Natural Selection

by Dave Freedman

  “Jesus.” Lisa leaned back on her chair. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Cohen knew his stuff, inside out, and yet what he was saying wasn’t possible. . . . “Are you sure about all this, Mike?”

  Cohen looked at her blankly. “Yeah, I’m positive.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to second-guess you.”

  “No problem. Last, what you have here are baby teeth.”

  “Baby teeth?”

  “I don’t know how big the adult teeth that replace them will grow. It depends on how big the mouth itself grows. But these teeth will grow larger, perhaps considerably so.” He shrugged. “Anyway, that’s all I got.”

  Lisa’s right leg had gone to sleep, but she didn’t notice. She just sat there, stunned. Baby teeth. This made sense with what they’d found, of course—it fit perfectly with the notion of the newborns teething on kelp while they replaced their baby canines—but there was something very fundamental she didn’t understand: How could the rays possibly have canines? Mantas possessed just one type of tooth, huge molars, which they used exclusively for crushing shells. So how could another similar species have canines? And if Cohen was right, if the teeth grew proportionally to the size of the mouth, a manta’s mouth . . . My God, Lisa thought, trying to picture it. . . . But it wasn’t possible. It would mean the rays they’d been tracking were predators. And that simply couldn’t be.

  The phone rang, and Cohen picked up. “Half an hour? Thanks.”

  “Sorry I’ve kept you, Mike.”

  “Trust me, I’m glad you did.” Cohen looked annoyed, though, at something she’d said earlier.

  “Mike, I didn’t mean to doubt you before. Believe me, I know you know what you’re talking about. But the implications of what you’re saying . . . I just don’t understand them.”

  This seemed to take the edge off. Cohen shrugged casually. “Well, I’m only looking at teeth here, Lisa. I can’t really comment on ‘implications.’” His eyes shifted to the door, and she realized she’d been keeping him.

  She stood. It was late in the day now, and she suddenly wanted to get going herself. “I’ll let you go. Thank you very much.” They hugged.

  “No problem. I’m glad you came in. I’ll assume all of this is strictly confidential unless I hear from you otherwise. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, I’ll write up a formal report.”

  “Would you mind e-mailing me a copy?”

  A nod. “A draft might even be done later today.” They walked to the door.

  “Any closing comments?”

  “Just a word of advice.” He eyed her ominously. “Lisa, if you actually find whatever these teeth came from . . . Be very, very careful with it.”

  “THAT’S . . . RIDICULOUS.”

  It was sunset, and Lisa had just returned to the now-quiet San Francisco marina. After her talk with Cohen, she’d been feeling good, anxious to relay to the others what he’d said. In the back of the Expedition, she’d done so, methodically and precisely. Then Jason had belted her with the “ridiculous” comment. She didn’t respond audibly, but her blood was suddenly boiling. The man had the sensitivity of a stampeding elephant. Lisa didn’t care about the others. She was going to have it out right now with Jason Aldridge if he didn’t apologize, and fast.

  “What do you mean, ridiculous?”

  “I mean it’s too much. It’s just not realistic.”

  “It explains why these rays are surviving despite the plankton depletion. It’s because they don’t eat plankton. Not with teeth like that.”

  “That may be, but I’d still like to speak with this Mike Cohen myself.”

  “Forget it.”

  “What’s the big deal, Lisa? I just want to check what he said.”

  “Check what he said? Why? Because I got it wrong?”

  “Of course not. I just want to go over it.”

  “Absolutely not. I won’t have you embarrass me in front of a colleague like that.”

  “Come on, just give me his number.”

  “I said no!! Jesus, will you just trust somebody else for a change?!”

  This was a neutron bomb. In the silence that followed, everyone looked embarrassed. Darryl, Monique, Craig, and Phil all turned away. Even Jason looked disturbed. Besides Lisa’s visible anger, he thought she somehow looked . . . sad.

  No one said anything. They all just stood there, stunned.

  Then Monique cleared her throat. Whatever the problem was, these two had to work it out by themselves. “Jason, Lisa. Excuse me. The rest of us are going to start dinner downstairs. Guys?”

  Darryl turned to follow her, but Phil and Craig didn’t budge; they wanted to see a brawl. Then Darryl smacked them, and they all shuffled downstairs.

  Alone, Jason and Lisa stood silently. Neither said anything. They noticed a nearby yacht, barbecuers talking quietly over their food. A few seconds ticked past.

  “Sorry I upset you,” Jason said after a moment.

  Lisa shook her head. “Whatever.”

  “Really, Lisa, I’m sorry. It’s just that—” He stopped talking.

  “What?”

  “Can I just see a few of those teeth?”

  “You’ll give them back?”

  A smile. “Yeah.”

  She handed him a few, and he raised one, studying it against the sunset. “Baby teeth. It just doesn’t make sense that these came from those rays. I mean, you know as well as I do that mantas can’t swim nearly fast enough to catch anything. If this species is their deep-sea cousin, why on earth would they need teeth like this? It doesn’t add up. You disagree?”

  “No, Jason, I don’t. I’m as confused by this as you are, but Mike Cohen is an expert in the field, and I’m telling you what he said. I wish you could accept that.”

  He exhaled. “I can. I’m sorry again.”

  “He’s e-mailing us a written copy of his analysis. It might be on Phil’s computer already.”

  Jason hesitated. “Well, why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?”

  “Because I talked to the guy. Got the real color, the stuff he might not actually write up. Jason, you’ve got to learn to trust somebody other than yourself.” She exhaled, visibly fatigued. “I’m just so tired of fighting with you. It wears me out.”

  “You really think we fight a lot?”

  “You’re joking.”

  He smiled. “Yeah.”

  “Look, Jason, the truth is . . . I admire you.”

  He looked down at the deck. “Sure you do.”

  “I do, I really do. That whole manta aquarium was such a disaster, such an unmitigated disaster. . . .”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. It would have destroyed anybody else, absolutely destroyed them—their career, their psyche, everything. But not you, you just kept plugging. Even with Darryl and Craig shooting skeet and drinking, Monique and me doing next to nothing, and Phil doing . . . whatever Phil does . . . You never gave up, not for a second. Anyway, I really think you’re impressive.”

  He looked at her. “Thank you very much.”

  “And now, finally, you’re being rewarded.”

  “How am I being rewarded exactly?”

  “Jason, we are beyond speculation now. We have physical proof. These teeth are real, and the number three expert in the world has no idea what they’re from. Call Ackerman and tell him. We are trailing a new species. You are definitely onto something here.”

  He was staring at her now. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

  She stared at him too, if only for a moment. Then thought, God, what am I doing? “Anyway . . . we’ll see what happens.” She looked at the sky, suddenly aware of how drained she was. “It was a long day. I’m going to change, then help them out with dinner.” She turned to go.

  “Lisa.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I forgot to mention it . . . you looked really nice today.”

  She paused. “Thank you.”

  “I mean it, really nic
e. Of course my only basis for comparison is Craig.”

  “Not to mention yourself.”

  He looked down at his own white tank top. “The pinnacle of haute couture.”

  She smiled. “Thanks for noticing, Giorgio.”

  His intense eyes returned. “We are onto a new species here, aren’t we?”

  “We have to be.”

  She left and he looked up at the sky. Lisa was exactly right. The teeth proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt: they were tracking a new species! He didn’t feel different, but he supposed his life had just changed; perhaps all of theirs had. He smiled wide. A new species!

  His smile faded. He still didn’t understand. How could the manta’s deep-sea cousin have teeth like this? He suddenly thought of the repairman who’d gone missing in the waters off Los Padres National Forest. Was there any way the rays had attacked him? But no, that wasn’t possible. Like elephants on land, mantas were incapable, literally physically incapable, of being anything other than docile. So didn’t their deep-sea cousin have to be docile as well? Jason couldn’t help but wonder. Because if they actually did have teeth like this, there was no ambiguity at all about what they had to be. Predators. Real, survival-of-the-fittest predators—nothing like manta rays at all. Jason still didn’t understand. How on earth could that be true?

