"My apologies," Dr. Sato said. "We've been so self-absorbed with our own issues that we've become impolite. What exactly do you hope to find here?"
"An answer to the riddle of the mammoth."
"The Pleistocene extinction?" Maria said.
Karla nodded. "Picture this island twenty thousand years ago. The land outside our tent was green with vegetation. The earth shook with the thunder made by the feet of vast herds of Mammuthus. These creatures stood up to fourteen feet tall, making them the largest of all the elephants. Their great herds roamed the ancient world, going back more than three million years. They were in North America, from North Carolina to Alaska, in most of Russia and Europe, and even in Britain and Ireland. But by eight thousand B.C., they were nearly gone, except for remnants here and there. The herds of mammoths vanished, along with hundreds of other species, leaving their frozen bones to puzzle scientists like us."
"The extinction is one of the greatest mysteries in the world," Maria said. "Mammoths, mastodons, saber-toothed tigers-all disappeared from the face of the earth ten to twelve thousand years ago, along with nearly two hundred other species of large mammals. Millions of animals died on a global scale. What do you hope to find here?"
"I'm not sure," Karla said. "As you know, there are three theories explaining the extinction. The first is that the Clovis people hunted them to extinction."
"The main problem with that theory is that it doesn't explain the extinction in the rest of the world," Arbatov said.
"There is also no fossil evidence to support this idea, so we move on to theory two, that a killer virus swept through the mammal populations of the world."
"So you think the virus theory is the most plausible?" Dr. Sato said.
"Yes and no. I'll get back to it after we discuss the third theory, drastic climate change. Near the end of the period, the weather changed suddenly. But that theory has a big hole in it. Creatures on a number of islands survived. They would have died out if the extinction were weather related."
"So if it wasn't overhunting, or a virus or climate change, what was it?" Sergei said.
"The argument has always boiled down to two schools of thought.
Catastrophism, which says that a single event or a series of events caused the extinction. And uniformism, which maintains that extinction happened over a long period of time, from a number of causes."
"Which are you, a catastrophist or a uniformist?" Arbatov said.
"Neither. No single theory fits all the facts. I think it is all of the above, with the extinction set in motion by a cataclysm or series of cataclysms. Tsunamis. Volcanic eruptions that produced killing clouds and gas, altering the pattern of vegetation."
"There's a hole in that theory too," Arbatov said. "The evidence suggests that extinction occurred over a period of hundreds or thousands of years."
"That wouldn't be a problem. My theory takes into account the discovery of vast numbers of mammoths found tumbled in a common grave, and explains why some of the creatures survived long after that. Evidence demonstrates that many were killed by sudden violence. But we also know that a few mammoth species were around when the Egyptians were building the Pyramids. The cataclysm weakened the mammoth herds to a point where disease and hunters could polish them off. The extinction of certain species had a ripple effect. The predators that preyed on the mammoths and other creatures would lose their food source."
"I think you're onto something, but you're saying that this worldwide cataclysm occurred suddenly. One minute, the mammoths were peacefully chewing on grass. The next, they were on their way to extinction. Isn't that far-fetched?"
"Not at all. But I would be the first to admit that the theory of polar shift is controversial."
"Polar shift?"
"A realignment of the poles."
"None of us is a geologist," Arbatov said. "Please explain."
"I'd be glad to. There are two types of polar shift. A 'magnetic polar shift' would involve a reversal of the magnetic poles, causing all sorts of unpleasantness but nothing we couldn't survive. A 'geologic polar shift' would mean actual movement of the earth's crust over its molten core. Something like that could create a cataclysm like the one I believe killed the mammoths as a species."
Arbatov was unconvinced. "You're basing your extinction theory on the theoretical shifting of the poles? You'll have to admit that it's unlikely that such a disruption could occur."
"On the contrary. It has happened, and could happen again."
Arbatov made a show of taking Karla's glass. "Our guest has had a little too much vodka."
"I'll be glad to let you read my paper setting forth my theory, Dr. Arbatov. I think you'll find it enlightening. Especially the equations showing how a disruption in the electromagnetic field of the earth could precipitate a polar reversal."
An argument broke out around the table between those who agreed with her theory and those who didn't. Despite their civilized veneer, it was evident that some tension remained among the group. She wasn't surprised. Scientists were no different from anyone else, except they were possibly more vain and petty. Maria's forcefully pleasant personality broke up the verbal brawl.
"My apologies for being so rude to a guest," she said, shooting dagger eyes at her husband. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"
With Arbatov neutralized, the argument ended as quickly as it started.
"Maybe someone could show me where you found Babar."
She was told that it would not be a problem. Everyone helped Maria clean up. A short while later, Karla was in her sleeping bag.
The old building was remarkably tight and warm, and, except for the scurrying of tiny animals, she felt quite comfortable. In her excitement over the baby mammoth, she found it hard to sleep.
She remembered a good-night poem her grandfather used to recite to her when she went to live with him after her parents died.
She hardly got past the first line before she fell fast asleep.
19
The Trouts flew into Albuquerque late in the afternoon and drove to Santa Fe, where they stayed the night. Early the next morning, they got into their rental car and headed toward Los Alamos, which was located on a natural citadel atop the three mesas that extended from the Panaretos Plateau.
Trout noticed a change in his wife during the twenty-five-mile drive. She had been chatting about the scenery, wishing they had time to stop at an Indian pueblo, when she became uncharacteristically silent.
"A penny for your thoughts," he said. "Adjusted for inflation, of course."
"I was just looking at this peaceful landscape, thinking about the work here with the Manhattan Project and the terrible forces it unleashed."
"Someone was bound to do it. Just be glad that we were the first."
"I know that, but it still depresses me to think that we still haven't learned how to control the genie that we let out of the bottle."
"Cheer up. Nuclear power may be old hat compared to whirlpools and waves on steroids."
Gamay gave him a sour look. "Thanks for pointing out the bright side."
Los Alamos had changed a great deal from the day when Robert Oppenheimer and his team of geniuses figured out how to put the power of the atom into a metal, finned cylinder. It was a bustling southwest town with malls, schools, parks, a symphony orchestra and theater, but it has never been able to-or wanted to-escape its dark past. Although the Los Alamos National Laboratory is engaged these days in a number of peaceful scientific explorations, the ghost of the Manhattan Project lingers still.