In Situ (3 page)

Despite the fact that she had already be
en camped for almost a week, Alex had taken her time and had followed good practices not to ruin the specimen. Every move she made during the day was painstakingly logged over the evening campfire; the creature’s location and body position diagramed and drawn in exact scale. Tomorrow, she would call the university and try to extend her sabbatical and enlist the help of some trustworthy colleagues and students to completely excavate the site. Unfortunately, there was no way she could do it all herself, much as she would have liked to. A find of this caliber required a team.

As Alex walked down the slight grade to her campsite to gather her computer and camera she heard the familiar buzzing of a rattler so close that it sounded at first as if she might have stepped on it.
She looked around her feet and found the snake directly in front of her, barely three feet away, coiled and ready to strike. Alex fortunately had frozen in her tracks immediately, or the rattler would have already bitten her. She recognized it as a genus that was particularly venomous, staring at her with its dark reptilian eyes, its tongue darting in and out of its mouth, daring her to move. “Let the snake decide, Alex, always let the snake decide,” her father said to her quietly in his steady calm voice.

The rattler remained curled and ready
, its black eyes boring into Alex, its tongue occasionally flicking, testing the air. Finally, after a minute or two that seemed to Alex like an hour or two, the snake lowered its head, turned and moved off, cutting a fresh track through the loose sand.

Alex felt her breath returning and her heart slowing.
She watched the snake until it had completely disappeared into the rocks. There goes another one of your lives Alex, she thought to herself. Paleontology could be dangerous work. Her father’s death was proof of that.

Alex
shook the encounter off the best she could and continued down toward her campsite, this time more slowly and more carefully. She grabbed her camera and computer and a thick notebook. Then, just as she turned to start back up the hill, Alex felt the ground move. At first she thought the shaking might be a small earthquake, but almost immediately after, she heard the muffled sound of an explosion.

Alex paused
, listening intently for almost a minute. Nothing. She shrugged her shoulders. Must be miners working in the area, she thought. She continued back up the path to her dig, keeping an eye out for the rattlesnake, and silently scolded herself for letting the day get by without so much as a note or a picture. Alex was far fonder of digging than documenting during the day. Her uncanny ability to recall detail was almost photographic, which allowed her to do most of her record-keeping at night around a campfire with a fully charged laptop. Anything she might have missed, she simply made a note of for verification the following morning. Nonetheless, it was a bad habit she knew her father would have frowned upon.

As Alex
approached the site, another series of explosions shook the canyon floor. These were much more severe than the first had been, and almost knocked her off balance. She paused again, listening. There was another muffled explosion. “This is bullshit,” she finally said, exasperated.

Then she heard it
, a few small rocks falling down the cliff face directly over her dinosaur. Alex looked up at the canyon wall just in time to see a wide portion of it begin to collapse in a slide. Smaller rocks, then bigger ones, began to roll. She instinctively sprinted for cover, dropping her camera, computer and notebook in the process. The mountain seemed to fall from every direction, and it was gaining on her. Finally, Alex dove between two of the largest solid rocks she could find and covered her head.

The slide was over in seconds, but the dust
persisted and hung in the evening air like dense fog. Alex remained where she was for quite some time with her face buried in her arms. She could not believe she was still alive. Her knees felt like they were bleeding, but otherwise Alex was unscathed. When she finally emerged from the boulders, she could barely see up the hill. It was a white out. Alex was in shock. She didn’t know whether to scream or cry, but she knew that her dinosaur was gone, she just knew it.

C
hapter 3

A
trocity

“I tell you, he must be banished from the Clan immediately!” It was Xan, one of the Elders, his body glowing in the light of the Great Fire, his eyes lit with rage. Mot kept his own eyes directed at the floor. He knew that if he even glanced at Xan it might be construed as a death challenge, which Xan would have been all too happy to remedy with a swift thrust of his own lavishly decorated hunting stick.

They were gathered in the Great Chamber
. Almost the entire male population of the Zanta clan was present. All of the females, with the exception of Fet the Wise Mother, were purposely excluded, along with the very youngest of males. The Chamber was circular and had been created during the time of the burning rocks, when the massive lava tubes had formed all of the caves the Arzats now inhabited. For countless eons the caves had served as their home, since the first Great Hunter Orn had been sent by the Creator of All Things to begin the Zanta Clan many thousands of seasons before.

The room was
at least fifty sticks across and twenty high, with a hard earthen floor and smooth stone walls that curved upwards forming the large space. In the ceiling, a natural opening of approximately two sticks served as a vent for the sacred Fire that was the centerpiece of the Chamber and was never allowed to go out. The opening was so high that any animal bold enough to risk entry would surely fall to its death in the effort, but the vent had been crisscrossed with long poles, nonetheless, as an additional safeguard. The Fire itself had been purposely set just to the side, so that the event of rain, which was frequent, would not extinguish it. The Fire, like the cave entrance, was never, almost never, left unsupervised. On the walls, the words and art of the ancients had been carved into the stone that told the long story of the Zantas and proclaimed them as the greatest of the Arzat tribes. At strategic locations, torches burned and flickered, giving the words and symbols a life of their own.