  PART II

  CHAPTER 20

  IT WAS quiet at the ocean’s surface. With a full moon shining down, the only sounds came from the breaking waves and blowing wind.

  Suddenly, a two-hundred-fifty-pound body shot out of the sea, flapping rapidly, clumsily, rising diagonally and throwing torrents of cold water everywhere. Then, feeling a gust of wind, the creature angled its horned head parallel to the ocean and, like a seagull, surged into a wind-assisted glide. It coasted for nearly fifty yards, gradually dipping lower, then nosed horns first into a large breaking wave. Then another body splashed out. Then another. Then fifty more. Within moments, thousands of juveniles were shooting out. Fully exposed, they revealed how much they’d grown, larger animals now, all with fierce builds made of solid muscle.

  It was an explosion of activity, each creature doing its best to fly. Many failed, but others succeeded. With ferocious, awkward flapping, several hundred gradually climbed to heights of nearly two hundred feet before coasting back down. Others focused less on distance and more on learning a specific skill: the first thrust from the water, the first flapping motion once they emerged. Some tried to fly with the wind. Others against it. Others waited until there was no wind at all. Some tried to turn in the air. Others simply flew straight. A few tried nose-diving. Each tried something different. Like a flock of newborn birds, they continued to experiment.

  A THIRD of a mile below the surface, the adults lay at the bottom, unseen. There were fewer of them now. Within just the past twenty-four hours, another 1,500 had died. Some from starvation. Others from a virus.

  Two had died for another reason entirely. A shark had killed them. A dozen of the creatures had drawn the animal—a nine-hundred-pound hammerhead—into their darkened lair and attacked it. The shark had thrashed violently, biting anything and everything, and gashed two of them. Both rays eventually bled to death, but not until long after the shark itself had been ripped to shreds and eaten alive.

  These predators had devoured tens of millions of sharks during their lifetimes. They’d tasted every type imaginable: hammerheads, requiems, carpets, goblins, great whites, and so many more. Each shark species has its own hunting style, and these creatures knew every one.

  Some sharks rely strictly on sound or vibrations to hunt. Others rely largely on sight. Some hunt by locating electromagnetic pulses. Some by smell. Some use every one of those senses and more to varying degrees.

  Some sharks approach prey quickly. Others are slower and circle around, sometimes for hours.

  Some sharks are very finicky eaters and have sensitive noses. Others can’t smell at all and will eat anything.

  Some sharks are small, not weighing more than twenty pounds. Others are huge, weighing three tons.

  The sharks vary greatly, but they share one defining characteristic. They are stupid. They always come when they sense prey. This fatal flaw has caused a number of their species to be hunted to extinction. Like terramouth and megalodon. Man will never find either again because they no longer exist. They’ve been hunted far too efficiently.

  These predators still bait sharks, just as they always have.

  One was doing it at the moment.

  Unseen in the blackened waters, it floundered frantically twenty feet above the ocean floor, contorting and twisting in every direction. The animal appeared to be distressed and out of control. It was anything but. Every one of its movements had been precisely choreographed, designed to generate vibrations that varied in frequency from ten to eight hundred hertz. The creature didn’t understand the concept of frequency bandwidths, per se, but what it did understand was that sharks use their senses to locate wounded fish; and that wounded fish move in a certain way and at a certain frequency. When that movement and its resulting frequency are duplicated precisely, the sharks always come. They swim right in, hungry and ready to eat their prey. Only when it’s too late do they discover who the prey really is.

  The creature and more than one hundred others like it continued to shake. With vast numbers of other hungry animals lying in wait, the hope was to attract an entire shark school, perhaps numbering in the thousands. Nothing came. Not a school, not a family, not even a lone rogue. The thrashing ray was exhausted. It had been writhing for more than six hours. The sharks had been coming less and less often in recent months, and now they weren’t coming at all.

  Normally, a shark swimming in the illuminated waters above would detect a large, apparently wounded fish thrashing in the depths. With short, rapid sweeps of its big tail, the shark would dive down to find it. As it descended into the darkened waters, however, its vision would disappear and it would sense several peculiarities. The most prominent was that there’d be no blood. But even without blood, the vibrations would continue, and the tiny-brained hunter would blindly swim closer.

