Bastion Science Fiction Magazine - Issue 4, July 2014 by Alex Hernandez George S. Walker Eleanor R. Wood Robert Quinlivan Peter Medeiros Hannah Goodwin R. Leigh Hennig
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jaw.
She froze, holding her breath. After a long moment, she exhaled and resumed her blind groping. She squirmed forward, forcing her arm farther into the crevice.
And there, where she should have felt a gap around its leg, or rocks pinning it, she felt where the leg met solid rock. There was no hole, no crevice. The leg simply joined solid rock.
#
Dr. Huntington found the captain on the bridge.
“I know where it is.”
“Where what is?” said the captain.
“The mascon. It’s on Malta. Or under Malta. We have to go there.”
“How do you know it’s there?”
“Because I finally got enough bloody data to do a triangulation!”
“Malta is a mountain. From the sea floor.”
“I know that,” said Huntington, annoyed. “But there’s more mass now. Way too much.”
“We’ll see what we can arrange, Dr. Huntington.”
“This is what I came for. You have to–”
“I don’t have to do anything,” snapped the captain. “This vessel is not your bloody yacht. There’s a command hierarchy here, and you aren’t at the top of it.”
#
In the morning, Yasmine dragged herself into the cave. She’d cried herself to sleep last night, from loneliness and from knowing she couldn’t free the pterodactyl. She’d have to tell the authorities about the UXB and the cave. Once she did that, the area would be cordoned off. The dinosaur would be probed, scanned and analyzed. She’d never see it again.
She clambered over rocks to the back of the cave. The pterodactyl watched her.
She heard a sound beneath it in the rocks, a hissing whistle. She lay down on the rocky surface like the day before and cautiously reached her hand into the crevice, touching the creature’s leg. She felt sand spitting against her fingers, like a crab digging itself into a hole on the beach. Gingerly she felt downward toward the rock.
Today, there was a sandy gap around the pterodactyl’s leg where it was buried in the rock. The sand and the gap hadn’t been there yesterday. Something was digging it free.
She pulled her hand out of the crevice and brought her face close to the pterodactyl’s.
“What are you?” she whispered.
Its dark eye looked at her.
She looked more closely into the eye. And saw stars.
#
Lieutenant Spencer joined Dr. Huntington in the officer’s wardroom.
“Weather’s getting worse,” said the lieutenant, “but we’re going north. That should cheer you, mate.”
“The captain wasted a day heading south,” Huntington snapped. “Who was that supposed to scare? The Libyans? The Syrians?”
“You’ve never been in the service, mate. Never question the brass. What are we doing when we reach Malta?”
“Gathering more data. Look for signs of something unusual; not a black hole, but something that acts like it.”
“What do you do when you find one? What’s it good for?”
“It can't be a black hole, because that would destroy Earth. But if it were? You could drop things in it and watch what happens: Hawking radiation, particle-antiparticle pairs at the event horizon. We could use it as a power source, like a reactor. Connect two of them and you have an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, a space-time wormhole.”
“And if it’s just a mountain?”
Huntington sighed. “Then we go rock climbing.”
#
Within a day, the pterodactyl had freed its legs, and Yasmine pushed the remaining rocks away. It clambered over rocks with a grace that belied its large, awkward frame.
Yasmine sat beside it at the cave opening, looking out at the Mediterranean. Clouds filled the sky, and sheets of rain moved across the beach and surf. She inhaled the smell of the downpour. The pterodactyl’s head swung slowly from side to side, scanning the horizon.
She stroked its wing gently. “Can you fly?” she asked.
Its eye looked at her, and she leaned closer.
Looking into the eye, she saw an image of herself and the pterodactyl, sitting in the cave. In the image, the pterodactyl spread
She froze, holding her breath. After a long moment, she exhaled and resumed her blind groping. She squirmed forward, forcing her arm farther into the crevice.
And there, where she should have felt a gap around its leg, or rocks pinning it, she felt where the leg met solid rock. There was no hole, no crevice. The leg simply joined solid rock.
#
Dr. Huntington found the captain on the bridge.
“I know where it is.”
“Where what is?” said the captain.
“The mascon. It’s on Malta. Or under Malta. We have to go there.”
“How do you know it’s there?”
“Because I finally got enough bloody data to do a triangulation!”
“Malta is a mountain. From the sea floor.”
“I know that,” said Huntington, annoyed. “But there’s more mass now. Way too much.”
“We’ll see what we can arrange, Dr. Huntington.”
“This is what I came for. You have to–”
“I don’t have to do anything,” snapped the captain. “This vessel is not your bloody yacht. There’s a command hierarchy here, and you aren’t at the top of it.”
#
In the morning, Yasmine dragged herself into the cave. She’d cried herself to sleep last night, from loneliness and from knowing she couldn’t free the pterodactyl. She’d have to tell the authorities about the UXB and the cave. Once she did that, the area would be cordoned off. The dinosaur would be probed, scanned and analyzed. She’d never see it again.
She clambered over rocks to the back of the cave. The pterodactyl watched her.
She heard a sound beneath it in the rocks, a hissing whistle. She lay down on the rocky surface like the day before and cautiously reached her hand into the crevice, touching the creature’s leg. She felt sand spitting against her fingers, like a crab digging itself into a hole on the beach. Gingerly she felt downward toward the rock.
Today, there was a sandy gap around the pterodactyl’s leg where it was buried in the rock. The sand and the gap hadn’t been there yesterday. Something was digging it free.
She pulled her hand out of the crevice and brought her face close to the pterodactyl’s.
“What are you?” she whispered.
Its dark eye looked at her.
She looked more closely into the eye. And saw stars.
#
Lieutenant Spencer joined Dr. Huntington in the officer’s wardroom.
“Weather’s getting worse,” said the lieutenant, “but we’re going north. That should cheer you, mate.”
“The captain wasted a day heading south,” Huntington snapped. “Who was that supposed to scare? The Libyans? The Syrians?”
“You’ve never been in the service, mate. Never question the brass. What are we doing when we reach Malta?”
“Gathering more data. Look for signs of something unusual; not a black hole, but something that acts like it.”
“What do you do when you find one? What’s it good for?”
“It can't be a black hole, because that would destroy Earth. But if it were? You could drop things in it and watch what happens: Hawking radiation, particle-antiparticle pairs at the event horizon. We could use it as a power source, like a reactor. Connect two of them and you have an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, a space-time wormhole.”
“And if it’s just a mountain?”
Huntington sighed. “Then we go rock climbing.”
#
Within a day, the pterodactyl had freed its legs, and Yasmine pushed the remaining rocks away. It clambered over rocks with a grace that belied its large, awkward frame.
Yasmine sat beside it at the cave opening, looking out at the Mediterranean. Clouds filled the sky, and sheets of rain moved across the beach and surf. She inhaled the smell of the downpour. The pterodactyl’s head swung slowly from side to side, scanning the horizon.
She stroked its wing gently. “Can you fly?” she asked.
Its eye looked at her, and she leaned closer.
Looking into the eye, she saw an image of herself and the pterodactyl, sitting in the cave. In the image, the pterodactyl spread
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