That view didn’t change until the 1960s, when a few renegade scientists, led by John Ostrom, began to imagine quick, agile, hot-blooded dinosaurs. Because these scientists had the temerity to question dogma, they were brutally criticized for years, even though it now seemed their ideas were correct.
But in the last decade, a growing interest in social behavior had led to still another view. Dinosaurs were now seen as caring creatures, living in groups, raising their little babies. They were good animals, even cute animals. The big sweeties had nothing to do with their terrible fate, which was visited on them by Alvarez’s meteor. And that new sappy view produced people like Tim, who were reluctant to look at the other side of the coin, the other face of life. Of course, some dinosaurs had been social and cooperative. But others had been hunters – and killers of unparalleled viciousness. For Malcolm, the truest picture of life in the past incorporated the interplay of all aspects of life, the good and the bad, the strong and the weak. It was no good pretending anything else.
Scaring little kids, indeed! Malcolm snorted irritably, as he walked down the hall.
In truth, Malcolm was bothered by what Elizabeth Gelman had told him about the tissue fragment, and especially the tag. That tag meant trouble, Malcolm was sure of it.
But he wasn’t sure what to do about it.
He turned the corner, past the display of Clovis Points, arrowheads made by early man in America. Up ahead, he saw his office. Beverly, his assistant, was standing behind her desk, tidying papers, getting ready to go home. She handed him his faxes and said, “I’ve left word for Dr. Levine at his office, but he hasn’t called back. They don’t seem to know where he is.”
“For a change,” Malcolm said, sighing. It was so difficult working with Levine; he was so erratic, you never knew what to expect. Malcolm had been the one to post bail when Levine was arrested in his Ferrari. He riffled through the faxes: conference dates, requests for reprints…nothing interesting. “Okay. Thanks, Beverly.”
“Oh. And the photographers came. They finished about an hour ago.
“What photographers?” he said.
“From Chaos Quarterly. To photograph your office.”
“What are you talking about?” Malcolm said.
“They came to photograph your office,” she said. “For a series about workplaces of famous mathematicians. They had a letter from you, saying it was – ”
“I never sent any letter,” Malcolm said. “And I’ve never heard of Chaos Quarterly.”
He went into his office and looked around. Beverly hurried in after him, her face worried.
“Is it okay? Is everything here?”
“Yes,” he said, scanning quickly. “It seems to be fine.” He was opening the drawers to his desk, one after another. Nothing appeared to be missing.
“That’s a relief,” Beverly said, “because – ”
He turned, and looked at the far side of the room.
The map.
Malcolm had a large map of the world, with pins stuck in it for all the sightings of what Levine kept calling “aberrant forms.” By the most liberal count – Levine’s count – there had now been twelve in all, from Rangiroa in the west, to Baia California and Ecuador in the cast. Few of them were verified. But now there was a tissue sample that confirmed one specimen, and that made all the rest more likely.
“Did they photograph this map?”
“Yes, they photographed everything. Does it matter? ”
Malcolm looked at the map, trying to see it with fresh eyes. To see what an outsider would make of it. He and Levine had spent hours in front of this map, considering the possibility of a “lost world,” trying to decide where it might be. They had narrowed it down to five islands in a chain, off the coast of Costa Rica. Levine was convinced that it was one of those islands, and Malcolm was beginning to think he was right. But those islands weren’t highlighted on the map….
Beverly said, “They were a very nice group. Very polite. Foreign – Swiss, I think.”
Malcolm nodded, and sighed. The hell with it, be thought. It was bound to get out sooner or later.