The Descent

Yamamoto  went  over  to  her  wall  of  drawers  and  pulled  a  lower  tray  out.  It  held  a carcass even  more grotesque  than the ones they'd  seen.  The  skin  was  wildly  scarified. Body hair had grown rampant. The  face  was  all  but  hooded  with  a  cabbage-like  dome of fleshy calcium deposits. Something close to a ram's horn had grown from the  middle of the forehead.

She rested  one gloved hand on the creature's  rib cage. 'As I said, the idea was  to  find differences  between  our  two  species.   We  know  there   are   differences.   Those   are obvious  to  the  naked  eye.  Or  seem  to  be.  But  so  far  all  we've  found  are  physiological similarities.'

'How can you say  he's similar?' asked Foley.

'That's  exactly  the  point.  We  were  sent  this  specimen  by  our  lab  chief.  Sort  of  a double-blind test  to see what we'd come up with. Ten  of us  worked  on  the  autopsy  for a week.  We compiled a list of almost forty  distinctions from the average Homo sapiens sapiens. Everything  from  blood  gases  to  bone  structure  to  ophthalmic  deformities  to diet.  We  found  traces  of  rare  minerals  in  his  stomach.  He'd  been  eating  clay  and various fluorescents. His intestines glowed in the  dark.  Only  then  did  the  lab  chief  tell us.'

'Tell you what?'

'That this was a German soldier from one of the NATO  task  forces.'

Branch  had  known  it  was  human  from  the  start,  but  he  let  Yamamoto  make  her point.

'That  can't  be.'  Vera  began  lifting  and  opening  surgical  cavities  and  pressing  at  the bony helmet. 'What about this?' she said. 'And this?'

'All residuals from his tour of duty.  Side effects from the drugs he was told to take  or from the geochemical environment in which he was serving.'

Foley was  shocked.  'I've  heard  of  some  amount  of  modification.  But  never  anything like this disfigurement.' Suddenly remembering Branch, he stopped himself.

'He does look demonic,' Branch commented.

'All  in  all,  it  was  an  instructive  anatomy  lesson,'  Yamamoto  said.  'Very  humbling.  I came away  with one abiding thought. It  doesn't matter  if Dawn  stems  from erectus  or sapiens. Go back far enough and sapiens is erectus .'

'Are there  no differences, then?' Thomas asked.

'Many.  Many.  But  now  we've  seen  how  many  incongruities  there  are  between  one human and another. It's  become an epistemological issue. How to know  what  we  think we know.' She slid the drawer  shut.

'You sound demoralized.'

'No.  Distracted,  perhaps.  Derailed.  Off  track.  But  I'm  convinced  we'll  start  hitting real discrepancy in three  to five months.'

'Oh?' said Thomas.

She  went  back  to  the  table  where  Dawn's  head  and  shoulders  were  slowly,  very slowly feeding into the pendulum. 'That's when we'll begin entering the brain.'

Begin at the beginning... and go on till you come to the end: then stop.

– LEWIS CARROLL, Turtle Soup

11

LOSING THE LIGHT Between the Clipperton and Galápagos Fracture Zones

In  groups  of  four,  they  were  winched  into  the  depths  off  the  cliffs  of  Esperanza.  Like great  naval  guns,  a  battery  of  five  winches  faced  out  along  the  chasm  rim,  motors roaring, their great  spools  of  wire  cable  winding  out.  Freight  and  humanity  alike  rode the  nets  and  platforms  down.  The  chasm  was  over  four  thousand  feet  deep.  There were  no  seat  belts  or  safety  instructions,  only  frayed  come-along  straps  and  oily chains  and  floor  bolts  to  secure  crates  and  machinery.  The  live  cargo  managed  for itself.

The  massive  winch arms  creaked  and  groaned.  Ali  got  her  pack  nestled  behind  her, and  hitched  herself  to  the  low  railing  with  carabiners  and  a  knot.  Shoat  came  over with a clipboard in hand. 'Good morning,' she yelled into the roar and exhaust  fumes. As he had  predicted,  a  number  of  them  had  quit  the  game  overnight.  Five  or  six  so far,  but  given  Shoat's  and  Helios's  manner,  Ali  had  expected  more  to  resign.  Judging by  Shoat's  pleased  grin,  it  seemed  he  had,  too.  She  had  never  spoken  with  him.  A sudden fear flashed through her other fears, that he might  suddenly  remove  her  from the expedition.

'You're  the  nun,'  he  said.  You  could  never  call  the  pinched  face  and  hungry  eyes disarming, but he was personable enough. He offered his hand, which  was  surprisingly thin, given the pumped biceps and thighs.

'I'm here as an epigrapher and linguist.'

'We need one of those? You kind of came out of nowhere,' he said.

'I didn't hear about the opportunity until late.' He studied her. 'Last chance.'