Into the Badlands
Автор
Caron Todd
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CHAPTER ONE
THE BONEBED LAY in a narrow, winding gully in the Alberta badlands, edged by layered hills and eroded hoodoos. Susannah Robb worked in the shade of an orange tarpaulin surrounded by members of her team and a dozen children—dinosaur enthusiasts who had signed up for two weeks at the museum’s science camp, eager for a chance to dig at a real paleontology quarry.
She had found the fossil site that spring, after hiking along the same dry riverbed where she’d walked many times before. Nearly at the point of returning to the museum for the day, she’d sat on a boulder to rest, and looked down to see part of a hadrosaur skull protruding from the wind-worn rock at her feet. Now there were bones everywhere, nearly spilling out of the ground, helped by each gust of wind and every rainfall.
With an ungloved hand, she brushed debris from a tibia that peeked through the crumbling sandstone. “This is a beauty.”
Her assistant didn’t look up from the trench he was digging on the other side of the fossil. “It’s in great shape,” he agreed. James had been working for Susannah off and on for five years, as his studies allowed. This summer he was running the science camp, as well.
She let one fingertip drift over the huge specimen, tracing its curving line, feeling gravelly rock matrix, fine dust and solid fossil. Like a psychic trying to sense someone’s whereabouts or history from an article of clothing, she rested her hand on the sun-heated leg bone. She imagined the powerful muscles that had driven it, contracting and expanding with leisurely heaviness during the animal’s constant foraging, then letting it explode into desperate flight when a predator appeared at the edge of the herd.
Cretaceous herbivores were Susannah’s specialty. The contradiction of their power and vulnerability had drawn her to them. They could have easily crushed a human, if a human had existed to get in their way, but their only real defense was that they traveled in herds. Good for the species; not so good for the individuals whose capture and demise allowed the others to escape.
“I think we’re going to find a complete skeleton here, James.”
“Are you backing that opinion with anything more than wishful thinking?”
She reached for the clipboard that held the project’s grid maps. “Look what we have so far. There’s the skull, the spinal column—”
“A few sections of it, anyway.”
“We haven’t dug far enough to find the rest, but it’ll be there.”
“No ribs, yet.”
“But the legs have begun to appear. Look at the way the bones are lying. There’s form to it—they’re not just scrambled like most of the others.”
James nodded slowly as he studied the drawing. “That would be great…exciting for the kids, too.”
With a soft groan, Susannah straightened her back. “I’m getting old.” Her age was usually the last thing on her mind, but her most recent birthday had startled her. Thirty-three little flames gave off a surprising amount of heat.
James grinned. “That’s okay. I like older women.”
“Too bad for you. I’m no cradle robber.”
“You wouldn’t be stealing.”
Susannah smiled tolerantly and stepped out from under the tarp, stretching to loosen stiff muscles. James followed, brushing sand from his bare knees.
“It must be forty degrees out here today.” She threaded her fingers through French-braided hair, lifting the dark strands to cool the skin underneath. In seconds, that slight relief was erased by the burning sun. Despite the August heat, she wore khaki slacks and a long-sleeved loose white shirt to protect her skin. “The kids are wilting.”
“I’ll take them for a swim soon,” James promised. Not far from the camp there was a swimming hole, a loop in the Red Deer River shaded by wolf willows. The children spent most afternoons there, and returned to the quarry in the cooler evening.
Susannah pulled a watch out of her shirt pocket and checked the time. “Could you sketch in that tibia for me, and paint on the preservative? I need to get back to the museum. I told Bruce I’d be in by one o’clock.”
“Did he say he’d have news for you by then?”
“He hasn’t said a word. I promised to help him get some paperwork done.”
“We’re all rooting for you, if that makes you feel any better, Susannah.”
“It does. Thanks.” Watching her friends waiting to hear if she was the new head of dinosaur research was even harder than waiting herself. It couldn’t be much longer before they all heard. Bruce was leaving Friday, just four days away.
SUSANNAH SWUNG OPEN her office door, rippling papers on her bulletin board. As she went by, she straightened one, a crayon drawing of a tall, thin stick lady with a long black braid, wide gray eyes and a big smile. It was labeled Auntie Sue and signed “XXX OOO Tim,” in spidery letters that careened across the page. Tim was her best friend’s five-year-old. Diane’s office was just across the hall.
While she waited for her computer to boot up, Susannah started a pot of coffee dripping and checked her answering machine for the morning’s messages. There was just one, from a Calgary television producer named Sylvia Hall. The message didn’t give any details. Curious, Susannah sat at her desk to return the call.
