Dave Freedman - Natural Selection

Lisa shook her head. “I have no idea. What do you think, Jason?”

Looking down from a height of two stories, Jason shifted his eyes from one enormous skeleton to the next. “Can we get a closer look?”

They touched down on one of the few patches of sand not occupied by a skeleton, and Jason walked toward the closest specimen. Getting closer, he was amazed at how horrifying it looked, just a skeleton, the height of a coffee table at its deepest point.

He turned as a rattail fish swam toward it. Then through it, as if it were an underwater jungle gym, dodging in and out of ribs, eye sockets, then teeth. Jason stared at the teeth. My God, look at those things. They were as wide as champagne bottles at their base and as tall as soda cans, the tips as sharp as knife points. Jason tried picturing them in a living animal…. Then the fish swam off, and he remembered why they were here. “I don’t see any bodies, guys.”

In the sub, Darryl surveyed the darkness. “Let’s find one.”

“MY GOD, how many of these things are there?”

Lisa Barton was astounded. They’d been passing over skeletons for forty minutes and still hadn’t seen the end of them. One enormous winged frame after another passed under their cruising machine. She turned. “Any idea, Darryl?”

“One thousand four hundred and twenty-one so far,” Jason said from the intercom.

Lisa shook her head. “Big surprise. He’s been counting.”

Darryl chuckled then pointed at the glass. “Look, Soccer Mom. It’s snowing.”

“Hey, it really is.”

Small white flakes were indeed falling everywhere. “Snowstorms” occurred regularly in the depths, when spawning plants above emitted literally billions of seeds into the water.

Lisa glanced at the monitor. “See the snow, Jason?”

“Unfortunately.”

On the platform, he tried to ignore the white stuff flowing past his helmet. He didn’t want to lose count of the skeletons—1,422, 1,423, 1,424… He squinted inside his helmet, the snow thickening—1,425, 1,426, 1,427… It thickened further—1,428, 1,429… The sub turned slightly, and the snow blew right into him—1,430, 1,431… The snow began sticking to his face mask…. He tried wiping it away, but his hands couldn’t do it—1,432… or was that 1,431?… 1,432, 1,433, 1,434… The snow fell harder, a driving storm, and the skeletons began to merge—1,434, 1,435… The snow fell harder still…. And then he lost count. But not because of the snow.

He’d spotted something lying among a cluster of the skeletons. He squinted as the sub got closer, trying to make it out.

Inside, Darryl squinted too. “Hey, do you see that, Jason? What is that?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a body, Darryl. We just found a body.”

It was much smaller than the skeletons, just five feet across the wings and 250 pounds. A dead juvenile, its body preserved by the same lethal virus that had killed it. With the exception of a few patches of skin chafed away from the wing tips and lower torso, it looked to be in perfect condition. As the sub zoomed closer, Jason focused on its head. A small smile formed on his face. He couldn’t wait to get it to the surface and take a look at its brain.

“ My God, will you look at that.”

With bags under his eyes, Jason stood alone in a small marine lab. Surrounded by wood cabinets and cheap framed pictures of dolphins on the walls, he was astonished at what was before him. He’d expected to see a large brain, of course, but this… Sid Klepper and Ross Drummond had set him up here the previous night, in one of Marwood Enterprises’ Monterey labs. He hadn’t spoken with anyone since. Klepper and Drummond had gone home to sleep, and Darryl, Lisa, and Phil were also snoozing in a few of the back offices. He didn’t know where Craig and Monique were—perhaps still on the ocean.

It was nearly 7:15 A.M. Jason had just worked through the night.

Staring into a three-inch-deep water-filled plastic tray, he wasn’t tired. Below the waterline was a large, strangely shaped brain that he didn’t know what to make of. He’d already packed the body in ice and put it in an industrial freezer in back. The procedure had taken six hours longer than normal because the brain had some unusual spinal-cord connections that had to be carefully severed. He flipped off the tiny recorder Phil had given to Darryl earlier and vowed to write up notes in the laptop.

He stared into the tray again. Jason had done more than his share of manta-ray autopsies—north of a hundred and fifty in ten years—and he’d never seen a brain like it. “My God,” he said once more.

Unlike other brains, this one wasn’t circular, but rectangular and flat. It looked like a badly infected slab of prime rib, the length of a forearm, the width of a hand, and an inch and a half thick. Jason had worked all night to remove it, but now that he had it, he had no idea what to do next.

“LISA.”

She didn’t move.

“Lisa.” This was followed by a mild poke.

Lisa Barton was asleep in a big leather easy chair she’d snuggled into the previous night.

“Lisa, wake up.”

She opened her eyes and smiled. “Hey.”

Jason smiled too. She looked at home in her sweatshirt and jeans. He suddenly forgot where he was, forgot everything about the brain. He felt like asking her out to breakfast, just the two of them, something casual. “Hey.”

“You look tired.”

He nodded, saying nothing.

“What time is it?”

“Seven fifteen.”

“In the morning?” She sat up, readjusting clothes. “You’ve been up all night?”

“I really wanted to get that brain out.”

“No one will ever accuse you of not being dedicated, Aldridge. So did you?”

“You’ve got to see this thing.”

“ Oh my God.”

They both stood over the tray, marveling.

“How big is it?”

“Almost six pounds.”

“Jesus!” Lisa knew a human brain weighed three pounds on average.

Jason nodded. “It’s one hundred and ten times the size of a manta’s brain.”

“They really did outsmart that dolphin….” She eyed the brain, astonished. “So what do you want to do with this?”

“I guess take it to a neuro expert. I just don’t know who.”

“Craig might know some people.”

“Oh, right.” Jason had forgotten that Summers had attended several symposiums on the effects of viruses on animal brains and made his share of contacts in the neurological community. “I’ll try Craig on his cell right now. Why don’t you wake Darryl and Phil.” Lisa walked off, and Jason tried to reach Summers—once, twice, then three times. All were fast busy signals. Then Darryl entered the room and peered into the tray.

“ Holy cow.”

Phil came in next. “ My God . I gotta get some pictures of this…. “ Like a kid in a candy store, he ran out for his camera and returned instantly, snapping from every angle.

Darryl was still flabbergasted. “This is real. You actually cut this brain out of that animal?”

“That’s ri—”

“Did you get Craig and Monique, Jason?” Lisa asked, entering.

“No. I wonder what they’re up to out there.”

Lisa walked closer. “Maybe they found something useful too.”

“WHAT THE hell is that?”

Monique Hollis was asleep, cuddled in a fleece on one of the Expedition ’s lounge chairs. As tired as she’d been at 4 A.M. the previous night, she hadn’t bothered going below deck. She’d simply dozed off right there at the back of the boat. It was sunrise now, the sky an ugly slate gray. Monique didn’t notice. She continued to sleep peacefully.