The Descent

stretched  and  unbeautiful,  basic  tools  like  their  sharpened  fingernails  and  teeth  or their wide flattened feet  or their splayed big toes for climbing.

Ali  tried  integrating  them  into  the  family  of  modern  man.  It  did  not  help  that  they had  horns  and  calcium  folds  and  lumps  distorting  their  skulls.  She  felt   strangely bigoted.  Their  mutations  or  disease  or  evolutionary  twist  –  whatever  –  kept  her  at arm's  length.  She  was  sorry  to  be  walking  on  them,  yet  glad  to  have  them  safely encased  in  stone.  Whatever  had  been  done  to  them,  she  imagined  they  would  have been capable of doing to her.

That  night they  discussed the bodies lying beneath their camp.

It  was Ethan Troy  who solved their mystery.  He had managed to chip loose  portions of  the  bodies,  mostly  of  children,  and  held  them  out  for  the  rest  to  see.  'Their  tooth enamel  hasn't  grown  properly.  It's  been  disrupted.  And  all  the  kids  have  rickets  and other   long-limb  malformations.  And  you   only  have   to  look  to  see   their   swollen stomachs.  Massive  starvation.  Famine.  I  saw  this  once  in  a  refugee  camp  in  Ethiopia. You never  forget.'

'You're suggesting these  are refugees?'  someone asked. 'Refugees from who?'

'Us,' said Troy.

'You're saying man killed them?'

'At least indirectly. Their  food chain was ruptured.  They  were  fleeing. From us.'

'Nuts,'  scoffed  Gitner,  lying  on  his  back  on  a  sleeping  pad.  'In  case  you  missed  it, those  are  Stone  Age  points  sticking  out  of  them.  We  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  These guys  got killed by  other hadals.'

'That's beside the point,' said Troy.  'They  were  depleted. Famished. Easy  prey.'

'You're  right,'  Ike  said.  He  didn't  often  enter  group  discussions,  but  he  had  been following  this  one  intently.  'They're  on  the  move.  The  whole  world  of  them.  This  is their diaspora. They've  scattered.  Gone deep to avoid our coming.'

'What's it matter?'  said Gitner.

'They're  hungry,' said Ike.  'Desperate. That  matters.'

'Ancient history. This bunch died a long time ago.'

'Why do you say  that?'

'The  accretion  of  flowstone.  They're  covered  in  it.  At  least  five  hundred   years'

worth, probably more like five thousand. I haven't run my  calculations yet.' Ike  went over  to him. 'Let me borrow your  rock hammer,' he said.

Gitner  shoved  it  into  Ike's  hand.  These  days  he  seemed  chronically  fed  up.  Their endless  debate  about  hadal  links  to  humanity  gnawed  at  what  little  good  humor  he'd ever  had. 'Do I get it back?' he said.

'Just  a  loaner,'  Ike  said,  'while  we  sleep.'  He  walked  over  and  placed  it  flat  next  to the wall and walked away.

In  the  morning,  Gitner  had  to  borrow  another  hammer  to  cut  his  free.  Overnight the hammer had been covered  with a sixteenth  of an inch of clear flowstone.

It  was a matter  of simple arithmetic. The  refugees  had  been  slain  no  more  than  five months ago. The  expedition was following the trail of their flight. And it  was  very  near to fresh.

Even   the   mercenaries   had  come  to   depend   on   Ike's   infallible   sense   of   danger. Somehow  the  word  got  around  about  his  climbing  days,  and  they  nicknamed  him  El Cap for the monolith in Yosemite.  It  was  a  dangerous  attachment,  and  it  annoyed  Ike even  more  than  it  annoyed  their  commander.  Ike  didn't  want  their  trust.  He  dodged them. He stayed  out of camp more and more. But Ali could see his  effect,  all  the  same. Some  of  the  boys  had  tattooed  their  arms  and  faces  like  Ike's.  A  few  started  going barefoot  or  slinging  their  rifles  across  their  backs.  Walker  did  what  he  could  to  stem the erosion. When one of his ghetto warriors got caught  sitting  cross-legged  at  prayer, Walker put him on sentry  duty  for a week.

Ike  resumed  his habit of staying a day  or  so  ahead  of  the  expedition,  and  Ali  missed his  eccentricities.  She  woke  early,  as  always,  but  no  longer  saw  his  kayak  plying  out into the tubular wilderness while the camp still slept. She had no proof he was  growing more remote  from them, or her. But his  absences  made  her  anxious,  especially  as  she was falling asleep at night. He had opened a gap in her.

On  September  9  they  detected  the  signal  for  Cache  II.   They   had  crossed   the international  date  line  without  knowing  it.  They  reached  the  site,  but  there  were  no cylinders  awaiting  them.  Instead  they   found  a  heavy   steel   sphere   the   size  of  a basketball  lying  on  the  ground.  It  was  attached  to  a  cable  dangling  from  the  ceiling  a hundred feet  overhead.

'Hey, Shoat,' someone demanded. 'Where's our food?'

'I'm sure there's  an explanation,' Shoat said, but was clearly baffled.