Ms. Hall’s voice was calm and confident. “I saw a piece in the Herald about your hadrosaur quarry. It sounds fascinating. I’m not exactly sure where it is, though. The article was a bit mysterious about that.”
“We don’t publicize the locations of our quarries,” Susannah explained. “Fossils can be surprisingly fragile, so we like to restrict traffic, even foot traffic. Unfortunately, sight-seers have been known to make off with whatever they can carry.”
“I understand. Could we bring a camera out there in a week or two? Of course, we’d be careful to keep the location secret.”
“I’d be glad to show you around.” Susannah began to jot notes on a pad of paper beside the telephone. “We’ve barely started, though. By next year we’ll have more concrete information—”
“My viewers are fascinated by the process. They don’t need to wait for the results. You’re part of the story. Picture this—one of those gigantic old bones upright against the sky. A petite paleontologist standing beside it proudly—”
Susannah put down her pen. “I’m not all that petite.”
“You get the idea. We want to capture that eureka! feeling when you find something wonderful, the adventure of the experience—”
“Adventure?” Susannah repeated mildly. “The most exciting thing I’ve done out there lately is try escarole on my tomato sandwich. It was kind of bitter.”
There was a pause. “I sense you have a problem with the concept, Dr. Robb.”
“What you’re describing is entertainment, not science. That’s not my style.”
The producer’s cool voice encouraged Susannah to be reasonable. “Why shouldn’t my audience be entertained by your science? You’ll catch their interest, they’ll want to visit your museum—”
It was exactly the kind of thinking that got under Susannah’s skin. “When we’ve had a chance to assess the significance of what we’ve found, I’ll be glad to do a program.”
Crisply Ms. Hall said, “That’s science, dusty chalk on a blackboard science. I’m afraid that’s not my style. Give me a call if you change your mind.” There was a click as the phone disconnected.
Susannah sat back in her chair, fuming. Was there any chance she was wrong to resist pop paleontology? Maybe inaccurate publicity was better than none…she knew her cautious style didn’t attract a large audience.
Pushing the conversation from her mind, she clicked on the computer screen to open one of the files Bruce had asked her to handle. He wanted to drum up funding for a closed-circuit television system in the lab that would give museum visitors a technician’s-eye view of fossil preparation. Funding was only part of the problem. Charlie Morgan, the museum’s head conservator, opposed the idea. Of course, Charlie was chronically opposed to new ideas. She could almost see his point on this one. The system would be great for visitors, but you’d hesitate to blow your nose or scratch an itch with the world looking on.
“Susannah? Got a minute?”
Kim Johnson, a student who was getting field experience at the Bearpaw Formation quarry, stood hesitantly at the door. Her slight build and willowy arms suggested she should be waving a fan, not swinging a geologist’s hammer, but sharp eyes and a delicate touch with fragile specimens made up for her lack of muscular strength. For one distracting moment, Susannah imagined her on a television screen dwarfed by a King Kong bone. I know somebody who can make you a star…
“Come on in. Taking a break?”
Kim sat on the edge of a chair across from Susannah’s desk. She glanced at the open door and lowered her voice. “I wanted to talk to you about Bruce’s party.”
“How are the plans coming?”
“We’ve got a couple of problems. The baker’s having trouble with the cake, for one thing. He says the tyrannosaurus either falls on its snout, or its head falls off. He wants to do a centrosaurus.”
“Bruce is a carnivore specialist. It’s got to be a tyrannosaur.”
Kim nodded. “I know, but he says a centrosaur stands on four short legs. It’s got a good base.”
“What if the T-Rex attacked a centrosaurus?”
“And it could hold the T-Rex up,” Kim said quickly. “That should work.”
“If it doesn’t, we’ll just say the centrosaurus won.”
Kim laughed. “Okay, could happen. I’ll suggest it.” Her smile faded. “The other problem is with the decorations. Paul’s insisting on an idea that probably goes too far.”
“Again?” Paul was the field technician who helped run the Bearpaw Formation quarry, but he didn’t let his responsibilities interfere with having a good time.
“He wants to lie down in the tyrannosaur exhibit, splashed with ketchup, with a spotlight on the whole tableau. I thought you might not want him to do it, in case the T-Rex got damaged.”
“Bruce would love it. As long as Paul doesn’t try to climb into the skeleton’s jaws, it’s all right with me. You don’t look happy with the idea, though.”
