The Pangaen Principle

by Jack Nimersheim

_(First appeared in "Dinosaur Fantastic" - DAW Books)_

_"To know yourself, you must be willing to learn from others."_

How often had Pietor Sinkovich heard these words, growing up in Talinn? More times than he could possibly recall. His father repeated them almost daily, as if they were a mantra. He even inscribed them on a wooden plaque, presented to his only son the day Pietor graduated from the University of Leningrad. The elder Sinkovich favored the older name, the one from before the dissolution of the Soviet Union. To say Pietor had been educated in a school called St. Petersburg made it sound as if his son held some useless theological degree, rather than the Doctorate in Biogenetics for which he strived so diligently, for so long.

Today, twenty years later and nearly a decade after his father's death, Pietor still treasured the unpretentious gift. It was one of his most prized possessions. Hanging on the wall, the crude, hand- carved plaque provided a stark contrast to the sterile medical equipment and modern electronic paraphernalia that threatened to crowd him out of his own laboratory. He sought inspiration in the unassuming words, words that provided eloquent testimony to their own veracity, whenever a particularly vexing problem threatened to frustrate his research.

Pietor Sinkovich was staring at the plaque, contemplating a father's simple wisdom, when the lab door swung quietly open.

"Earth to Dr. Frankenstein. Earth to the Dr. Frankenstein. Is the mad scientist accepting unannounced visitors at this time?"

"What? Oh, hello, little one. I'm sorry. I did not hear you come in."

"I'm sure you didn't, father. You had that blissfully preoccupied look on your face. Let me guess. You were gazing out across the millennia again, weren't you?"

"Guilty as charged, pumpkin. But only slightly. I journeyed back a mere 80-million years or so, this time."

"Dreaming of the dinosaurs again, eh? That's my Daddy. Let others recall with fondness obscure periods euphemistically referred to as the `good old days.' The great Dr. Pietor Sinkovich operates on a much grander time scale. He reserves his nostalgia for the entire Mesozoic era."

The source of this affectionate ridicule was Pietor's _most_ prized possession, although Katrina Sinkovich would protest vehemently against being described in such a manner. At seventeen -- a bright and beautiful young woman who each day became more and more a mirror image of the mother who had died giving her life -- Katrina considered herself no one's property, not even her father's. _Especially_ not her father's. She deeply loved the kind and gentle man who had raised her, to be sure. Like any teenager, however, Katrina also cherished the freedom of adolescence, without realizing that this freedom was largely illusory.

"And a glorious age it was, little one, that time of the thunder lizards."

"I know, father, I know. Allow me to continue, please. I've sat through this lecture so many times, I can repeat it by heart.

"`For over 150-million years the dinosaurs dominated our world. Their size was immense, their numbers legion. And their footsteps echoed across three geological periods -- the Triassic, the Jurassic and the Cretaceous -- collectively referred to as the Mesozoic era.'

"`From an evolutionary perspective, few creatures, before or since, rival the success of these magnificent beasts. Compared to the dinosaur, humanity itself is little more than a brief footnote in the annals of Earth's history.

"How was that, father? Did I get it right?"

"You certainly did, Katrina. Although you chose to omit some very critical details."

"I know I did, father. But I'm afraid you'll have to settle for the abridged version today. I just dropped by to say hello and to let you know that I'll probably be late for dinner this evening."

"And why might that be?" Pietor asked, although he already suspected the reason.

"I'm meeting Nikolai at the library in fifteen minutes. He's promised to help me study for my math exam."

"Ah, the handsome Nikolai. That makes the third night this week the two of you have seen each other. And here it is, only Thursday. You realize, of course, that I'm quite jealous of this young man who monopolizes so much of my daughter's time, these days."

"Grievance noted, father. But I trust _you_ realize that you have no one to blame but yourself. It was you, after all, who introduced the two of us."

"That I did, didn't I? And for perhaps the first time in my life, I fear I may have acted impulsively, without giving sufficient consideration to the consequences of my deed. Unfortunately, it's a little late to indulge in self-recrimination now, isn't it?" Pietor smiled and winked at Katrina, a subtle assurance that he was only teasing.

It truth, Pietor liked Nikolai Vostov. And he could not help but notice how happy his daughter seemed to be, since she and Nikolai had started seeing each other seriously.

"Well, child, you had best be on your way. I'd hate to make you late for your, _ahem,_ studies. As for dinner, don't feel too badly about that, Katrina. My own responsibilities promise to keep me working long into the evening. To be honest, I spent much of the day trying to figure out how to diplomatically inform you that _you_ were going to have to dine alone tonight. I'm relieved to hear that my concerns were unnecessary.

"I'll tell you what. Why don't you and Nikolai go out and grab a bite to eat together -- after you've completed your work at the library, of course? My treat. Consider it a father's attempt to atone for the guilt he feels, over abandoning his young daughter to spend the evening with a bunch of old dinosaur bones."

"Why, thank you, kind sir." Katrina grinned and curtsied as she accepted the money her father offered her. Enough of the little girl survived within her to display such childlike behavior from time to time. "And, father, try not to work too late tonight, please. You've been looking awfully tired lately. I worry about you."

"I'll be fine. You just concentrate on passing that math exam tomorrow. Now, scoot."

Katrina's observation had been correct. Her father was tired. Exhausted would be an even more appropriate word to describe the way he felt. His fatigue, however, was unavoidable. For two decades, Pietor enjoyed the luxury of pursuing his research in a slow and deliberate manner. An unexpected discovery changed all of this. He still remembered the phone call that forced him to shift his pet project into overdrive.

"Pietor! Are you sitting down?"

"Rashad? Is that you? It's been so long since we last spoke, I almost didn't recognize your voice. How have you been?"

"Forget the small talk, Pietor. There'll be plenty of time for such pleasantries, later. Right now, I have some wonderful news to tell you."

Rashad Kirmann was the last person Pietor would have expected to hear, breathless and excited on the other end of the line, when he picked up the telephone. Exuberance was not an attribute one normally assigned to the noted paleontologist. Cold. Stoic. Somber. Impassive. Each of these and a dozen other, similar adjectives were used to describe Rashad, in the numerous articles and profiles that had been written about his professional accomplishments. This particular afternoon, however, Kirmann sounded downright euphoric.

"Calm down, