Day of the Dragon: Dragon World, #1

By Joseph Whelan

What if a very long time ago there existed on this Earth a species with intelligence as great as or greater than Homo sapiens?

What if this ancient creature ruled the entire planet and half the solar system?

What if this creature's civilization rose and fell and disappeared into the mists of Time?

What if evidence of this lost world remained buried for tens of millions of years?

What if—one day—a modern human paleontologist looking for fossilized bones finds an artifact instead?  What if this artifact turns up at the Cretaceous-Paleogene boundary, the dividing line between the Age of Mammals and the Age of Reptiles?  What if this thing reemerges into the sunlight after being buried for sixty-five million years?  It was madness even to contemplate that this man-made thing—no, this dinosaur-made thing—could exist.  It was mad, crazy, insane, impossible.  But there it was.

Day of the Dragon tells this incredible tale....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Whelan
• Release date: Jun 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393748502

Book preview

The Flower Tree

Not forever on earth; only a little while here.

Be it jade, it shatters

Be it gold, it breaks.

Be it a quetzal feather, it tears apart.

Not forever on earth; only a little while here.

—Nezahualcóyotl (Hungry Coyote)

Poet, philosopher

King of Texcoco, part of the Mexica (Aztec) Triple Alliance

(1402-1472)

Florida State University

Tallahassee, Florida

That's some outrageous crazy you're talkin', Professor. Good thing you got tenure.

Tenure, said Frank James Finney, associate professor of paleontology, will save your job but not your reputation. I know how to get another job, but I don't know how to get another reputation. So mum's the word here, until further notice, and there might never be further notice because I'm just thinking out loud. Right?

Right, Professor, right, said Daniel Dent. You're lookin' at the most obedient little grad student that there ever was. Don't you worry about a thing.

Finney wasn't really worried. Dent was his favorite graduate student. The young man and the older man had become good friends over the last couple of years. It was a good relationship for him, and he assumed for Dent as well. Finney enjoyed his work, but he wasn't really a people person. He had tried to worm his way out of shepherding doctoral candidates through the long process leading up to the advanced degree, but the department head had forced the issue. Dan Dent was fun to be around, a good guy, and Finney quickly learned to look forward to their time together.

Finney had come to the brink of telling Dent several times what he had just told him, but had thought better of it each time, and basically chickened out. Now he'd just said it and it couldn't be unsaid. He had walked through the conversation several times in his mind to himself, until he thought it sounded something other than straight-up wacky.  But now that it was out in the open, he wondered if maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut.  Dent was right: it did sound like he was talking crazy talk.  Finney hoped he hadn't made himself sound like an idiot in front of the young man.  The guy was quite bright and could rip a weak argument down one side and up the other.  But so could a number of colleagues all over the world and he had to start somewhere.  Either that or he needed to just shelve this whole line of thinking and put it behind him for good.  In any case, it was out in the open now.

It was too late at this point to do anything about it.  He tried to look calm as he waited for Dent to make additional remarks.  Inside, he was quite tense: the reputation of a lifetime really could be ruined forever, and in just a moment, too, like a punctured balloon.  Dent was the first person in the world to hear what he'd just said, and Finney might have handed him a needle.

There was a long pause, at the end of which Dent tugged at his chin whiskers with one hand and then said, Soooo, what you're sayin' is that--

"I'm not saying anything, Finney interrupted. I'm hypothesizing. No, not even that. Just tossing out some thoughts."

Okay, Dent started again.  "What you're conjecturing, exploring--"

Exploring's a good word, Finney interrupted one more time. Just exploring a new idea. Poking around. Nothing more.

Okay, Dent said. Let me just try to restate what I think I heard you say. Make sure I got it right. That way we can explore together. Dent looked at Finney questioningly, and Finney nodded his head in acquiescence.

Dent went on. Soooo … the idea here is that a long time ago, way long ago, specifically, during the Mesozoic, the time of the dinosaurs, a species of dinosaur evolved to the point where it had enough brains we would consider it intelligent. Not only that, this supposed species developed a technological civilization not necessarily unlike ours in general aspect. Maybe they even had radios and highways and tooled around in classic cars. Dent paused for a moment. Is that correct so far?

Yes, Finney answered somewhat uncomfortably. Now that he had heard his own words restated to him by another paleontologist, the whole business sounded either wacky or silly, and neither was a good thing. Yes, that is correct so far.

Very good, Dent said. Very good. I have that understanding as the first thing. And now I already have a second understanding. Would you like to hear about my second understanding?

Sure, Finney said, warily, not really sure about being sure.

Dent went on.  My second understanding is just this: one of the FSU professors has gone bat-shit insane and needs to be locked up! With that, Dent whipped out his cell phone and pretended to punch some buttons. I'm going to call the campus police right now and get things rolling!

The two men laughed. Eff you, Danny Boy, Finney said. "Eff you, and the horse you rode in on. Now, let's get something to drink at Starbucks and I’ll try to justify the theory on the way.  But remember: no yakkety-yak to anyone else about intelligent dinosaurs, ¿Usted comprende, Señor?"

Sí, sí, Dent laughed.  No problemo.  But let's not drink any of that poison at Starbucks.  You know I'm a Krispy Kreme man.  You spend too much time here on campus, hidin’ away in the ivory tower.  You keep forgetting that you've moved to Florida's panhandle, a place unto itself.  This whole area is way different from south Florida; we shouldn't even be in the same state.  This is God's country, and in God's country, if you drink coffee, you gotta get it from a Krispy Kreme.  Now, Starbucks might be okay, if you're some dirty hippie that's drifted in on the tide from the west coast.  And even Dunkin' Donuts, that might be okay, if you're a damn Yankee.  But I gotta tell ya, Professor, that here in God's country, it ain't okay to be dirty hippie, and it ain't okay to be a damn Yankee." 

Finney laughed.  They had had this conversation before as a prelude to going out for coffee. I keep forgetting you come from one of these little piss-ant towns around here. So, tell me again, what's the name of the little piss-ant town you come from?

