Evolution

By any standards the New World monkeys would be successful. But on this crowded jungle continent, the fate of Roamer’s grandchildren would be quite different from those of her sister’s in Africa. There, the primates, molded cataclysmically by the shifting climate, would rapidly develop new forms. There, Purga’s line would continue — through the apes — its slow shaping toward humanity. Even the later monkeys who Roamer so resembled would diversify away from the forest, finding ways to live in savannah, mountain plateaus, and even deserts.

Here it would be different. On a more equable continent, it would always be too tempting to stay in the vast rain forests.

Roamer’s grandchildren would never leave the trees. They would never grow much smarter than they were now. And they would play no part in the future destiny of mankind — save as pets, or prey, or objects of scientific curiosity.

But all that lay in the unimaginable future.

Roamer already felt remarkably revived by her brief time in the green and the water she had drunk. She looked around. In the undergrowth she saw a splash of red, and she stumbled that way. She found a fruit, unfamiliar, but fat and soft-skinned. She bit into it. As she munched on the flesh, juice burst out and dribbled over her fur. It was the cleanest, sweetest thing she had ever tasted.

CHAPTER 7 The Last Burrow Ellsworth Land, Antarctica. Circa 10 million years before present.

I

The burrowers worked through the tough, scrubby grass that clung to the dunes. There were many, many of them. They were so crowded they looked like a ground-covering carpet of squirming brown-gray fur.

Dig spotted a dense patch of ferns on a little headland overlooking the ocean. The foraging crowd seemed a little less dense there, so she headed that way. In the shelter of the fern patch, she picked apart fronds with her agile, five-fingered hands, and she nibbled on brown spores.

At three years old Dig was already one of the oldest of the burrowers. She was just a few centimeters long. She was fat and round and coated with thick layers of brown fur, the better to retain her body’s heat. She looked something like a lemming. But she was no lemming. She was a primate.

From here she could see the ocean. The sun hung low in the northern sky, over the endless, impassable water. As polar autumn drew on, the sun spent more than half of each day beneath the horizon. And already, far from the land, great sheets of pack ice had gathered. Closer to shore Dig could see slushier gray ice forming in great sheets that rippled over the water’s muscular swell. Her body knew what these things meant. The light-filled days of summer were a blurred memory; soon she would have to endure the winter months of continual darkness.

On one pack ice plate she saw a bloody stain, smeared over the gleaming surface, and an unidentifiable mound of inert flesh. Birds wheeled overhead, cawing, waiting their turn at the bloody pickings. And a shadow slid through the water, long, powerful. A huge snout pushed out of the chill water to take a share of the kill.

The seagoing carnivore was an amphibian, a descendant of a form called koolasuchus. Four meters long, it looked like a monstrous predatory frog. The frog was a relic of much more ancient times, when amphibians had dominated the world. In tropical climes, its ancestors had been outcompeted by the crocodiles, whom they closely resembled in size and form; the great amphibians had already been in decline when dinosaurs first appeared on the Earth, but they had clung on in the cooler waters of the poles.

Even from this distance, tucked under her ferns, Dig shuddered.

Suddenly a squat, feathered form came bursting from the tundra plain. The scrambling burrowers scattered in panic, and Dig cowered. The new arrival ran upright on long, powerful legs, and its hands, barely visible against thick white feathers, were grasping and equipped with cruel claws. This creature ran out into the water and splashed its way out to the ice floe. There it began to compete with the amphibian for scraps of the carcass, just as in later times Arctic foxes would try to steal the kills of polar bears.

This battling white-feathered predator looked like a flightless bird. It wasn’t. It was a descendant of the velociraptors of the Cretaceous era.

On Antarctica, fifty-five million years after the comet impact, there were dinosaurs.

Dig made her way inland, away from the bloody scene at the shore. She moved cautiously, sticking to cover. Here and there she saw white feathers, discarded by the raptor in its haste to reach the kill on the ice.

As she clambered over the last dune, she could see the shape of the landscape.