that there are still plenty of surprises in this big, beautiful universe of ours.
"Here, at the Smithsonian Desert Paleontology Research Station, we'll be able to study this new life-form in safety and security-but openly, sharing our discoveries with the world for the entire benefit of humankind. There will be no secrets kept back, no chance
that this discovery could be misused in any way except for the good of humankind. Not only that, but the fossil itself will tell us volumes about theropod dinosaurs, in particular Tyrannosaurus rex-their anatomy, cellular biology, how they lived, what they ate, how they reproduced. And finally, we will learn a great deal more about that momentous event sixty-five million years ago, when the Chicxulub asteroid struck, causing the greatest natural disaster ever to befall our planet. We already know that these mysterious alien microbes, these Venus particles, were carried to Earth on the asteroid and were spread by the impact, because a fragment of that same asteroid was found on the moon by the Apollo 17 mission.
"These alien microbes were the last nail in the coffin of the dinosaurs. Whatever dinosaurs survived the impact were killed by a deadly pandemic, a plague to end all plagues. Without the complete and total extinction of the dinosaurs, mammals would never have evolved into anything larger than a rat and human beings would never have existed. So you might say that these particles cleared the earth for us. The asteroid and the epidemic started the great chain of evolution that led to the appearance of human beings."
Crookshank paused, breathed deeply. "Thank you."
Applause filled the room. The director of the Smithsonian Institution, Howard Murchison, strode to the podium, a bottle of champagne in one hand, and shook Crookshank's hand. He turned to the audience and the cameras, smiling broadly.
"May I ask Robbie Weathers to come up?"
Robbie flashed a smile at Tom and Sally and walked to the podium. There the director grasped her hand and placed the bottle of champagne in it.
"Lights, please."
A bank of lights snapped on behind him, spotlighting the heavy curtain drawn across the far end of the hall.
"May I introduce Robbie Weathers, daughter of Marston Weathers, the man who found the dinosaur. We've asked her to officiate at the christening."
There was a burst of applause.
"We can't actually break a bottle of champagne over the dinosaur, but we can at least raise our glasses to it. And who better to do the honors?" He turned to Robbie. "Would you like to say a few words?"
Robbie held up the bottle. "This one's for you, Dad."
More applause.
"Drumroll, please," said the director.
A canned drumroll sounded over the PA system, and at the same time the draperies at the end of the hall drew back, exposing a brightly illuminated laboratory behind a thick sheet of glass. On a set of massive steel tables in the laboratory the astonishing fossil had been laid out in pieces, still partly jacketed in matrix. Preparators had already exposed much of the dinosaur's skull and gaping jaws, twisted neck, clawed hands and feet. More than ever it gave the impression of trying to claw its way out of the rock.
The director held up his hand and the drumroll stopped. "Time to pop the cork. Robbie."
Robbie struggled with the cork, twisting it back and forth. With a pop the cork flew over the heads of the crowd, champagne gushing from the mouth of the bottle. There were cheers and clapping. Murchison caught part of the stream with his glass, raised it to the great fossil, and said, "I christen you Robbie, the Tyrannosaurus rex."
A huge cheer went up. Waiters appeared from the wings and walked through the crowd, bearing silver trays loaded with flutes of champagne.
"A toast! A toast!"
The hall filled with the sound of talk, laughter, and tinkling glassware as everyone toasted the great beast. Cries of "To Robbie, the T. Rexf sounded in the hall, while John Williams's score to Jurassic Park burst over the loudspeakers.
A few minutes later Melodic rejoined Tom and his group. They clinked glasses all around.
"It's going to be such a kick unlocking the mysteries of that fossil," said Melodic.
"It must be the dream of a lifetime," said Ford.
Crookshank laughed. "I was always a dreamer, but in my wildest dreams I never thought of anything quite like this."
"Life is full of surprising turns, isn't it?" said Ford, winking. "When I entered the monastery, I never would have guessed it would lead me here." "You don't look much like a monk," said Crookshank. Ford laughed. "I'm not, never was-and now never will be. The hunt for this
dinosaur made me realize I'm not cut out for a life of contemplation. The monastery was the right thing at the right time, but not for the rest of my life."
"What're you going to do?" Tom asked. "Rejoin the CIA?"
He shook his head. "I'm going to hang up my shingle as a private investigator."
"What? A detective? What would the abbot say?"
"Brother Henry heartily approves. He says he knew from the beginning I'd never become a monk, but it was something I'd have to discover for myself. And so I did."
"What kind of detective?" Sally asked. "Chasing cheating husbands with a camera?"
Ford laughed. "Not at all. Corporate and international espionage, cryptography, cryptanalysis, science and technology. Similar to what I did for the CIA. I'm looking for a partner." He winked at Tom. "How about it?"
"Who, me? What do I know about espionage?"
"Nothing. And that's exactly how it should be. I know your character-that's enough."
"I'll think about it."
There were some more cheers as the director opened another bottle and began circulating among the press corps, refilling their glasses and listening to their complaints.
Ford nodded at the dinosaur head with its bared teeth and hollow eyes. "That tyrannosaur did not go gently into that good night."
"Rage, rage, against the dying of the light," murmured Melodic.
Ford sipped his champagne. "While you were giving your speech, Melodic, a. rather offbeat idea occurred to me."
"What's that?"
Ford glanced at the beast, then back at Melodic. "Let me ask you this: what makes you think the Venus particle is alive?"
Crookshank smiled, shaking her head. "Well, you're right that technically it doesn't meet our current definition of life, because it isn't DNA-based. But it meets all the other
definitions of life in terms of its ability to reproduce, to grow, to adapt, to feed, to process energy, to excrete waste products."
"There's a possibility you don't seem to have considered."
"And what's that?"
"That the Venus particle is a machine."
"A machine? What, like a nanomachine? Built for what purpose?"
"To ensure the extinction of the dinosaurs. Perhaps it is a machine built to manipulate or direct evolution, which was seeded on an asteroid headed toward Earth-perhaps even on an asteroid pushed toward Earth." "But why?"
"You said it yourself. To make way for the evolution of human beings." There was a brief silence, and then Melodic laughed uncomfortably. "That is an offbeat idea. Only an ex-monk could have dreamed up something as crazy as that."
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am greatly indebted to my editor at Tor/Forge, the inestimable Robert Gleason, for his ideas, brilliance, and excellent editorial guidance. At Tor I'd also like to thank Tom Doherty, Linda Quinton, Elena Stokes, Eric Raab, and Dana Giusio. I would like to thank Lincoln Child, my partner in literary crime, for his many excellent suggestions. I am most grateful to Eric Simonoff, Matthew Snyder, John Javna, Bobby Rotenberg, Niccolb Capponi, Barbara Peters, and Sebastian Pritchard.