Kim hesitated. “It’s not that.”
“Is something else worrying you?”
“I’d like your opinion…” Kim’s voice trailed off.
Susannah waited.
“I don’t want to make trouble for anyone.”
“No, of course not.” What could be wrong? A dry bank account? Unsatisfactory field experience? Gossip at the quarry? The Bearpaw team was having an unproductive summer; tempers might be fraying. Even small problems could become irritating when a team worked for a long time under a hot sun.
After another moment of uncertainty, Kim seemed to make a decision. “You know, I think I should try to handle it myself first. It’s kind of embarrassing to come here and make a fuss, and then duck out.”
“Don’t worry about it. We can talk later if you change your mind. In the meantime, tell Paul he can go ahead with his bloodthirsty scenario.”
Kim dredged up a smile. “He’ll be so pleased. And I’ll stop at the bakery on my way to the quarry. Thanks, Susannah.” She left the office, still radiating worry.
Moments later, footsteps sounded in the hall, and Bruce appeared in the doorway, bearded and shaggy haired. When Susannah saw his face, her stomach began a free fall.
He got right to the point. “The board has gone with someone else, Susannah. Alexander Blake. Heard of him?”
She nodded. Alexander Blake was a high-profile kind of a guy. Anyone who dug up bones for a living had heard of him. Although she hadn’t seen him in more than ten years, the man had got in her way a few times.
“He’s a little older than you are,” Bruce said, “a little more experienced. Well traveled, good contacts. I made it clear what I wanted, but they had their own ideas. I don’t know—maybe it’s for the best. You came awfully close.”
Close? Susannah looked away from Bruce’s sympathetic eyes. “We’ll be lucky to have someone of Blake’s caliber here.”
IT WAS NEARLY NINE o’clock when Susannah finally let herself into her small cedar house. She had showered and eaten dinner at the museum, then poured her frustration into Bruce’s paperwork and got it done.
She moved quickly past the unconcerned eyes of relatives who stared from a family tree of photographs on one wall of the living room, then the unperturbed residents of a large aquarium that separated the galley kitchen from the dining area. She filled a glass with filtered water from the fridge, and drank thirstily before turning to the aquarium. She hardly noticed the fish pounce when she sprinkled flakes of food and some freeze-dried shrimp onto the water’s surface.
In what way was she inadequate? Knowing she was Bruce’s choice, the board had looked past her to a stranger. Timid. That’s what Blake had thought of her. Did the board agree? Was she too mild, too immersed in her own work, too female, too tall, too short, too young? Bruce had said it might be for the best. Did he doubt her ability to do the job?
Tired, but too tense to sleep, she went out onto the screened porch and sank into a wicker chair big enough to curl up in. She looked past the river that meandered behind the house, and watched as the setting sun turned the sandstone and ironstone of distant hoodoos gold and pink. Glossy blue-black swallows swooped to and from nests in the river’s bank, chestnut breasts and forked tails flashing.
There was a photograph she couldn’t get out of her mind, a picture illustrating one of Blake’s magazine articles. It showed a tall, sandy-haired man standing perfectly at ease in the hot sun and red sand of the Gobi Desert. He had a geologist’s hammer in one hand, and an open, boyish grin on his face. Huge white ribs curved out of the sand behind him. Susannah kept trying to file the photo away, under something harmless and dull like “miscellaneous.” Tuck it into the folder, close the drawer and forget about it. But the damn thing wouldn’t stay filed.
Staring into the gathering dark, she thought of the confusing summer she’d worked with Alexander Blake at an Australian quarry thirteen years before. He’d been a graduate student from the University of British Columbia then, assisting the leader of a joint Canada-Australia dig, but no one would have known it wasn’t his quarry. He was the kind of person who always seemed to be in charge. He’d probably advised his kindergarten teacher on the finer points of printing.
It had been her first quarry, her first trip outside Canada, the first time—the only time—she’d met a man like him. With the overbrimming confidence of someone who apparently had never done anything awkwardly and for the first time, he had noticed her just long enough to issue a damaging assessment of her performance.
She could take the disappointment about the job. She knew she was still young to head a research department. In a way, it was better not to have administrative distractions just when the hadrosaur quarry was looking so promising. It might even be interesting to work with Blake again. He might have changed. Maybe that photo was an old one, and really he had a potbelly and a mellow disposition and five kids.
Her smile faded. It was more likely that he hadn’t changed at all.
