The Descent

It  was not just a matter  of  locating  yourself  east  or  south.  Depth  was  sometimes  far more  consequential,  and  the  consistency  of  flesh  could  serve  as  an  altimeter  of  sorts. In  the  deep  seas,  such  bathypelagic  monsters  as  anglerfish  were  slow  moving,  with  a metabolic rate  as  low  as  one  percent  of  fish  living  near  the  surface.  Their  body  tissue was watery,  with little muscle and no fat. So  it  was  at  certain  depths  in  the  subplanet. Down some  channels,  you  found  reptiles  or  fish  that  were  little  more  than  vegetables with  teeth.  Even  the  ones  that  weren't  poisonous  weren't  worth  eating.  Their  food value verged  on plain air. Even them he'd eaten.

Again, there  were  more  reasons  to  hunt  than  filling  your  belly.  With  care  you  could plot  a  course,  find  a  destination,  locate  water,  avoid  –  or  track  –  enemies.  It  made simple survival  something more, a journey. A destiny.

The  body spoke  to  him.  He  felt  for  eyes,  found  stems,  tried  to  thumb  open  the  lids, but  they  were  sealed.  Blind.  The  talons  were  a  raptor's,  with  an  opposing  thumb.  He had  caught  it  drafting  on  the  tunnel's  breeze,  but  the  wings  were  much  too  small  for real flight.

He  started  at  the  top  again.  The  snout.  Milk  teeth,  but  sharp  as  needles.  The  way the  joints  moved.  The  genitals,  this  one  a  male.  The  hip  bones  were  abraded  from scraping  along  the  stone.  He  squeezed  the  bladder,  and  its  liquid  smelled  sharp.  He took one foot and pressed  it against the dirt and felt the print.

All of this was done in darkness.

Finally,  Ike  was  done.  He  laid  the  parts  back  inside  the  cavity  and  folded  the  arms across and pressed  the body into a cleft in the wall.

They  entered  a series of deep  trenches  that  resembled  terrestrial  canyons,  but  which had  not  been  cut  by  the  flow  of  water.  These  were  instead  the  remains  of  seafloor spreading,  fossilized  here.  They  had  found  an  ocean  bottom  –  bone  dry  –  2,650 fathoms beneath the Pacific Ocean floor. That  night they  made camp near a huge coral bed stretching right and left into the darkness. It  was  like  a  Sherwood  Forest  made  of calcified polyps.  Great,  oaklike  branches  reached  up  and  out  with  green  and  blue  and pink pastels and deep  reds  secreted,  according  to  their  geobotanist,  by  an  ancestor  of the gorgonian Corallium nobile. There  were  desiccated sea  fans  under  their  spreading limbs,  so  old  their  colors  had  leached  to  transparency.  Ancient  marine  animals  lay  at their feet, turned to stone.

The  expedition  had  been  on  its  feet  for  over  four  weeks,  and  Shoat  and  Walker granted  the  scientists'  request  for  an  extra  two  days  here.  The  scientists  got  hardly any  sleep  during  their  stay  at  the  coral  site.  They  would  never  pass  this  way  again. Perhaps no human ever  would. Frantically they  harvested  these  traces  of an  alternate evolution.  In  lieu  of  carrying  it  with  them,  they  arranged  the  material  for  digital storage on their hard disks, and the video cameras whirred night and day.

Walker brought in two winged animals. Still alive.

'Fallen angels,' he announced.

They   were   upside  down,  strung   with   parachute   cord,   still   half-poisoned   from sedative.  A soldier had been bitten by  one, and lay sick with dry  heaves.  You could  tell which animal had delivered  the bite; its left wing had been crushed by  a boot.

They  weren't  really  fallen angels, of course. They  were  demons. Gargoyles.

The  scientists clustered around, goggling at the feeble  beasts.  The  animals  twitched. One shot a cherubic arc of urine.

'How did you manage this, Walker? Where did you get them?'

'I had my  troops dope their kill. They  were  eating a  third  one  of  these  things.  All  we had to do was wait for them to return  and eat some more, and then go collect them.'

'Are there  more?'

'Two or three  dozen. Maybe  hundreds. A flock. Or a hatch. Like bats. Or monkeys.'

'A rookery,'  said one of the biologists.

'I've  ordered  my  men  to  keep  their  distance.  We've  set  a  kill  zone  at  the  mouth  of the subtunnel. We're in no danger.'

Shoat had apparently  been in on it. 'You should smell their dung,' he said.

Several  of  the  porters,  on  seeing  the  animals,  murmured  and  crossed  themselves. Walker's soldiers brusquely  directed them away.

Live  specimens of an unknown species, especially warm-blooded higher vertebrates, were  not something  that  came  walking  into  a  naturalist's  camp.  The  scientists  moved in with tape measures  and Bic pens and flashlights.