Forever
by Robert J. Sawyer
Everything we know about dinosaurs comes from a skewed sample: the only specimens we have are of animals who happened to die at locations in which fossilization could occur; for instance, we have no fossils at all from areas that were mountainous during the Mesozoic.
Also, for us to find dinosaur fossils, the Mesozoic rocks have to be re-exposed in the present day—assuming, of course, that the rocks still exist; some have been completely destroyed through subduction beneath the Earth’s crust.
From any specific point in time—such as what we believe to be the final million years of the age of dinosaurs—we have at most only a few hundred square miles of exposed rock to work with. It’s entirely possible that forms of dinosaurs wildly different from those we’re familiar with did exist, and it’s also quite reasonable to suppose that some of these forms persisted for many millions of years after the end of the Cretaceous.
But, of course, we’ll never know for sure.
Five planets could be seen with the naked eye: Sunhugger, Silver, Red, High, and Slow; all five had been known since ancient times. In the two hundred years since the invention of the telescope, much had been discovered about them. Tiny Sunhugger and bright Silver went through phases, just like the moon did; Red had visible surface features, although exactly what they were was still open to considerable debate. High was banded, and had its own coterie of at least four moons, and Slow—Slow was the most beautiful of all, with a thin ring orbiting around its equator.
Almost a hundred years ago, Ixoor the Scaly had discovered a sixth planet—one that moved around the Sun at a more indolent pace than even Slow did; Slow took twenty-nine years to make an orbit, but Ixoor’s World took an astonishing eighty-four.
Ixoor’s World—yes, she had named it after herself, assuring her immortality. And ever since that discovery, the search had been on for more planets.
Cholo, an astronomer who lived in the capital city of Beskaltek, thought he’d found a new planet himself, about ten years ago. He’d been looking precisely where Raymer’s law predicted an as-yet-undiscovered planet should exist, between the orbits of Red and High. But it soon became apparent that what Cholo had found was nothing more than a giant rock, an orbiting island. Others soon found additional rocks in approximately the same orbit. That made Cholo more determined than ever to continue scanning the heavens each night; he’d rather let a meatscooper swallow him whole than have his only claim to fame be the discovery of a boulder in space…
He searched and searched and searched, hoping to discover a seventh planet. And, one night, he did find something previously uncatalogued in the sky. His tail bounced up and down in delight, and he found himself hissing “Cholo’s world” softly over and over again—it had a glorious sound to it.
But, as he continued to plot the object’s orbit over many months, making notes with a claw dipped in ink by the light of a lamp burning sea-serpent oil, it became clear that it wasn’t another planet at all.
Still, he had surely found his claim to immortality.
Assuming, of course, that anyone would be left alive after the impact to remember his name.
“You’re saying this flying mountain will hit the Earth?” said Queen Kava, looking down her long green-and-yellow muzzle at Cholo.
The Queen’s office had a huge window overlooking the courtyard. Cholo’s gaze was momentarily distracted by the sight of a large, furry winger gliding by. He turned back to the queen. “I’m not completely thirty-six thirty-sixths certain, Your Highness,” he said. “But, yes, I’d say it’s highly likely.”
Kava’s tail, which, like all Shizoo tails, stuck straight out behind her horizontally held body, was resting on an intricately carved wooden mount. Her chest, meanwhile, was supported from beneath by a padded cradle. “And what will happen to the Earth when this giant rock hits us?”
Cholo was standing freely; no one was allowed to sit in the presence of the Queen. He tilted his torso backward from the hips, letting the tip of his stiff tail briefly touch the polished wooden floor of the throne room. “Doubtless Your Highness has seen sketches of the moon’s surface, as observed through telescopes. We believe those craters were made by the impacts of similar minor planets, long ago.”
“What if your flying rock hits one of our cities?”
“The city would be completely destroyed, of course,” said Cholo. “Fortunately, Shizoo civilization only covers a tiny part of the globe. Anyway, odds are that it will impact the ocean. But if it does hit on land, the chances are minuscule that it will be in an inhabited area.”
The Shizoo lived on an archipelago of equatorial islands. Although many kinds of small animals existed on the islands, the greatest beasts—wild shieldhorns, meatscoopers, the larger types of shovelbills—were not found here. Whenever the Shizoo had tried to establish a colony on the mainland, disaster ensued. Even those who had never ventured from the islands knew of the damage a lone meatscooper or a marauding pack of terrorclaws could inflict.
A nictitating membrane passed in front of Kava’s golden eyes. “Then we have nothing to worry about,” she said.
“If it hits the land,” replied Cholo, “yes, we are probably safe. But if it hits the ocean, the waves it kicks up may overwhelm our islands. We have to be prepared for that.”
Queen Kava’s jaw dropped in astonishment, revealing her curved, serrated teeth.
Cholo predicted they had many months before the flying mountain would crash into the Earth. During that time, the Shizoo built embankments along the perimeters of their islands. Stones had to be imported from the mainland—Shizoo usually built with wood, but something stronger would be needed to withstand the waves.
There was much resistance at first. The tiny dot, visible only in a telescope, seemed so insignificant. How could it pose a threat to the proud and ancient Shizoo race?
But the dot grew. Eventually, it became visible with the naked eye. It swelled in size, night after night. On the last night it was seen, it had grown to rival the apparent diameter of the moon.
Cholo had no way to know for sure when the impact would occur. Indeed, he harbored a faint hope that the asteroid would disintegrate and vaporize in the atmosphere—he was sure that friction with the air was what caused shooting stars to streak across the firmament. But, of course, Cholo’s rock was too big for that.
The sound of the asteroid’s impact was heard early in the morning—a great thunderclap, off in the distance. But Cholo knew sound took time to travel—it would take three-quarters of a day for a sound to travel halfway around the world.
Most of the adult population had stayed up, unable to sleep. When the sound did come, some of the Shizoo hissed in contempt. A big noise; that was all. Hardly anything to worry about. Cholo had panicked everyone for no good reason; perhaps his tail should be cut off in punishment…
But within a few days, Cholo was vindicated—in the worst possible way.
The storms came first—great gale-force winds that knocked down trees and blew apart huts. Cholo had been outdoors when the first high winds hit; he saw wingers crumple in the sky, and barely made it to shelter himself, entering a strongly built wooden shop.
A domesticated shieldhorn had been wandering down the same dirt road Cholo had been on; it dug in its four feet, and tipped its head back so that its neck shield wouldn’t catch the wind. But five of its babies had been following along behind it, and Cholo saw them go flying into the air like so many leaves. The shieldhorn opened her mouth and was doubtless bellowing her outrage, but not even the cry of a great crested shovelbill would have been audible over the roar of this storm.