While b
oth the Chamber and the Fire were most often attended to and used by the females for the preparation of meals, the room also served as the main socializing and meeting place of the clan. The ritual assigning of mates, the telling of the great history of the clan by the Elders, readings from the walls, the Priests’ pleas for protection and plenty from the Creator, the forecasts of the Astronomers, the celebration of a successful hunt, formal cremations and funerals all occurred within the confines of the Great Chamber.

The floor was now packed with males of the Zanta clan, some having to stand
for lack of room to sit, all awaiting the fate of the young Hunter Mot, their shadows dancing on the walls in the fire light. There were perhaps eight by eight by four of them, all anxious to see what was going to happen.

*

The story had rapidly traveled through the caves, evolving from fact to myth in short order. Mot the “great lizard slayer.” Mot the “great law breaker.” Mot the “brave.” Mot the “coward.” And while there was no one in the room who was not interested in the fate of Mot, son of the great Hunter Url, they were quite content in the meantime to chew on the large pieces of freshly charred meat that had just been passed to them-the result of the unexpected and fortuitous kills that had just occurred this very night.

The hunting, as of late,
had not been as productive as usual. Animals had become scarce and their movements more and more unpredictable. The Astronomers had blamed this change on the fire in the sky. The Priests had blamed the Arzats and their irreverent behavior. The Hunters had quietly blamed themselves. Regardless of the reason, until this evening, the stores of meat and other foods had been rationed for some time by order of the Council of Elders. The reserve food supply that was kept deep down in the lowest and coldest part of the caves was being depleted at an alarming rate. No Arzat was starving, but all were hungry. So the unusual circumstances of tonight’s kill, and the dire predictions of the Astronomers, had prompted the Elders to order the two animals to be immediately butchered, cooked and distributed.

Aside from satisfying their stomachs, the Elders had correctly guessed that feeding the clan might also serve to calm them
so that order could be maintained as they debated Mot’s fate. Arzats, particularly in a group, could be emotional and very unpredictable. What the Elders had not foreseen, was that the events of the evening, and particularly the delicious meal Mot had inadvertently provided, had made some of them much more sympathetic to his predicament.

Mot had committed the ultimate
of atrocities. He had jeopardized the lives of everyone by breaking curfew and deserting his post. At least, those were the charges. The penalty could be instant death or banishment, the first being far more preferable, for there could be no harsher punishment imaginable than being sent out alone from the caves with orders never to return.

But m
ost of the Arzats that now sat in the Great Chamber were Hunters, after all, and when the story was fully related about Mot’s single handed slaying of one of the most fearsome beasts in the forest, it was impossible that there would not be a certain amount of envy and admiration. Yes, he had broken the law, but hadn’t the entire clan just eaten a lavish meal because of it? Further, many of the Arzats had secretly contemplated a look at the death star for themselves, but none of them had mustered the courage to actually venture out as Mot had. If nothing else, there was no doubt that Mot carried the blood of Url, famous himself as one of the most courageous and productive Hunters in the clan.

Url squatted on the far side of the room, staring into
the Fire, beside himself with grief. Mot was his fifth and only remaining son. Three sons had been lost in hunting mishaps, one in sickness. There were two daughters as well, but daughters were daughters, and they were raised under the complete purview of the Arzat females until they were of age. On occasion, he found himself struggling just to remember their names, which had never been the case for Mot or the four sons who had died. But Url had always felt in his chest that of all his offspring, Mot was the exception. That Za’a, Url’s mate, had become pregnant and produced Mot at the end of her reproductive cycle had come as a pleasant surprise to both of them—an unexpected gift from the Creator. No, Mot would not die like the rest of his sons, Url had assured himself often. He would survive and become one of the greatest Arzats in the history of the clan. Url’s certainty had been confirmed by the Astrologers and the Priests, at his request, on several occasions.

Now that dream was dead, for there was one thing neither Url nor any of the clan ever ultimately doubted
: the firm, swift and invariably fatal punishment that would be imposed by the Elders for breaking clan law. None of the Arzats would argue such a verdict, because deep down, they all believed, since they had been taught from youth, that for the great Zanta family to survive and flourish, the words of the Elders—passed from ancestor to ancestor from the days of Orn, whispered to him by the Creator himself, and carved in stone—must be strictly followed. Why laws if they were not to be enforced? There was little room for exception. Exception led to anarchy, and anarchy would lead to the end of the clan.