Dent pretended to be hurt. Now, Teach, don't be sayin' such things 'bout God's country. And I don't hail from no little town—no sirree, Bob!  I come from a gi-gantic city; a mighty megalopolis! A mighty megalopolis named Graceville! Graceville, Florida! Maybe the bestest and biggest megalopolis in the whole wide world!

And what's so special about Graceville, son?

What's special about it?! Why, just about everything!

Try naming some of those things.

Well, uh, Dent pretended to struggle, well, uh—it's a Godly place, filled with Godly people!  Just the opposite of this filthy, liberal, communist university!  Yeah!  A regular Zion, it is, and without none of these damn, dirty, atheistic, Bible-denying paleontologists neither!  Yeah!  Let me just tell you one little thing, Mr. Ivory Tower Professor, if there's one thing I hate more than anything else, it's a damn, dirty, atheistic, Bible-denying paleontologist, spewing all manner of Satanic lies about fossil bones and the Earth bein' more than 6,000 years old, when every righteous, Godly man knows it damn well ain't no older!  And let me tell you one more thing-- but Finney laughed again, interrupting him:

An atheistic paleontologist—um, like you, right? Say, didn't you tell me that your own parents are fundamentalist Christians?

I might have mentioned it once or twice.  Dent looked at Finney askance.  In fact, he had mentioned it many times.

And both your parents think the Earth is 6,000 years old?

Well, I'm not sure what my dad thinks. He doesn't always say a lot. But my mom does, definitely.

And yet their son is a paleontologist. Almost has his PhD.

Yeah.

Apparently a hard-core atheist.

I’m a Pastafarian.  I’ve told you that before, many times.

Finney ignored Dent’s denial of atheism.  Sometimes a little disrespectful of Christianity.

Maybe. Not around my parents.

I'll bet there have been some interesting conversations around the dinner table.

Used to be. We've reached a non-meeting of the minds. Dad doesn’t like to see mom get riled up, and if mom won't mention the 6,000 years, I won't bring up the fossil bones.

It doesn't pay to bring work home from the office, so to speak.

Nope.

So peace prevails at the dinner table, inside your little trailer in Graceville.

Dent looked at Finney in mock dismay: "It's not just a trailer, Professor.  It's a double-wide!"

Finney turned right to head east on Tennessee. Traffic is always heavy on this road, he groused. It doesn't matter what hour of the day or night, you end up crawling from light to light. The passing lane is worthless because at least one person is always blocking that lane, going way too slow.

That's not true, Professor. I was cruising along just fine last Saturday. Hardly any traffic. I will grant that it was 3:30 am or thereabouts. That probably had something to do with it.

And I take it you were hell-bent on pursuing your scholarly studies at that early hour? Finney looked over at Dent, cracking the weighty tomes from the Dirac Science Library, no doubt.

"Well, I was hell-bent, all right, Dent replied, and technically, I was pursuing, if you need to know--"

I don't need to know, Finney interrupted. I'm not sure I want to know, even. But I think I'm beginning to see why you've been all-but-dissertation for the last year, with no apparent progress towards a worthy and commendable life as a degreed paleontologist. Not that I'm criticizing your lifestyle choices, he added.

"--and technically, at that hour, it was already Sunday, not Saturday," Dent concluded, as if Finney hadn't said anything.

They continued to drive deeper into Tallahassee. After a few moments of silence, Dent spoke up again. Speaking of traffic, Professor, and crowded highways an' toolin' around in classic cars, where are they?

Where are what?

Where are the remnants of the dino-highways and the classic cars they tooled around in?

There was a longer silence this time. Well, Finney started, but then paused to collect his thoughts. Well, it's a good question, and I've mulled it over.... but he let the sentence hang there unfinished for several moments, before starting up again. Firstly, I wasn't necessarily saying that any such supposed intelligent dinosaur species would have created a technological civilization. But that supposition is the easier hypothesis to analyze because such a civilization would have created artifacts that might have survived to this day. But it is also possible that there were one or more species of intelligent dinosaurs that did not produce a technological civilization and did not leave behind artifacts, not unlike the dolphins of our time which are believed by some researchers to be about as intelligent as we are, but which have not created a technological civilization and have not produced any artifacts at all, as far as we know.

Okay, Dent said. You've got to have a falsifiable hypothesis to be doing science. Otherwise, it's not much different than religion; a bunch of claims that cannot be proved or disproved, and therefore no way to get closer to the ultimate truth.  Maybe there were intelligent but non-technological dinosaurs.  But how would we ever know?  It reminds me of an argument I read about several years back where two paleontologists who specialize in human origins were talking about hypothetical changes in patterns of menstruation hundreds of thousands of years ago.  But to finish the argument, one of the researchers made the sarcastic comment that he had never seen a menstrual fossil.  And of course, Dent went on, that kind of fossil evidence will never be found because it's not the kind of things that gets preserved.  You have the same situation with non-technological dinosaurs.

Finney had stopped at a light. Now he turned right to head south on Magnolia. Right. One day somebody might find a fossil with a large braincase but it wouldn't tell us anything definitely, only suggest to us that that species had some kind of potentiality way back when.  But that would likely be the end of the story for us. Hard, strong evidence is a very different kind of thing.  And much harder to come by, Finney added to complete the thought.

Here's the next thing, Dent said. Let's assume the existence of these supposed intelligent dinosaurs. We both know that absence of evidence does not necessarily mean evidence of absence. But what about my question a few minutes ago? Where are the remnants of the freeways and the classic cars that these brainy dinos used to tool around in?"

Well, Finney started, as lots of eight-year-old boys know, the dinosaurs disappeared at the end of the Cretaceous, the famous KT boundary, about 65 million years ago.  That's a long, long time.  I think that even for researchers like you and me, it is difficult to fully comprehend the vast length of time of that duration.  Part of coming to such an understanding is realizing just how little of our vaunted civilization, how few the number of artifacts, would actually persist for 65 million years.  Even paleontologists, maybe even especially paleontologists, who have gotten used to finding bones of that age and even much, much older, haven't thought a lot about the preservation of things other than fossils.  They haven't had to.  Almost all of our evidence comes from fossilized bones, coprolites, trackways preserved in what used to be wet mud, and the like.

