The Descent

'Now  I'm  really  embarrassed,'  Yamamoto  said.  'I'd  never  heard  of  him,  but  people told  me  later  he's  world-famous.  Anyway,  he  stopped  up  to  see  our  little  girl  one afternoon  and  essentially  conducted  an  impromptu  seminar  for  us.  He  told  us  that

Homo  erectus  spun  off  more  variations  than  any  other  hominid  group.  We're  one  of the  spin-offs.  Hadals  may  be  another.  Erectus  apparently  migrated  from  Africa  to Asia hundreds of thousands of years  ago, and the splinter groups possibly evolved  into different  forms  around  the  world,  before  going  into  the  interior.  Again,  I'm  not  an expert  on such things.'

To  Branch,  Yamamoto's  modesty  was  engaging,  but  a  distraction.  They  were  here today  on  business,  to  glean  every  possible  clue  that  she   and  her   colleagues  had harvested  from  this  hadal  corpse.  'In  great  part,'  Thomas  said,  'you  have  just  stated our  purpose,  to  understand  why  we  turn  out  the  way  we  do.  What  more  can  you  tell us?'

'There's  a high concentration of radioisotopes in her tissue, but that's to be expected, coming  from  the  subplanet,  a  stone  cavity  bombarded  by  mineral  radiation  from  all directions.  My  own  hunch  is  that  radiation  may  help  explain  the  mutations  in  their population.  But  please  don't  quote  me  on  that.  Who  really  knows  why  any  of  us  turn out the way  we do?'

Yamamoto  passed  a  hand  over  the  block  of  blue  gel,  as  if  stroking  the  monstrous face.  'To  our  eye,  Dawn  looks  so  primitive.  Some  of  our  visitors  have  remarked  on what   a  throwback   she   is.  They   think  she's   so  much  closer  to   erectus   and   the Australopithecenes than we are. In fact, she is every  bit as evolved  as we are,  just  in  a different direction.'

That  had  been  one  surprise  for  Branch.  You  expected  stereotypes  and  racism  and prejudices  from  the  ordinary  masses.  But  it  was  turning  out  that  the  sciences  were just  as  rife  with  it.  Indeed,  intellectual  biases  –  academic  arrogance  –  helped  explain why  hell had gone undiscovered for so long.

'Dawn's dental formula  is  identical  to  yours  and  mine  –  and  to  hominid  fossils  three million  years  old:  two  incisors,  one  canine,  two  premolars,  three  molars.'  Yamamoto turned to another table. 'The lower limbs are similar  to  ours,  though  hadal  joints  have more  sponge  in  the  bone,  which  suggests  Dawn  might  have  been  even  more  efficient at walking than Homo sapiens sapiens. And she did a lot of  that,  walking.  It's  tough  to see  through  the  gel,  but  if  you  look  hard,  she  put  a  lot  of  miles  on  those  feet.  The calluses are  thicker  than  my  thumbnail.  Her  arches  have  fallen.  Somebody  measured her: size eleven, quadruple wide.'

She moved to the next  table, the thorax  and upper arms. 'So far, few  surprises  here, either.  The  cardiovascular  system  is  robust,  if  not  perfectly  healthy.  The   heart's enlarged,  meaning  she  probably  came  up  rapidly  from  minus  four  or  five  miles.  Her lungs show chemical scarring,  probably  from  breathing  gases  vented  from  the  deeper earth. That's  an old animal bite there.'

Yamamoto turned to the final table. It  held the abdomen  and  lower  arms.  One  hand was  clenched,  the  other  graceful.  'Again,  it's  hard  to  get  a  clear  view.  But  the  finger bones  have  a  significant  crook,  midway  between  ape  and  human  digits.  That  helps explain the stories we hear  about  hadals  scaling  walls  and  pulling  themselves  through underground nooks and crannies.'

Yamamoto  gestured  at  the  abdominal  chunk.  The  blade  had  begun  at  the  top  and was shaving back and forth toward the pelvic area. The  pubis had scant black hair, the start  of womanhood.

'We  did  nail  down  part  of  her  short,  savage  history.  Before  mounting  her  in  gel  and starting  the  cuts,  we  reviewed  the  MRI  and  CT  images.  Something  about  the  pelvic saddle  didn't  look  right,  and  I  got  the  head  of  our  Ob/Gyn  department  up  for  a  look. He recognized the trauma right away.  Rape. Gang rape.'

'What's this you're saying?' Foley asked.

'Twelve  years  old,'  said  Vera.  'Can  you  imagine?  That  explains  why  she  came  up, though.'

'How do you mean?' asked Yamamoto.

'The poor thing must have  fled from the creatures  that did this to her.'