by Peter Parkin
Full-grown chimps can weigh up to 155 pounds and stand up to four feet tall. They rarely live past the age of forty in the wild, but have been known to survive to sixty in captivity.
They're omnivorous, which means, like humans, they eat food that comes from animals or plants. And they hunt—in troops, led by an alpha male.
Chimpanzees are considered to be the closest living evolutionary relatives to humans, sharing a common ancestor with us going back five million years. Chimps and humans have ninety-eight percent of their DNA in common. While the similarities are uncanny, the differences are also striking. Chimps rarely have heart attacks, are resistant to malaria, and never go through menopause. Most cancers common to humans are never found in chimps.
Males compete amongst themselves for status, and the dominant males mate promiscuously with the females. The child rearing is handled entirely by the females and those children actually become independent of their mothers within the very first year of their lives.
Chimp males don't hesitate to kill the children of their male rivals. And when a former alpha male leader is replaced by another alpha male, it's not uncommon to see the retiring male killed or maimed. Brett thought that this was an odd practice, and probably one of the biggest differences between chimps and humans. Retiring human leaders are revered and honored. He figured that chimps must consider their mere presence to continue to be a threat even after handing over the reins of power.
He read how Chimpanzees are now largely considered to be savage killers and ruthless cannibals—quite the contrast to how the world believed them to be before massive studies were undertaken in the last couple of decades.
Brett was surprised to read that chimps have their own primitive form of language, which gets passed down to new generations. And...they make and use tools; a trait that scientists had always insisted was one that humans owned exclusively.
Brett found it fascinating to read that, out of 4,000 other mammal species and ten million other non-mammal species, chimps and humans are the only species that are known to hunt and kill members of their own kind. Chimps do tend to take it one step further though—they'll cannibalize their own kind as well. Humans tend to do that only under extreme 'last chance to survive' scenarios, and only if the other human is already dead. Chimps will just make them dead.
A study at Harvard, by Richard Wrangham, proposed the 'demonic male hypothesis' to explain violent behavior seen in both male chimps and male humans. It suggests that since this trait is obviously inherent in both, that this tendency toward male violence in both primates was garnered from that common ancestor five million years ago. Both offspring primates held onto that trait, as they went off in different directions to evolve into chimps and humans.
Brett turned off the computer and walked over to the lounge area of the café. He helped himself to a glass of juice from the bar.
Looking out the window, watching normal everyday people walking down the street, he wondered which ones were the killers. He figured with chimps it was much easier—when they looked at each other they knew they were all killers. But humans had evolved in such a way as to stifle or hide that tendency, and in the vast majority of humans it was non-existent. Or at least, never provoked or stimulated in such a manner as to erupt. So, with humans, one just didn't know who the killers were. But it seemed likely that we all had the capacity to kill, under the right circumstances.
Brett knew he was a killer. But when he killed it always had a purpose. It wasn't for sport, it wasn't to eat. It was a job. And his victims always deserved it in one way or another—well, he hoped that was the case. He wasn't always privy to the details so he did a lot of assuming. Brett winced— he knew he was trying to justify himself. Was he no better than a chimp? Was he a perfect example of the evolution from that one common ancestor?
He was struck by the similarities between chimps and humans, and he got the shivers remembering that these beasts were six times stronger than humans.
And they were being stimulated even further now. Evolution was possibly taking another turn like it had five million years ago. This time with alien life from the moon. He wondered about the one chimp that had the honor of being the next 'Ancestor X'—the one who would mimic what our common ancestor had done five million years ago. Create offspring that would evolve into two new species.
Two alien species.
This time not on the African continent, but on an island nicknamed 'Snow Lady.'
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
At first, he didn't see her. Where did she go?
Dennis was a bit groggy. A bit too much wine last night. He rolled off
the side of the bed and onto the floor. Then he saw the unmistakable shape of a woman's body completely encased in the sheets, head hidden under the pillow.
He walked around to her side of the bed and shook her gently. Fiona moaned and lifted her head out from under the pillow.
"I can't move. What have you done to me? Help, please?"
Dennis started unwrapping her. Somehow Fiona had rolled herself up in her sheets, arms pinned to her side. She looked like she'd been mummified. And somehow without using her hands, she had buried her head under the pillow.
Amazing.
He couldn't help but laugh. "Do you do this often, Fiona?"
"Stop laughing. And no, this has never happened before. I think you did it to me!"
"Now why would I do that? You didn't exactly resist me last night." Fiona ran her fingers through her hair. "No, but maybe your kinky side came out after we fell asleep." She paused, with her hand stuck in a lock of hair.
"Oh my God, look at my hair! Yikes! It's all curly and frizzy! Out of my way—I'm off to the shower!"
With that she was gone.
Dennis chuckled as he pulled on his underpants and jeans. He figured he might as well make them some coffee while she was in the shower. He knew he really should get a move on, and visit the office. He hadn't seen it in three or four days. Preoccupation with everything else that was going on. Well, maybe later—hanging around with Fiona for a few hours today appealed to him more. She had the day off and he figured maybe he should just take part of the day off too.