We're supposed to call it the Cretaceous-Paleogene these days, Dent observed. The K-Pg.

We is not me, Finney complained. Call me a fogey if you want.

Dent didn't say anything. Cars rust, you know, Finney added. The process of oxidation might seem slow to us, but it's actually quite fast. And in the end, not much remains.  Maybe there is a small stain in a section of rock somewhere; probably not even that much.  And as for highways, he added, I've spent a fair amount of time tromping around in some pretty remote areas out West.  And abandoned roads disappear back into the environment faster than you might assume. Asphalt roads especially, but all kinds of roads. They just don't last the way you think they would.

Hey, you know what?  A friend of mine whose hobby is highpointing told me the same thing not too long ago, Dent said.

What is highpointing?

That’s where people try to go to the highest geographical point in each state. It involves a lot of mountain climbing and hiking in wilderness areas.

What did your friend say?

Well, he said what you just said, that he'd come across some abandoned roads that looked like they were hundreds or thousands of years old, they were in such poor shape.  But of course nothing like that in this part of the world could be that old. And his point was what you were just saying: that non-maintained roads fall apart pretty quickly.

Right, Finney said. Before too long cracks appear in the surface. Weeds grow in the cracks, and their roots accelerate the process. And then bushes get going, and then trees. And in just a few decades the road is very hard to find; it's basically well along the process of being reabsorbed into the environment.  And we’re just talking tens of years here, not tens of millions of years.

The Krispy Kreme donut shop appeared, and Finney pulled into the parking lot.

As they were getting out of the vehicle, Dent said, By the way, Professor, the fact that I've been ABD for awhile has nothing to do with my lifestyle choices. You see, the truth is, I've been saddled with the sorriest thesis advisor in all of FSU. He looked over at Finney expectantly.

Oh, and who might that be?

The guy's name is Finney.  He’s a total loser.  I really wish you could put in a word for me at the department level.  He's messing up my whole career.  They shouldn't let people like that near sensitive grad students.  Could harm 'em for life.  The sensitive grad students, that is.  Finney, and his ilk, on the other hand, should be canned forthwith.

What's poor old Finney supposed to do after he loses his job at the university? Finney asked. Not to mention 'his ilk.'

Whale-Mart, Dent replied. Whale-Mart's always needin' cashiers. You can wait in line forever there, just to buy a case of beer. Not that I buy beer by the case, you understand. Also, somebody's gotta unload all those big trucks. Finney would be a natural. Strong back, weak mind. You know the type.

Maybe he could be a greeter, out front, Finney said, helpfully.

Oh, no. This Finney guy ain't a people person. He wouldn't do good there. Not at all. But he could be any kind of Whale-Martian, 'cept for bein' a greeter. And he'd be a natural. You know why?

I can't wait. Tell me.

Because he's got the part about bein' a Martian down real good already.

They both laughed.  Come on in, Mr. Sensitive Grad Student, Finney said, holding open the door to the shop. Looks like Mike is working today. But remember: not a word about intelligent dinosaurs.

Not even to Mike?  If you can't trust Mike, who can you trust?  Besides, he won't care.  He's one of our local evangelicals; thinks the world is 6,000 years old.  Probably not room in his cosmology for dinosaurs anyway, intelligent or otherwise.  I say we run the crazy theory of the crazy professor past Mike, the donut shop manager.  Get some ground truth from the common man. 

Finney winced. I say we don't!

They waved at Mike who was working in the back, and then walked over to the counter to place their orders. They got their usual donuts and coffees, and then found a place to sit down.

Dent started in again on the missing artifacts. Okay. Roads don't last and cars rust away. A technological civilization will create a huge array of things, many of which won't last very long in a geological sense. But some things will, right? Where are those other things?

Not necessarily, Finney answered. I've been looking into that because I asked myself the very same question. And what I've learned is surprising. It turns out that there is actually very, very little that we have made so far as a species that is likely to persist in the geological record for tens of millions of years. Have you heard of Yucca Mountain?

No.

Yucca Mountain is where the federal government has been trying to store all the radioactive waste that's accumulated over the last 50 years or so.  It's in Nevada, and not too surprisingly the people that live there don't want to have anything to do with it.  So Nevadans, along with environmentalists generally, have been fighting against it tooth and nail for years.  Meanwhile, rusting barrels full of radioactive waste are just sitting around all over the country waiting to start leaking because we as a country can’t decide what to do about it.  Not that I'm offering to store any of those rusting barrels in my backyard.

NIMBY, said Dent. Not In My Back Yard. How does this figure into the question of ancient artifacts?

Well, the U.S. Congress actually did something unusual in this instance.  Instead of just going ahead and passing another law, they ordered that a system be put into place that would warn future generations that there was something dangerous underneath the site where they propose to bury the radioactive waste.  Specifically, they ordered that a warning system be set up that would function for 10,000 years. As it turned out, this was a highly unusual request, something almost unique in human history.

How so? Dent asked.

Perhaps without realizing it, Finney said, by ordering the construction of this warning system, this messaging thing designed to function for 10,000 years, they placed the Yucca Mountain project at the intersection of two opposing objectives: extreme duration and intentionality.  I hadn't realized before I started studying this issue that there are old things that humans and proto-humans made a long time ago that we have found in the modern age, but which were not made with longevity in mind; and then there are other things that were intended to last a long time but haven't.

Dent looked confused.

Finney continued, for example, let's say that there was a Neanderthal tromping around 100,000 years ago with an ax in his hand—

Or her hand, Dent interrupted.

Okay, an ax in her hands, Finney went on, and she put it down, and for whatever reason she never returned to it.  Maybe she forgot about it.  Maybe she made a better ax.  Maybe she had to leave the area—

Dent interrupted again, Maybe a saber-toothed cat jumped from a tree onto her back, ripping her throat out with its giant fangs, and then used its powerful hind feet to disembowel her, kicking gory loops of intestine—

Enough! said Finney. I'm the one telling the story. And in my stories saber-toothed cats kill Neanderthal women sometimes, but they do it without a lot of blood. Anyway, the point is that 100,000 years go by and then some scientist comes along and finds this ax. Now we have in our possession an artifact that has persisted at least for a little while, geologically speaking, but when the lady Neanderthal dropped the ax, that's not what she had in mind at all.

Still not sure where you're going with this, Dent said, dipping his donut in the hot coffee.

Where I'm going is you need to combine that idea with what I'm about to say. The other side of that coin is that there have been artifacts that were constructed with the specific idea in mind of lasting a long time, sometimes a long time being defined as forever, Finney said.  Governments and kings throughout history have frequently set out to build giant temples and statues and so forth with every intention of having those symbolic artifacts last forever. But in fact, they don't last. They fall down. The engineering design is flawed, maybe. The construction materials are not up to the task. The project foreman uses cheap mortar; maybe he was bribed. The slaves are not enthusiastic. Earthquakes happen. Fires, floods, and all manner of disasters happen. And in the blink of a geological eye, this great statue commemorating King Zog, or the fire god, or whatever, falls apart, disappears. And then it's gone.

King Zog was real! Dent said.

What?

I read about that somewhere; there really was a King Zog once, and not that long ago, like early in the 20th century. King of Albania or some God-forsaken place like that.

Now it was Finney's turn to look confused. Your mind works in mysterious ways, son. It's a wonder you pass any of your classes, the way your thoughts drift around while people are talking to you.

They don't 'drift around,' Professor, they 'free-associate.' And I can't help it. Plus, free-associating can be a powerful way to come up with new ideas. I read that somewhere.

Maybe the same place you read about King Zog.

No, some other place. But you were trying to make a point.

"I was trying to make a point, but it's hard to do when your audience consists of a single grad student whose mind drifts, wanders, and free-associates all over the map from Albania to Zog."

Sorry. Do go on.

All right. The essential idea here is that things made by human beings that were intended to last a long time, forever even, didn't. And that only a few artifacts really have lasted a long, long time, and they did so only by accident, not on purpose.

Well, Dent said, in a slightly challenging tone of voice, the Earth is a big place, millions of square miles, and there have been thousands of years of history, countless civilizations have flourished and then disappeared, empires risen and fallen.  What you say makes intuitive sense, and may be generally true, but do we know that it's true for all times in all places?  You've obviously thought about the issue some, but has anybody really investigated the idea exhaustively?

Yes! Finney said triumphantly.  "Congress actually set aside money for a study to be made of this exact question and some professor in California got the contract for the study, did the investigation, and wrote a book about it.  The book is called Deep Time and the professor's name is Gregory Benford; he's a physicist."

And Congress wanted that exact question answered? Dent asked skeptically.

Well, what Congress really wanted was for Benford to come up with some kind of warning system to be installed above the buried radioactive wastes that would continue to function for 10,000 years. In order to get a handle on that, Benford needed to find out what technologies were already out there that he might be able to use or improve on. And what he found was that there was—nothing. Nothing—absolutely nothing—that human beings have built with the intention of lasting indefinitely, permanently, forever—has even come close to accomplishing that. Everything falls apart. Nothing lasts. Nothing is permanent, nothing persists. Everything is just-- and here Finney paused, searching for the right phrase.

Dust in the wind. Dent finished the thought for him.

Dust in the wind, Finney agreed.

What about CDs? DVDs?

Benford looked into that. One of his colleagues was surprised it was even an issue, because this other guy just assumed that CDs and so forth would last more or less forever. But Benford contacted an expert within the industry who admitted—off the record—that CDs might last 100 years at the outside. Or, they might not even last 10 years. Turns out, they are sandwiches of plastic layers, and a number of things can cause the plastic layers to come apart, delaminate. And one of those things is the simple passage of time. So, contrary to popular belief, don't expect your collection of audio CDs to survive in some time capsule somewhere. Because they probably won't.

Dent sipped his coffee. Okay, he said. What about Stonehenge? That's pretty old. How old is it?

Stonehenge is old, Finney agreed, at least in human terms. Not in geological terms. Stonehenge was dated recently, using some wood found at the site, and the answer that came back was around 4,000 or 5,000 years. I don't remember exactly. But even Stonehenge would fail to meet the Congressional mandate on both counts. One, it hasn't lasted 10,000 years. And two, it was probably intended to send some kind of message, but we don't know what that message is.

Yeah. If the Stonehengers were trying to warn us away from the site, their message hasn't gotten through. Just the opposite, in fact. Researchers and New Agers and all kinds of crazies have been crawling over the site for a long time.  Be funny if there was nuclear waste down there, wouldn't it?

If by funny you mean ironic, I suppose so, Finney said.  But your question about Stonehenge is a good one.  Benford concluded that human-built things which were designed to last forever which have persisted best are generally big and heavy and made of stone.  Like Stonehenge, the pyramids, and the Great Wall of China.  And not a one of those three has come close to lasting 10,000 years yet. One exception has come up since Benford wrote his book. A German archaeologist named Klaus Schmidt identified a formation in Turkey as being about 11,000 years old. It’s called Gobekli Tepe and not much is known about it yet, but the date seems firm, so let’s go with that.

I see, Dent said.

And can my little grad student compute for me what fraction of 65,000,000 years 11,000 represents?

Sure, Dent said enthusiastically.  All I need is access to the supercomputing facility back at FSU, a few hundred hours of processor time—dedicated, mind you, none of this time-sharing crap—and about half a million in stipend funding to keep me in rent, beer, gas, and girlfriend money.  I'll have an estimate for you in a year, two years max."

Never mind, Finney said. I can save the university and the taxpayer a bundle. I've already worked it out on a free calculator. And the answer is a bit more than one-hundredth of one percent.

One-hundredth of one percent, Dent repeated, thoughtfully. 

About, Finney said. A bit more. And that's assuming that this supposed intelligent species of dinosaur lived right at the KT boundary. The percentage would go down for species that existed earlier in time.

The two men sat silently in thought for several moments.

You two look like Buddha and his disciple, just sitting there staring into your cups. What's up? It was Mike, the store manager.  He sat down next to Finney.  Somebody say something.  Enlighten me!