  The attack would come in one of two ways.

  Sometimes, the shark would realize something was wrong when it was only ten feet away. Suddenly the wounded animal would be perfectly healthy—and swimming right for the shark. The shark wouldn’t see it in the darkness, but it would feel its watery wake from its massive pumping wings. Unable to slow down—sharks possess no form of braking mechanism—the shark’s momentum would carry it right into the animal, which would simply open its massive dagger-filled mouth and bite down. The bite, which was more powerful than the crushing mechanisms of most garbage trucks, would sever the entire upper third of the shark’s body. Then the others would join in.

  More commonly, the predator pretending to be wounded would continue its act until the last possible moment. Sometimes, it would even allow the shark to bite it. The ray knew from experience that the shark’s teeth wouldn’t pierce its tough armorlike skin, at least not with a single nip. And a single nip would be all it would get. By then, the other creatures the shark had just swum right over would have risen from the bottom. If the shark had been paying attention, it would have known they were coming for it. But the shark never paid attention. Six or more would surround it and tear away pieces of its body, eating it alive. The bloody feast would finish in seconds.

  But there were no feasts now. The sharks weren’t coming. Nothing was.

  The writhing predator froze and floated down, joining the others. They were all still hungry. Unlike the growing juveniles, these animals had spent their entire lives learning how to hunt a certain way, in a certain place. But the juveniles were different. They weren’t learning how to bait sharks, read ocean currents, and hide in the depths. They were learning entirely different skills in another place.

  No longer could these elder animals stop them by killing them. The younger rays regularly escaped their attacks simply b
y swimming into the higher waters—and staying there. The juveniles spent very little time in the depths anymore. Even at the moment, they were at the surface, more than a third of a mile away. They were too far to be seen, too far to be heard, but the animals here were watching them.

  They were watching something else, too. They’d stopped their migration because of it. Food was coming. The juveniles didn’t know it yet, but that would soon change. The adults were incapable of catching what was coming; they were too large, too slow moving, and too far away. But the juveniles were none of those things. Perhaps they’d find a way to eat.

  THE SMALLER rays continued shooting out of the sea, zooming everywhere. Then one of them jerked its horned head to the north. Suddenly detecting what the adults had just sensed, it pulled its wings in tight, dove back into the sea, and didn’t return. Instantaneously, the others did the same. In less than a second, the entire ocean plane was deserted.

  They hung listlessly below the surface, every sensory organ tuning in. They’d just picked up a group of fifty animals, still a great distance away but swimming in their direction.

  The juveniles heard them, though not with their ears and not with their lateral lines either. In a technical sense, they didn’t “hear” them at all, though hearing was the human sense that most closely approximated what they’d done. They possessed highly specialized organs in their heads known as ampullae of Lorenzini. Like an inner ear, ampullae are composed of delicate jelly-filled pores that provide magnetic detection capabilities. Land-based animals don’t have ampullae of Lorenzini, but they are common in creatures of the sea. Mantas have the strongest ampullae of Lorenzini in the known animal kingdom. Those of their unknown cousins were a hundred times stronger.

  The rays didn’t move. Hanging in the moon-speckled waters, they simply tuned. The prey were still heading toward them. This particular type of prey wasn’t part of their regular diet, but the rays could be opportunistic—or at least try to be. The rays had already attempted to hunt this prey on several occasions and failed every time. But they’d learned lessons. They were concerned about the prey’s sonars. The juveniles themselves possessed sonar, sound navigation, and radar, but that of the approaching prey was far stronger. In its crudest form, sonar is an echo-location system in which a sound is emitted and its reflection, or echo, is analyzed. The approaching species used sonar by emitting a series of high-frequency clicks, commonly in the 200,000-hertz range. When these “clicks” met a fish, much like an X-ray, they passed through body tissues but reflected back against bone. But unlike the picture from a doctor’s office, these particular X-rays provided an intimate view of three entire miles of open ocean.