Recap: Alright, so Saderick tried to call up Doniel, which didn't go so great, and the other threatened him to leave the digsite. Saderick then tried his former assistant Meri who told him to buzz off. At the end of his ropes, Saderick is looking for some way to come out ahead.
I had to stop him. The Craggy Cliffs site sat behind me, open to the world. Paleontologists dreamed of perfect settings like this. I dialed in to my lab, hoping Travers was still there.
“Evening, mate,” came Traver’s voice a moment later.
“Travers, it’s me,” I said.
“What’s the deal, mister boss-man?”
I quickly filled him in on all of the details necessary. Travers had never been anything besides loyal to me in all the years since he’d joined me as a lab tech.
“Crimeny, boss-man. Sounds like he’s got it in for you, sure as sure. I’ll get on the horn with the authorities and see what’s what.”
“Right, make it quick. I don’t want anyone hedging into my find,” I said, and then hung up. Travers wouldn’t fail me.
Anything was preferable to letting him win. I disconnected and called Meri, knowing her to be reasonable. She didn’t really hate me. We just hadn’t meshed. If I told her my predicament, she’d aid me. After all, she’d approached me for graduate opportunities, not Doniel Jacobs.
The transmitter connected, and the green light lit up.
“Go away, Saderick.”
She sounded about as I remembered.
“Meri, how have excavations been proceeding? Good?”
She sighed. “I already told you, Lake. I don’t care about your feud. Don’t call me again.”
The line went dead. Maybe she did hate me, but I couldn’t imagine why. I’d never mistreated her. She’d been impatient and overeager to make her name. Too much early success was bad. I’d seen it with Doniel. His first major triumph and he backstabbed me. If I let Meri attach her name to every research paper of mine, she’d twist into another covetous backstabber, or worse.
Just that moment, Travers called back.
“Mister boss-man,” he said, “ I… don’t have good news for you, I’m afraid.”
“I wasn’t expecting any, but let it out anyway.”
“I got in contact with the Plenipotentiary’s boys. Sniveling bureaucrats said if there isn’t any evidence, they can’t do anything.”
I sighed. “I expected as much.”
“As for a rescue, they said they were quite aggrieved to hear of your condition, but…”
“Let the other shoe drop, Travers.”
“They can send out a rescue mission just yet. Something about a riot near Somar. They said your best bet was head to Outpost 74, about fifty kilometers from where you’re at now. Sorry, boss-man.”
Fifty kilometers? I fought to keep back another sigh. There wasn’t any help to it.
“No, you’re fine. I’ll keep in contact.”
If that’s how it was, then this was how it was. Lockhart wasn’t exactly the center of civilization. This was the wild frontier, pure and simple.
I turned the channel off and looked back to the dig site. No alternate options opened for me. I couldn’t rely on anyone for help and without the detonator, the explosives were useless. If I tried asking any of the other nearby excavators and treasure hunters, they’d come over and steal it all. I grabbed my notebooks, before glancing onto the transmitter’s map.
The Craggy Cliffs sat amid the continental interior and Dubois lay five-hundred kilometers southwest, beyond radio range. I needed to hike over half of that distance if I intended on calling Dubois. My field pack could filter any water I found. Food, however, was problematic amid the barren badlands where I stood.
The Lockhart biologics weren’t compatible with Earth’s. Whether the result of the slightly lower gravity, or atmosphere with higher CO2, Lockhart biological used dextro-amino acids rather than the levo-amino acids of Earth.
I’d heard along the southern coast, a predator of some sort, mauled an unlucky prospector who startled the animal. According to the observer, it took a single bite from his leg, and promptly died of anaphylactic shock.
Food would be a problem, but only if I lingered.
Going for the straightest approach, I headed southwest, directly towards Dubois. I deactivated my transmitter, knowing Doniel could track me. He wouldn’t interfere this time.
Until now, I didn’t realize how hot the countryside was. Lockhart’s axial tilt sat a tad higher than Earth’s and subsequently, the weather’s nature during summer and winter became amplified. Currently, we sat at summer’s height, the solstice having occurred two weeks ago.
I kept my pace steady and my rage burned like coal fueling a steam engine. The landscape around me was a near featureless desert, barren of sights, smells, or sounds, save views of endless expanses, the odor of baking vegetation, and the sound of my feet against the rough ground.
Night slowly fell, mercifully bringing an end to the cruel heat but I didn’t stop to rest. Time was ticking. Above me, the larger of Lockhart’s two moons began to rise above the horizon, illuminating my path with its eerie, blue glow.
My trek occasionally startled several native animals who’d ventured from the shade to feed. First settlers, lacking in creativity, named them jackalopes and the moniker had stuck, despite the fact few similarities existed.
A far cry from the million-year old fossils, I found the modern fauna boring in comparison to their immense ancestors. They were too small. Once, great herbivores on the scale of Earth sauropods roamed this land but now, these deer-hares existed as insipid shadows of their ancestors.
Sometime during the night, the labors of my travels caught up, and fatigue pressed against me. But my travails were nothing compared to those of my predecessors.
During the Gilded Age of paleontology, men such as Liedy or Marsh requisitioned armed escorts and ample provisions for simple fact-finding treks. They wandered into lawless territory for months while the threat of sickness and hostile Indians threatened annihilation. True, the West has already been won, so to speak. But compared to them, what was simple fatigue to me?
However, my will faltered and exhaustion overpowered me. I could have continued, but I felt stopping a more prudent course. An outcrop of Sullerworth Sandstone, the rock forming the great monuments around me became my bed and in a moment I drifted to sleep.
Awakening to the bright light of dawn, I felt prepared to throttle the world. My stomach rumbled, and dryness chapped my lips but no matter. Excellent progress had seen me this far, and if I kept up the previous day’s rate, I’d reach broadcasting distance in another day or two.
I spent my daybreak amid the monolithic mesas of Sullenworth Sandstone, where wiry steelbushes and bare rock littered the ground. I checked my transmitter briefly and saw Turncoat and Doniel together. No doubt the treacherous snakes sat cackling to themselves among their ill-gotten treasure.
When I next checked my watch, the hands sat at roughly noon. The sun would find its zenith again, and I’d need to find respite in the shady asylum of the nearby mesas. Station 74 would be there if I slowed.
As I kept to the mesa’s shadow I got the distinct impression of someone watching me, but when I stopped and glanced back, there was nothing. Did Doniel send a drone to follow me?