Very well, my son, Dent responded. My disciple and I were just--

Hey, now! Finney interrupted.  "I'm the Buddha; you're the disciple—a disciple—one of many.  Interchangeable.  Replaceable." 

"Buddha means teacher, Finney said as an aside to Mike. Teacher, not grad student."

"Gee, Professor, you make grad student sound like something dirty, Dent pretended to complain.  And besides, I'm more than just a grad student.  I'm a doctoral candidate, ABD, all but dissertation.  The top dog.  The top banana.  The big enchilada.  The cream of the crop.  The king of the hill.  The—"

The Lord of the Flies, Finney added. Dent assumed a pained expression.

I've got a question for you, Mike, Dent said.  You believe the Earth and the whole universe are only 6,000 years old, right?

Probably, Mike said, carefully. I've got problems with the idea that the universe is 10 or 20 billion years old. As for the Big Bang theory, it's just that, a theory. And I think the idea of biological evolution is so unlikely there's no way it can be right.

OK, that's about what I thought. We've gone over this before. What I want to know tonight is this: what do you think the Professor and I do all day long in the field of paleontology, and why do you think we do it? Dent asked.

Well, I've never followed you guys around, so I don't know the specifics. But you come here a lot, and we've talked about these sorts of things before. I think what we have here is a couple of smart guys who have bought into the whole philosophy of antireligion that has become rampant in this country, and you go around digging up fossils and interpreting them through a lens of preconceived ideas that most of you scientist guys already believe in. And to answer your second question, Mike continued, you do it because you get paid to do it, and with my tax dollars too, I might add. Why do you ask?

Because I know what my motivation is, and I think the Professor's motivation is about the same, but sometimes I wonder what it looks like from a completely different perspective. I tried to put myself inside your head and look at me through your eyes. But it was all too weird, Dent said. It made my head hurt, trying to think about somebody spending his entire life pursuing something that I believed to be nonsensical.

Well, nonsensical may be too strong a word--

Finney interrupted, Do you mean that or are you just being polite?

No. I know you guys are smart. You're not a couple of fools. I believe in your fossils and I believe in your fancy equipment. I just think that at the end of the day, you're seeing what you expected to see when you got up in the morning. You go out there with a pegboard with round holes in it looking for round pegs, and if you find some round pegs, great. And if you find some that aren't so round, that's okay too, because you can make them fit into your board if you just hammer on them a bit.

But what about the fact there are so many of us? Dent asked.  There are so many geologists and paleontologists and astronomers. How can all of us be so wrong? And we're spread all over the world. There are lots of scientists in non-Christian countries who don't have a bone to pick with you guys, and yet they believe the same basic things that scientists over here do. What do you make of that?

Actually, there aren't that many of you, Mike responded. I read somewhere that there are only a few thousand astronomers in the whole world. But there are two billion Christians.  You're always saying you like numbers, right, Dan?  Mike said with a glint in his eye. Well, put those numbers in your pipe and smoke 'em.

He's got you there, Danny Boy, Finney said. "You've been hoisted with your own petard—or, dare I say it—you've been crucified with your own numbers."

Well, that's not what I meant all, Dent complained. It's not just me and the Professor that are duped and confused. It's thousands of highly trained people all over the world.

A few thousand still isn’t very many.  In other words, Mike responded, you're part of a small group of elitists. You say highly trained, but I say highly indoctrinated. You guys are a highly indoctrinated group of elitists who read the same journals, attend the same professional conferences, courtesy of Mike the taxpayer by the way, and drink the same Kool-Aid at those conferences, also courtesy of Mike the taxpayer.

We'll have to bring some Kool-Aid back from the next conference for Mike, Finney said.  After all, it's true that he does help pay for it.

Maybe you can bring some back for me, too, Professor Finney, said a feminine voice behind them.  I like Kool-Aid as much as anybody.  The voice came from Destiny, one of Mike's employees.

Greetings, Destiny, Dent said.  So glad you've come.  Mike was starting to wear out his welcome.  Don't know how you put up with him.

Mike's a trial, Destiny agreed.  But I have the conversation of intelligent teachers from Florida State to look forward to.  That's what gets me through the day.

Oh, she goes for the brainy type, Professor, Mike said.

You're wasting your time with Finney, Destiny, Dent said. I work with him day in and day out, and I happen to know you're not the type of woman he goes for. Nothing personal against you."

What type of woman does he go for? Destiny asked.

The inflatable type, Dent said, laughing.

You see what I have to put up with, Finney complained. Back in my day, graduate students were polite and respectful. Now they send me people like Danny Boy. But what can you do? Other than make sure he never gets his PhD, I mean.

Don't worry about never getting your degree, Dan. There's always a job for you here, performing an honest day's labor in the donut shop, like working the drive-through window or cleaning out the grease trap. Have you ever cleaned out a grease trap? It'll put hair on your chest. And there’s another benefit: no more brainwashing at those fossil fests; no more drinking the Kool-Aid. Be good for the taxpayer, too. Have I ever asked you if you've ever cleaned out a grease trap? Speaking of honest labor, Mike continued, Destiny and I have to do some of that.

Bye, Prof, Dan, Destiny said.

The two of them left the table to attend to newly arrived customers.

Hey! Dent shouted to Mike as he walked away.  Do you make Destiny clean out the grease trap?  Does she have hair on her chest?

Wouldn’t you like to know, Danny Boy? Destiny laughed.

Here's the next problem with your idea, Dent said, after Mike and Destiny stepped away.  Dinosaurs weren't too bright.  Everybody knows that.  Nobody's ever found a pair hunkered over a chessboard, ponderin' the next move. What's up with that?

Except that not everybody does know that, Finney answered. What we call dinosaurs evolved into birds, or a lineage of dinosaurs survived the KT extinction event and we know them today as birds, whichever you prefer--

Dent cut in, well, the problem with birds is that troublesome phrase 'birdbrain,' Professor.

