Robert Sawyer: Peking Man

Kart raised his right arm, preparing to signal the final attack, when—

—a streak of light brown, slicing through the grass—

—fangs flashing, the roar of the giant cat, the stag bolting away, and then—

—Kart’s own scream as the saber-tooth grabbed hold of his thigh and shook him viciously.

The other three hunters ran as fast as they could, desperate to get away. They didn’t stop to look back, even when the cat let out the strangest yelp…

That night, the tribe huddled together and sang songs urging Kart’s soul a safe trip to heaven.

One of the Chinese laborers found the first skull. Weidenreich was summoned at once. Brancusi still suffered from his photophobia, and apparently had never adjusted to the shift in time zones—he slept during the day. Weidenreich thought about waking him to see this great discovery, but decided against it.

The skull was still partially encased in the limestone muck at the bottom of the cave. It had a thick cranial wall and a beetle brow—definitely a more primitive creature than Neanderthal, probably akin to Solo Man or Java Man…

It took careful work to remove the skull from the ground, but, when it did come free, two astonishing things became apparent.

The loose teeth Davidson Black had set aside had indeed come from the hominids here: this skull still had all its upper teeth intact, and the canines were long and pointed.

Second, and even more astonishing, was the foramen magnum—the large opening in the base of the skull through which the spinal cord passes. It was clear from its chipped, frayed margin that this individual’s foramen magnum had been artificially widened—

—meaning he’d been decapitated, and then had something shoved up into his brain through the bottom of his skull.

Five hunters stood guard that night. The moon had set, and the great sky river arched high over head. The Stranger returned—but this time, he was not alone. The tribesmen couldn’t believe their eyes. In the darkness, it looked like—

It was. Kart.

But—but Kart was dead. They’d seen the saber-tooth take him.

The Stranger came closer. One of the men lifted a rock, as if to throw it at him, but soon he let the rock drop from his hand. It fell to the ground with a dull thud.

The Stranger continued to approach, and so did Kart.

And then Kart opened his mouth, and in the faint light they saw his teeth—long and pointed, like the Stranger’s.

The men were unable to run, unable to move. They seemed transfixed, either by the Stranger’s gaze, or by Kart’s, both of whom continued to approach.

And soon, in the dark, chill night, the Stranger’s fangs fell upon one of the guard’s necks, and Kart’s fell upon another…

Eventually, thirteen more skulls were found, all of which had the strange elongated canine teeth, and all of which had their foramen magnums artificially widened. Also found were some mandibles and skull fragments from other individuals—but there was almost no post-cranial material. Someone in dim prehistory had discarded here the decapitated heads of a group of protohumans.

Brancusi sat in Weidenreich’s lab late at night, looking at the skulls. He ran his tongue over his own sharp teeth, contemplating. These subhumans doubtless had no concept of mathematics beyond perhaps adding and subtracting on their fingers. How would they possibly know of the problem that plagued the Family, the problem that every one of the Kindred knew to avoid?

If all those who feel the bite of the vampire themselves become vampires when they die, and all of those new vampires also turn those they feed from into vampires, soon, unless care is exercised, the whole population will be undead. A simple geometric progression.

Brancusi had long wondered how far back the Family went. It wasn’t like tracing a normal family tree—oh, yes, the lines were bloodlines, but not as passed on from father to son. He knew his own lineage—a servant at Castle Dracula before the Count had taken to living all alone, a servant whose loyalty to his master extended even to letting him drink from his neck.

Brancusi himself had succumbed to pneumonia, not an uncommon ailment in the dank Carpathians. He had no family, and no one mourned his passing.

But soon he rose again—and now he did have Family.

An Englishman and an American had killed the Count, removing his head with a kukri knife and driving a bowie knife through his heart. When news of this reached Brancusi from the gypsies, he traveled back to Transylvania. Dracula’s attackers had simply abandoned the coffin, with its native soil and the dust that the Count’s body had crumbled into. Brancusi dug a grave on the desolate, wind-swept grounds of the Castle, and placed the Count’s coffin within.

Eventually, over a long period, the entire tribe had felt the Stranger’s bite directly or indirectly.

A few of the tribefolk lost their lives to ravenous bloodthirst, drained dry. Others succumbed to disease or giant cats or falls from cliffs. One even died of old age. But all of them rose again.

And so it came to pass, just as it had for the Stranger all those years before, that the tribe had to look elsewhere to slake its thirst.

But they had not counted on the Others.

Weidenreich and Brancusi sat in Weidenreich’s lab late at night. Things had been getting very tense—the Japanese occupation was becoming intolerable. “I’m going to return to the States,” said Weidenreich. “Andrews at the American Museum is offering me space to continue work on the fossils.”

“No,” said Brancusi. “No, you can’t take the fossils.”

Weidenreich’s bushy eyebrows climbed up toward his bald pate. “But we can’t let them fall into Japanese hands.”

“That is true,” said Brancusi.

“They belong somewhere safe. Somewhere where they can be studied.”

“No,” said Brancusi. His red-rimmed gaze fell on Weidenreich in a way it never had before. “No—no one may see these fossils.”

“But Andrews is expecting them. He’s dying to see them. I’ve been deliberately vague in my letters to him—I want to be there to see his face when he sees the dentition.”

“No one can know about the teeth,” said Brancusi.

“But he’s expecting the fossils. And I have to publish descriptions of them.”

“The teeth must be filed flat.”

Weidenreich’s eyes went wide. “I can’t do that.”

“You can, and you will.”

“But—”

“You can and you will.”

“I—I can, but—”

“No buts.”

“No, no, there is a but. Andrews will never be fooled by filed teeth. Ever since Piltdown Man, filing is the first thing people look for when they see an odd specimen. And, besides, the structure of teeth varies as you go into them. Andrews will realize at once that the teeth have been reduced from their original size.” Weidenreich looked at Brancusi. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way to hide the truth.”

The Others lived in the next valley. They proved tough and resourceful—and they could make fire whenever they needed it. When the tribefolk arrived it became apparent that there was never a time of darkness for the Others. Large fires were constantly burning.

The tribe had to feed, but the Others defended themselves, trying to kill them with rock knives.

But that didn’t work. The tribefolk were undeterred.

They tried to kill them with spears.

But that did not work, either. The tribefolk came back.

They tried strangling the attackers with pieces of animal hide.