really should treat me better.”
“Who are you to wield that kind of authority?”
He cocked his head in an eerily reptilian way. “I was chosen,” he said, his voice hollow. The corner of his mouth upturned slightly in a disdainful smile. With his black eyes leering up at her and his body as still as a snake, Karen half expected a forked tongue to project from his thin lips.
Of course that didn't happen: he just stared at her with his usual condescension. She swore a final time and spun around to stomp back down the marbled hall.
When she was gone, Abael Fiedler lifted the paper from his lap. It was an executive order for the quarantine of anyone potentially exposed to a virus of some sort. As he did with any new piece of information he received, he studied it carefully. Then he wheeled himself into the empty Oval Office, placed the paper on the President's desk, took one of his pens, and signed the document in the President's hand:
Baraq Basra
Abael then wheeled himself out of the Oval office and into a corridor to a door on the left. He knocked.
A reply came from within. He opened the door to reveal a small office. The President, wearing a jacket and slacks, reclined in an armchair with his legs propped up on an ottoman. He looked up from the screen he was reading.
“How may I help you?” the President said.
“Karen just came. She had an executive order she wanted you to sign. Another health scare. I signed it for you so we can give it back to her tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Abael. You know how busy I am.”
“Yes, I know, sir. The world will look to you, you know.”
The President sighed and shook his head, looking distant, “And they don't even know what's coming.”
NP-452
Aubrey heard the mechanical clunks from the landing gear descending. She was in her seat beside Lorraine, gazing out the window, and in spite of Henry, she felt a flutter of excitement in her chest at what she saw outside.
Bright blue sky was punctuated with small fluffy clouds, and in the distance far below, the sparkling ocean was interrupted by a round white beach of cresting waves. A vast expanse of flat land blanketed with grass, shrubs and the occasional palm tree spread out from the beach. Then a cascade of tropically canopied green ridges rose up to a grand vista of lush mountains. Far in the distance were two peaks towering magnificently above it all, wisps of fog billowing near their crowns.
Lorraine was clearly as moved by the sight as Aubrey, and breathed, “My word. It's beautiful.”
“But where are we?”
“Paradeisia,” a voice behind them said. It was Lady Shrewsbury. She pronounced the word pair-ah-DAY-sya, and her face bore a pleasant, though mysterious, expression. “137 square miles of tropical paradise.”
Aubrey posited, “So...it's an island.”
“Yes, part of the Lesser Antilles, to be exact.” Receiving a blank stare from both Aubrey and Lorraine, she clarified, “You know, Guadeloupe, Dominica, Martinique, St. Lucia... This island was purchased for an outrageous sum of money from France. Of course back then it was a secret. They called it 'NP-452.' Now, it's the largest private construction project ever undertaken. And, so far, still a secret.”
Lorraine inquired, “What did they build?”
Lady Shrewsbury raised an eyebrow, “It's not so much what was built as how deep.”
“How deep?” Aubrey asked.
“Yes... Many of the islands here produce oil. The government intended to extract it from this one by excavating via the empty magma chamber of the volcano. Only they didn't find what they were hoping for. No, they found something...quite unexpected.”
“What was that?” Lorraine asked.
Lady Shrewsbury drew a quick breath, a hint of a smile gracing her lips, “Well, I'm here for the adventure as much as you. We shall soon see the place together, shall we not?”
The pilot's voice came over the intercom, requesting everyone to be seated. He intoned, “And, please, buckle up. This is going to be a heck of a landing.”
Lady Shrewsbury departed, saying, “I'll see you on the other side, ladies.”
As Aubrey turned back to the window, she was surprised to see how close they had come. A myriad of details had now become visible. There was a port with two long piers stretching out from the coastline. A monstrous cargo ship with the words IntraWorld Logistics printed on the bow was docked at one of them. Containers with large white print that read “WARNING: LIVE CARGO” were being swung by a crane from the vessel toward a dock where rows of semi-trucks waited and tiny workers milled about.
Situated on the plain that stretched out from the coast to the mountainous ridges was what Aubrey recognized as their target: the airport. There were several runways with a maze of asphalt between them. These were edged by a shiny glass terminal.
As the plane circled around over the mountainous ridges to align with the runway, it began to shudder, first one wing raising up and then the other. The bumps and jolts of descent became so bad that a knot formed in Aubrey's stomach.
She was thrilled.
The airport was obscured by a ridge ahead. They passed over so closely that the sound of the jet engines reverberated back off the rocks and it looked like the tree branches would strike the bottom of the plane.
Finally, the wheels bounced on the runway and Aubrey loosened what she realized was a white-knuckled grip she'd had on her armrests. The plane pulled around toward the terminal and then stopped about three plane lengths away, the scream of the engines slowly winding down.
When the door opened, a blast of warm, salty tropical air blew into the cabin. Before long everyone had exited the plane down a flight of steps to sit on a waiting open-air shuttle. Aubrey breathed in the scent of the sea in the wind that whipped her face as the shuttle sped them toward the terminal.
There was a large opening in the glass wall that the shuttle rolled through. Soaring 100 feet above was a glass roof supported by a network of triangular trusses. Reaching up towards the ceiling was a row of thin-trunked, erect palm trees that lined a platform where the shuttle came to a squeaky stop.
Music with an African chorus, brilliant trumpets, and a strong jungle beat echoed from hidden speakers. A sonorous voice spoke over the music, "Welcome to Paradeisia:" the voice paused for emphasis, "Eden on Earth."
<
br /> Suddenly, the same sonorous Anglican voice, but very close, very cheerful and no longer echoing, said, “At long last you've finally arrived! I thought you'd never get here, and by 'never,' I do mean not ever.”
China Academy of Sciences
Yue Zhang, the Xiàozhăng (head) of the China Academy of Sciences, was an impatient man, prone to fits of anger when things were not going according to his timeline. But he was also sensible, highly intelligent, and equitable. He had been a near-failing student in school himself, and did not possess a PhD in any field, but his aptitude at management was second-to-none. It was for this reason that he had led China's most venerable science institution for the last ten years.
Short, with a round face and piercing black eyes under thick eyebrows, he looked down at Doctor Ming-Zhen from an especially large desk and tall chair. Zhang said, “I am sure you have heard of the calls for your resignation?”
Doctor Ming-Zhen looked down, “I have considered resigning myself, for the sake of the Academy.”
“And what has stopped you?” the superior inquired sharply.
Doctor Ming-Zhen looked up and said calmly, “I did nothing wrong.”
Zhang took a deep breath, casting a glance out the window as if he longed to be somewhere else, and said, “Now you know you have already tried everything. No amount of photographs, documentation, radioisotope dating, or remains will satisfy them. They've taken thousands of samples of the fossils and done their own studies. It's all come to nothing. You cannot prove it to them.”
“You are correct they will ever accept the original fossils as genuine. But I can prove that man and dinosaurs existed concurrently.”