Dennis made the coffee strong—he hoped she'd like it that way. After last night's wine, he figured they could both use a good strong jolt.
She was out of the shower when he brought the coffees upstairs, a towel wrapped around her head, another one around her body.
"Well, so far this morning, the only way I've seen you is wrapped up in various forms of cotton. How about a couple of good strong arms now?"
Fiona smiled with that captivating little twinkle in her eyes that she seemed to be able to produce on demand.
She dropped the towel.
*****
An hour later they were drinking cold coffee in bed. And talking.
"So, what do you think we're going to find at your mother's cabin next week?"
"I really believe we're going to find the damn thing—the damn package. And God knows what it's going to contain. And God knows what I'm going to do with it."
Fiona leaned on her elbow, chin resting in her hand. "It absolutely has to have something to do with Apollo 18 and 19, and this 'Shackleton' crater. The moon is what was causing your mom all that anguish—and those are the things she blurted out."
"Yep, I'm bracing myself."
Fiona grimaced as she took another cold sip of coffee. "Why do you think the moon has always been such a fascination to...well...virtually everyone?"
"There are a lot of scientific aspects that are beyond my level of understanding. So, some people a lot smarter than me have designs on it, I'm sure. But also, maybe we're all so interested in it because it's there. And it's romantic. And it's comforting. Maybe all of those things keep us almost hypnotized."
"And because it's so close. It's the only celestial body we can see clearly with the naked eye."
"You're right, Fiona. And did you know that it used to be a lot closer?" "Tell
me a story, Denny." She smiled and laid her head on his chest. "Well, okay. Are you sure I won't bore you?"
"It doesn't matter. I just love the sound of your voice—it soothes me.
Say anything."
"Well, once upon a time about 4.5 billion years ago, the earth which was at that time even more of a watery planet than it is now, collided with a smaller planet called Orpheus. This blew half of earth's water out into space. Orpheus bounced off the earth, then the earth's gravity grabbed it and sucked it back in again for one more hit. A big chunk left over from that second impact bounced away again and began orbiting the earth. That's how our moon was formed."
Fiona kissed him on the cheek. "I didn't know that. Keep talking, moon man."
"This is what I meant when I said it was a lot closer at one time. After that impact, it was orbiting at a distance of only 14,000 miles away from us."
Fiona stroked his chest. "How far away is it now?"
"It's 234,000 miles away from us now. But, get this—back when it was a lot closer, it was also a lot larger. Fifteen times larger than it is now. At that size, it had a 4,000 times greater pull on earth's landmasses and seas. Can you imagine how high the tides might have been back then, and the massive earthquakes we probably had? Unfathomable."
Fiona shook her head and pursed her lips. "Unfathomable, Denny." She giggled.
He kissed her gorgeous lips and held her close for a few seconds. "Are you sure you want to hear all this? You're mocking me."
"Oh, I just love it when you get all serious. Carry on, Einstein."
"Okay. Well, back when the moon was that large, our days on earth were only four hours long. So, size does matter, Fiona.
"However, now that the moon is a lot smaller and farther away from us, our days are a pretty much constant twenty-four hours, the moon's gravity pull keeps the earth's tilt at a constant 23 degrees and our seasons are fairly stable—although lately I'm starting to wonder about that a bit."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you have to be worried about the weather extremes we've been seeing. Floods in Europe and Asia, monster hurricanes, tornado swarms out of season, massive earthquakes that shifted the earth's poles, and incredible heat waves that last longer and visit us earlier. Makes you wonder if everything is okay with the moon, doesn't it? Or it could be something else that's causing these things. I don't know, but I don't think what we're seeing is normal, and it seems to be getting worse every year."
"That's a scary thought."
"Yes, it is. Do you know that if we didn't have our moon, the earth would wobble like a spinning top, continuously? Snow would fall in Egypt, polar ice caps would boil, and entire islands would disappear. And let's say we still had the moon but it was in a different orbit half the distance from the earth than it is right now—our ocean tides would be eight times higher. That would only be one part of the chaos we'd have on earth."
"How big is the moon. It looks so large, doesn't it?"
"Yes, but it's only twenty-five percent of the size of earth. It takes about twenty-seven days to revolve around the earth. Fiona, the moon is moving farther away from the earth because its orbit is expanding as it slows down its speed. It's moving away at the rate of one and a half inches per year. Which means that a long, long time from now if it keeps moving away, our earth will look a lot different, our days will be much longer, and our climate will be unrecognizable."
Fiona shivered, pulled the sheets up over them and closed her eyes. "Suddenly, the moon doesn't sound so romantic, Denny."
Dennis laughed. "It's just one of many things that we take for granted, I guess. Most people wouldn't even think that it serves any real purpose other than to cause tides, or give us something nice to look at at night. I've been fascinated by the moon since I was a kid, and most people I've talked to about it just yawns and change the subject to something else. Our lives would sure be different if it wasn't there, or if it wasn't the size it is, or if it wasn't in the orbit that it is. Any one of those things would cause a multitude of cataclysms. And despite that, most people just nod off."
"Fiona?"
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
"Catch me if you can!"