Actually, it isn't a problem.  We are finding out, some researchers are finding out, that certain bird species are pretty darn sharp.  Corvids—crows and ravens, for example.  And especially parrots.  There's a lady named, uh, Pepperberg, I think, who worked with a gray parrot at MIT for 30 years.  She taught this one particular bird, Alex by name, hundreds of words.  She surmised that gray parrots might be the smartest species on Earth, after humans.

Gray parrots are smarter than dogs or dolphins, chimpanzees or baboons? Dent asked, skeptically.

Well, in her opinion.  But remember, she worked with this one parrot for 30 years.  This was no passing fancy of hers.  Also I read somewhere long years ago that researchers tried to trick crows to go into a barn where people holding what looked like shotguns were hiding. Some crows could count up to 20 would-be hunters, and they could remember that not all had left the barn, and they had the patience to wait until the last hunter left.

Dent made no reply.

Finney continued. "And what's more, a few years ago I saw a show where an ornithologist was studying the Clark’s nutcracker, also a corvid. A very laborious record was made of the food caches of individual birds.  These birds cache food throughout the summer in anticipation of lean times in the winter, a kind of planning ahead that is an indication of braininess.  When I say this work was very laborious, I'm not exaggerating.  The average bird created something like five thousand separate caches during the course of one summer.  And their retrieval rate was an astounding 90 percent.  They were able to remember and find well over four thousand caches in the winter, a task made more challenging by snow, which changes the appearance of the landscape dramatically.  Could you remember four thousand separate hiding places, or even four hundred?  I doubt I could.

This is just speculation on my part, Finney continued, "because I'm not a brain researcher. But I personally believe that gram for gram the brains of birds—and by equivalence, dinosaurs—are more efficiently organized than that of mammals. So they get more thinking done with fewer neurons.

One other point that is mainly speculation on my part, Finney said, has to do with the so-called second brain hypothesized to have existed in the spinal column of some dinosaurs—

Like the stegosaurids! Dent interrupted excitedly.

Yes, the stegosaurids are what I was thinking of, actually.  Let’s assume they had that second brain.  Firstly, that gives the animal more neurons to work with.  Secondly, doesn’t that strike you as resembling, at least vaguely, a modern computer network with distributed nodes, not unlike a biological version of the Internet?

The stegosaurids didn’t have to Google anything because they already carried their own search engines around with them! Dent said, smiling

I don’t know if I would go quite that far, Dan.

Why not? If you’re going to go off the deep end, Professor, go off the deep end.

I will ignore that last comment of yours, thank you. Now, if I may be allowed to editorialize a little bit, Finney continued, "let me just put in a plug for dinosaurs.  I know I'm probably biased in their favor because I study them, but I think they may very well have been fundamentally superior to mammals.  We're pretty confident these days that at least some were warm-blooded. In certain ways, laying eggs is a better reproductive strategy than giving birth to live young.  Obviously they were very successful from an evolutionary standpoint.  They dominated the land, the sea, and the sky for well over 100 million years.  They filled almost every ecological niche available to large animals.  They were literally the giants of evolution.  Nothing like them had ever been seen before, and nothing like them has ever been seen since.  They branched out into weird and wonderful forms.  They flourished.  In some ways they were the glory of evolution.  I think it quite possible that had the asteroid not totally disrupted the environment on a global scale, mammals never would have gotten a chance; they would still be confined to evolutionary backwaters: mice, hiding in mouseholes.

Dan, I don't think it's at all unrealistic to suggest that had there been no asteroid, had there been no KT extinction event, tonight there might have been two dinosaurs sitting down to share their coffee and talk about the what-ifs of evolution.  You and I might have been relegated to the role of tiny little rodents, waiting for their masters to turn the lights off and go home.

An interesting speculation, Dent mused.

Finney summed up by saying, The argument is that at least some birds are quite intelligent, despite the insulting term 'birdbrain' that we arrogant humans toss around at other life forms sharing the planet with us, and that dinosaurs and birds were very closely related; actually, they’re the same class of creature, as you know.

So, what's the point? Dent asked.

The point is, Dan—well, there are really two points.  Number one, dinosaurs gave rise to birds, and some birds today are quite smart.  Point number two is that the word 'birdbrain' is very misleading.  I think it's outright wrong, given what we are finding out about corvids and parrots.

But most if not all dinosaurs did have tiny brains, Dent said. They had giant bodies in some cases, but walnut-sized brains. Common sense tells me there's got to be some lower threshold below which there just aren't enough neurons available for high-level intelligence, not to mention designing ignition coils for classic cars.

Two things, Finney responded.  You said 'most if not all.'  I'm quite confident that we haven't come close to discovering the last dinosaur species.  Maybe we'll never do so, because the Earth is so big, and so much of the geological record is unavailable to us, buried under rock layers and so forth.  I think most researchers in the field would agree with me on that point.  A few hundred dino species have been named, depending on which expert you want to lean up against. But there are about 5,000 known species of mammals, and about 10,000 different types of birds.  And dinosaurs flourished for well over 100 million years, in three separate epochs.  So, let's say for the sake of argument that we've accurately identified 500 species of dinosaurs, just to keep the math simple.  What percentage of the total that ever lived would you say that represents?

Dent tugged at his goatee, a sure sign that an interesting question had been posed. He removed his wire-frame glasses and wiped the nose pads, an even better sign. He put them back on slowly, staring at the table, without looking at anything in particular. That's a good question, Professor. I've half a mind to make that an essay question on the final of that survey class I'm teachin' to the undergrads. Multiple-choice exams are so much easier to grade, but maybe they'll think about what I'm sayin' and what's in the book more carefully if they know their facin' some essay questions. There's no right answer, and I like that. They can dream up whatever number they want, but they'll have to defend their number.

Dent was rambling, but Finney knew that meant he was also thinking, and Finney had a lot of respect for the young doctoral candidate. But to prod him along, he said, Remember, there are 10,000 bird species alive right now, at just this one point in time.  So how many dinosaurs were there total in over 100 million years?

More like 150 million years, Professor.

Correct.

There’s another fly in your ointment—you’ve subtly misstated the problem. Methinks you’re trying to trip me up.

How’s that, Dan?