“Perhaps banishment.
” Another of the Arzat great Elders, Ag stood to speak, Xan automatically yielding the floor to him due to Ag’s seniority. “Mot is young. I agree that what he did was a major transgression, but who among us was not equally curious at his age?” Ag, one of the oldest of the Elders, was considered most wise, and therefore had the greatest sway with the Council. He was not particularly fond of Mot, but was not past admiring the courage it must have taken him to venture out on his own. His eyes were the color of blood, ringed with orange and yellow. His skin glistened green and blue in the light, but his scales showed the dry cracks of age. It was rumored that Ag had already seen more than seven by eight seasons. His midsection was wrapped in the finest of animal skins, a mixture of green and silver textures that were not so different from his own. Despite his age and a pronounced bulge in his stomach, his body still displayed the fine musculature of a Great Hunter—though he had long ago risen high enough in the clan hierarchy that hunting was no longer required of him, and would probably have been unwise. A part of him occasionally missed the excitement of a good hunt, but the ache in his joints as he stood before the group painfully reminded him of his age.

“Perhaps death is enough,” he went on, trying to bring swift closure to the matter
, his eyes directed at Mot. “Would the Council think that sufficient?” Death was always so much more final. With banishment, the clan was likely to wonder for weeks about Mot’s fate. By suggesting death, Ag felt he was doing the young Arzat and the clan a favor. Besides, he wanted to be done with this issue, as he had more pressing matters to attend to back in his quarters, which had been inconveniently interrupted by the news of Mot’s transgression.

A gasp went through the room.
None of the clan would dare to speak out without permission, but that did not stop some low-voice conversations from taking place. Most of them were silently praying for the death order on Mot’s behalf, although not for the same pragmatic reasons as Ag. There was not an Arzat among them that was not terrified of banishment. In the Arzat culture, it was paramount that the bodies of the dead be ritually burned if the individual was ever to have a chance to reach the afterlife. Those who faced banishment were not only condemned to what would likely be a gruesome death, but they would have no hope of ever reaching the next world. It was the ultimate disgrace.

Fet the Wise Mother, who had
been seated far to the side, suddenly stood before the group, and another collective gasp rose up in the Chamber. Ag, with his last question, had effectively asked for a vote from the other male Elders, which meant that Fet was not to be consulted on the matter of Mot. She was clothed in skins even finer than Ag’s, and more fully wrapped. Her eyes were golden and piercing with skin that matched, and it was clear even to the younger males that she had probably once been a very desirable mate. Fet was the only female allowed at the Council as the laws of Orn demanded, for it was natural that the opinion of a female must sometimes, though rarely, be sought. Since Fet was the most senior of the females of the clan, she was also the most highly revered, and therefore allowed to be present. The fact that more than a few of the males in the room were directly related to her only increased her stature. However, since she had not been summoned to speak, Fet knew she was taking a big chance.

Xan and the other Elders were momentarily taken aback.
Even Ag was confused by Fet’s sudden audacity. As far as Ag was concerned, this was a very clear-cut matter, except for the question of whether Mot would be banished or killed—and
he
had decided. What more could there possibly be to talk about? The Chamber went completely still as the entire clan held its breath, waiting for the reaction of the Elders. The crackling of the Fire was the only thing that could be heard for what seemed an eternity.

Finally, it was Ag who broke the silence so that everyone, including himself, could breathe.
It had taken him that long to control his anger enough to speak. He looked directly into Fet’s golden and unblinking eyes and sent her an unspoken warning. “It appears that Fet the Wise Mother has an opinion on this issue,” was Ag’s best effort of saying that Fet now had permission to speak without the immediate threat of him killing her.

“Thank you Ag son of Ta.
It is an honor to be present, and an honor to have permission to speak,” her voice was melodic and soothing and her words served as an indirect apology to Ag and the Council for her effrontery. Fet knew she was taking a chance, but she had seen something in Mot that she liked long ago, and she now had an ulterior motive. When the word of his adventure had been relayed to her it had only confirmed her suspicions that he might be an Arzat worth saving. Well, perhaps saving, she reminded herself. When Za’a, Mot’s mother, had asked her for the favor of trying, she had decided to take the risk.

“I will not argue that Mot’s actions did not violate clan law,” Fet continued.
“But what real crime did he commit? Who among us would have had the courage to venture into the night alone? Who of us would have had the cunning to beat the great lizards back to the caves? Who of us would have had the fortitude to singlehandedly turn and fight? I know of no one of us!” Fet paused to let the point sink in. She had just indirectly insulted every Hunter in the Chamber, but she felt she needed to do so in order to ultimately win the argument.

“As far as I have heard, Mot replaced the barrier when he left the caves
, and his absence was only discovered by a betrayal.” Her golden eyes panned the room and eventually fell on young El, who squirmed uncomfortably under her direct gaze. While upholding the laws of the Elders was always paramount to the clan, logic and emotion ran the other way when it came to loyalty and informants. Most everyone now knew that it was El who had folded under the scrutiny of one of the more senior Hunters who had passed near the barrier as El stood by waiting for Mot’s return. Fet hoped that by mentioning this fact she might take some heat off of Mot. El, it seemed, was to be given a complete pass on the incident due to the fact that he was directly related to Ag, and only indirectly involved in the actual incident itself. Many in the Chamber turned toward him, staring with intense disapproval. El flinched and cast his eyes to the floor.