Five words that still resonated in Dennis' mind twenty years later. And five words that were issued as a challenge—one that Dennis took very seriously.
He had spent a year in China trying to forget, trying to work out his anger and desperation. Not just about his dad's death, but about society in general. How sick the underbelly was. How he got to see so many innocent victims die horrible deaths only to have the sick killers walk.
China, in so many ways, had helped him deal with his demons. But they never really went away. And he knew they never would. He began to look at everything sideways after the death of his father, how unfair it all seemed to be, why so many good ones had to die and so many bad ones got off scot-free. It made him furious. It made him want to do something about it.
Dennis had to admit that the system just didn't work. The stupid gun freedoms in the U.S.—idiotic. Just because it was entrenched in the Constitution—the beloved sacred cow Constitution—gave every sick freak the right to walk around with a gun. The Bill of Rights was repeatedly used as a patriotic pathetic excuse to be barbaric.
The so-called 'Right to Bear Arms.' Dennis thought that maybe the idiots who drafted the Constitution just couldn't spell right. Maybe they were just trying to patronize women and really meant to say, 'Right to Bare Arms.' Maybe a mere spelling mistake had led to this madness.
And the justice system itself? The countless number of rapists and murderers who Dennis and his men locked up who gleefully walked due to silly technicalities, even though everyone knew they were guilty as sin, made him sick. Made him feel useless. And impotent.
He didn't have to work anymore, but for some reason he still did. Despite his frustrations he still felt he could make a difference. Being on the job rather than out of the job gave him the ability to make a difference. And Dennis, despite his cynicism, still had hope.
China had given him discipline and order. Focus and intensity. And the deadliest martial arts skills available to man.
Dennis Chambers could still make a difference.
"Catch me if you can!"
Dennis had already caught the beast. The asshole just didn't know it yet. He had him sixteen years ago. He just chose not to keep him.
It had been almost four years to the day of his dad's death when Dennis got the call. A man who had been arrested on drug and attempted murder charges was sitting in a jail cell awaiting trial. He had bragged to a cellmate that he had once forced a policeman to kill his own father in a game of Russian Roulette. The cellmate excitedly told the jail guards hoping to strike a better deal for himself.
Dennis was summoned to the precinct where the man was being held, to view him in a lineup to see if he could identify him. Dennis remembered racing down to the station with his siren on and lights flashing. He wanted it to be the right man so badly he could literally taste it. Bile was rising from the boiling mess that had become his stomach, ever since he heard the words: "Denny, you won't believe this—we think we have him!"
Standing behind the one-way glass, Dennis was seething. He didn't think he would be able to stop himself from going into his Shaolin stance and breaking the thick bulletproof glass with his mere forefinger. He just wanted to kill him.
In marched five men—Dennis recognized three of them as undercover officers. They all did what they were told and stepped up onto the little stage set up just for them.
Dennis didn't have to look at him for very long. Even though four years had gone by, it was a face he would never forget. He stood about six feet tall, broad shoulders, stubble on his chin, cold squinting eyes. He had a scar snaking down the side of one cheek, and his hair hung in greasy strands down to his shoulders.
The beast hadn't changed much in four years, except perhaps a tiny bit uglier. The man was fidgeting with his hands until yelled at by the
police guard to 'stand still.' He sneered back at the officer and allowed the sneer to linger—Dennis thought he looked very much like a taller stockier version of Charles Manson.
A face of pure evil.
The Assistant District Attorney excitedly asked Dennis, "Well, what do you think?"
Dennis was careful not to portray any emotion whatsoever on his face when he replied, "Nope, it's not him. Wrong guy."
The prosecutor stared back at him with her mouth agape. Several seconds went by until she said in a whisper, "Denny, take another look. We're sure he's the guy."
Dennis patronized her by looking through the glass one more time. He shook his head, "No Jessica, that's not the guy. I would know his face anywhere."
"But Denny, he basically confessed!"
Dennis shoved his hands into his pockets and walked to the door.
"There's no one who wanted it to be him more than me. You know that. He's probably just some creep who heard the story from someone else or from the real killer, and has adopted it as his own story. He's trying to be a big man. We'll keep looking—we'll find him one of these days."
That was the end of it. The creep was convicted of the dual crimes of dealing cocaine, and the attempted murder of another drug dealer. He got a sentence of ten years, and was released six years ago.
And now Dennis had him in his sights.
He was sitting in his Mercedes on Q Street, watching Travis Wilkinson walking home from work. Dennis was parked near the man's house, a modest brownstone in a fairly nice neighborhood.
He watched as Travis walked up the steps; the door opened before he got to the top. A pretty brunette greeted him with a smile and a hug, and a toddler came toddling out the door into his waiting arms. He swung her around and kissed her on the cheek. Travis had a family. He was a husband now...and a dad.
Dennis had used his connections to keep track of Travis while he was in prison. By all accounts, he had been a model prisoner, taking courses in accounting and finally achieving a Bachelor of Math degree. He had also 'found religion' in prison and developed a talent for public speaking. Once a month, Travis gave lectures to fellow prisoners in the mess hall, on topics that would help them adjust to life on the outside.