"You’re mixing apples and oranges, talkin’ about bird species and dino species when really you’re referring not to dino species but to dino genera."

Good catch. I just wanted to make sure you’re awake. You might toss that into your essay question and give extra credit to anyone who realizes that.

I need to know how many bird genera there are, Dent said.

About 2,200.

So, there are roughly five species per genera, then, Dent mumbled.

Close enough.

Dent sat there silently.

Now, Danny Boy, you can't be asking the undergraduates a question you can't handle yourself, Finney said, jokingly.

Hold your horses; I'm a-thinkin', Dent temporized.  He pulled out a small calculator and placed it on the table in front of him.  Try this logic on for size.  Let's assume that, on average, a species persists for five million years before it goes extinct.  That's just somebody's estimate I read somewhere, maybe in one of your classes.  The real number for any given species is going to vary wildly around that average, of course.  It seems like humans and proto-humans evolved really fast, but cockroaches have been chugging away in the fossil record since just about forever.

Not to mention that dump on West Pensacola you took me to once. How can you eat there? That place was disgusting.

Dent didn't appear to be paying attention. He busied himself punching in numbers. Okay. Wow. That's a small number. Let me do it again. Finney watched him patiently. Dent looked up, saying, You’ve already done this, haven't you?

Yes, Finney replied. But I want to see what you come up with. By the way, if you ask your students the same thing, this one question will have gone from associate professor, to ABD doctoral candidate, to undergraduate.

Okay, Dent said again.  Okay, here's my thinking. Let's say the dinosaurs lasted 150 million years. We know that with a lot of confidence. We also know with a high degree of confidence that there are about 10,000 species of birds alive today. I personally don't think we really have a good handle on how long any particular species lasts, but we'll go with that estimate of five million years.  So, he said, putting in the numbers a third time, we take 150 million and we divide that by five million, the estimated duration of the average species. That gives us 30, which represents the number of blocks of time in which for any given block we can expect there to be 10,000 different species.  This is almost too simple, he looked up questioningly to Finney, who nodded at him to go on. So, all we have to do is multiply the 30 blocks by the 10,000 species per block, which gives us a total of 300,000 separate species of dinosaur.  Then, we need to divide the 300,000 species by 5 to get the number of genera, which gives us 60,000.

And we've found, what, 500 genera so far? Finney asked.

Yeah. So … dividing 500 by 60,000 gives us a wee small number.  And I'll multiply that by 100, Dent said, talking mainly to himself, to give a percentage. And you know what, Professor? It ain't a big percentage.

No.

It’s less than one percent.

About what I came up with, Finney confirmed. And you know what would drive that number even lower?

Well, if the number of species was higher, or the average lifetime was lower, either factor would do that, Dent answered.

Right, Finney said.  But beyond the arithmetic, something that your analysis doesn't capture is the fact that today birds rule the air, but really, they're quite restricted beyond that.  Mammals fill most of the ecological niches for large animals in terrestrial environments today.  But back during the Mesozoic, the dinosaurs probably controlled a lot more of the niches. It was their time, after all. The Age of the Dinosaurs, Finney laughed.

Good point, Dent said.  So, what you're sayin' is that one percent could be a reasonable number.

Could be, Finney agreed. 

And the implication for our little discussion tonight is that this hypothetical species of brainy dino—the guys who tooled around in classic cars, an' maybe played dino-chess, is a-hidin' in the 99 percent of undiscovered species.  Dent looked up at Finney and asked, Could be?

Could be.

And their ignition coils or whatever have simply rusted away, Dent concluded. Finney shrugged and waved his hands helplessly.

Okay, professor, Dent said.  I can appreciate that maybe very, very little would remain from our modern human civilization if it were to disappear for some reason, and then 50 or 100 million years were to go by.  In fact, let's make that assumption.  But shouldn't something survive?  Like the hand ax of that Neanderthal woman?  She didn't intend to leave it there for somebody to find way, way in the future, but find it we did.  Therefore, even if nothing that was built to last on purpose has been found, shouldn't there be something remaining that was built by these hypothetical dinosaurs?  Something, somewhere, don't you think?  Why haven't we found it?

Two reasons, I think, Finney answered. First, there isn't likely to be much out there, assuming of course that there's anything out there. Second, nobody has looked, and nobody is looking. There are lots of paleontologists out there in the field chipping away at rocks, but each and every one of them is looking for bones, egg shells, coprolites, trackways, leaf impressions, insects trapped in amber, and the like. You tend to see what you're looking for, and contrarily, you tend not to see what you're not looking for. Just as a reminder, it wasn't until about 150 years ago that anybody anywhere looked for dinosaurs at all. Prior to that, and for thousands of years, nobody ever looked for dinosaurs.  And guess what? None were found.

Finney paused for a moment, trying to come up with something more emphatic. In fact, if you had said you were looking for dead, ancient, gigantic creatures that have since entirely disappeared, you would have been considered crazy.  What's more, in some times and places it might even have been physically dangerous for you to talk like that, especially if the local religion held the view that the world was more or less unchanged from the time of creation.

Okay, I can buy into all of that. But you know as well as anybody what Sagan said about extraordinary claims requiring extraordinary evidence. Not only do you not have any extraordinary evidence, you don't have any evidence at all. If there was a time way long ago when brainy dinos tooled around in classic cars, at some point somebody has to come up with something, a rusted-out ignition coil, if nothing else.

This time Finney didn't say anything. He didn't look at his graduate student, either. He just sat there pensively, staring at the dregs of cold coffee in his cup. Dent sensed he was thinking, and let the conversation lapse. Fifteen seconds passed, and then twenty, and then it was half a minute.

Finney at last looked up at Dent and said: I may have found one, Dan.

Now it was Dent's turn to be silent for several long seconds.  And then, "Found one what, Professor?"

Finney didn't respond right away, and Dent went on.  "Are you saying you found an artifact?"

I don't know what I found, Finney confessed.  "I know what it isn't, but I don't what it is. It isn't a fossilized bone or tooth. It isn't anything I've ever seen before...." Finney let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished.

For once, Dan Dent was at a loss for words. But he was paying close attention to his mentor, staring at his face intently.

Finney seemed to be waiting for his young friend to say something, anything, but except for the noise of the donut-making machinery, the room was quiet. They were the only customers remaining in the shop. It was almost closing time.

It isn't anything I've ever seen before, Finney repeated, and I know damn well you'll never see a picture of anything like it in a textbook or out on the Internet. And with that, he stopped speaking and looked up at Dent helplessly.

Finally, Dent managed to say something. I think we're both having a WTF moment, Professor. Scenario One: local paleontologist finds lost civilization, wins fame and glory. Plus Nobel Prize. Plus beautiful women. Scenario Two: FSU professor loses mind, ends up in psycho ward restrained and sedated, career in ruins.

You know, Mr. Dent, I've already thought about both those outcomes. The career-in-ruins part really worries me.

The two men looked across the table at one another for several long moments, not speaking. Suddenly, Dent picked up his coffee cup and drained the remnants, then almost slammed it back down in the space between them.  Okay, Dent said, this thing, ignition coil or whatever it is, you found it—when?  On your last field trip?  When you went to Utah last summer?

Finney nodded. Yeah. I mean yes. I went back to North Horn Mountain again. That place has a lot of nice outcroppings right at the KT boundary, as I've mentioned in class. Actually, he said as an aside, I need to take you there one day. Anyway, he went on, I was walking along a broken scarp on the afternoon of my last day at the site, visually inspecting the scree, when I noticed something in the rubble that just wasn't right.  It shouldn't have been there.  I thought it was trash at first, but North Horn is kind of remote, and I wasn't even on a hiking trail.  You really want a high-clearance vehicle just to get there. And then I see this ignition-coil thing sticking out of the ground—and by the way, it absolutely isn't an ignition coil--

Dent interrupted him. Then what is it? You say that you've never seen anything like it before, and that I'll never find a picture of it in any book; what the hell are we talking about? If it's absolutely not an ignition coil, then what, absolutely, is it?

Finney shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  He crumpled up his napkin and then stuck it in his empty cup.  Looking helpless again, he said, I absolutely don't know.

How big is this thing? What does it look like? What color is it? How much does it weigh? Where--

Slow down, young man, Finney pleaded. All your questions can be answered. Obviously, I need to show this thing to you one day. As for how big it is, it's a bit bigger than an ignition coil, he said nervously, waving his hands to indicate the approximate size.

Where is this thing, Professor? Dent asked. Did you take it home with you?

Yes.

You have it then?

Yes.

You have it locked away in a bank, a safe-deposit box? Dent pressed on.

Well, no. I didn't know what it was; still don't. So I just held on to it.

You just 'held on to it,' Dent repeated. Meaning what? Where the hell is it?

It's in my desk, Finney said, simply.

"It's in your desk? Back at FSU?"

Only desk I have, son.

"You have an alien artifact, and you just stuck it in your desk?" Dent said, raising his voice. Mike heard him over the noise of the machinery, and looked their way.

Finney winced.  Please!  Not so loud.  And, please, please don't call it an artifact.  Because, because that's not what … oh, hell!  I am so sorry I opened my mouth about this! 

Dent ignored his outburst. I want to see this thing, Professor!

Finney squirmed nervously in his seat. Sure. You'll get a chance to see it. I need to get a better grip on it myself first, though. Maybe bounce some of these ideas off some colleagues I know—under the radar, of course.

No, Professor, Dent said quietly but emphatically.

What?

No way you can hang on to this thing without letting me see it. I gotta see it and I gotta see it now. I can't wait.

Finney was temporizing and floundering all at once. Listen, Dan. Trust me. I'm going to show you this thing. I've told you about it, and you're going to see it. You need to understand my position. A scientist without his reputation—well, he's a greeter at Wal-Mart. You're the only one I've told about this, and you're the only one who’s going to see it, at least for now.  I've almost told you about this a dozen times before tonight, but I always got cold feet.  I highly wish I hadn't told you about it just now--

Well, you did, Dent interjected.

So I did, Finney agreed, unhappily.

Listen, Professor Finney. You can trust me one hundred percent. If you want to toss this thing into Lake Seminole after I've seen it, that's fine. I'll never mention it to anyone as long as I live, if that's what you want. If you want me to help you figure out what it is, where it came from, I'd love to be in on all of that. It'll be up to you every step of the way. We can study it for two months or two years or throw it away after two minutes. You'll be in full control.

Well, maybe, Finney said, weakly. Our positions are different. I have so much at risk.....

Dent leaned across the table and lowered his voice conspiratorially, I've got a lot at risk too. More than you do in some ways. I don't have my piled-higher-and-deeper sheepskin that says I'm in big-boy doctor of dinosaurology. And in paleontology, without that ticket-punch, you don't dig for dinos, you hand out carts at the entrance to a Whale-Mart somewhere. Maybe back in Graceville. And the rednecks I thought I got away from by goin' to school and studyin' hard, they're laughin' at me as I ring up their crap. As my thesis advisor, you got a chain around my neck. You control when I breathe and when I burp--

Finney laughed, It's not that bad.

Near enough. Besides, we trust each other, don't we? I got no interest in hurting you.

The two men locked eyes. Neither said anything.

Finally, Dent spoke up. You can't do this to me, Professor. You can't tell me you got a damn dinosaur ignition coil and then not show it to me. You're bein' like a hot chick who gets a guy all worked up but then looks at her watch and says, 'oh, look, it's eleven o'clock, time for the news; well, gotta run, see ya around.'

The older man sat there in silence, radiating tension.

Whatever you brung back from Utah, I gotta see it.

Maybe, Finney said, weakly. Maybe.

"No maybe about it, Professor.  That thing is in your desk and I gotta see it.  And not in two weeks or two months.  I gotta see it right now.  Tonight."

Finney seemed to visibly shrink into his seat.  Okay, young man; you win. I just hope I don't lose.

Don't you worry about that, Dent happily assured him.  "You found it, whatever it is.  This is your project from start to finish, and it can go anywhere you want it to go, or it can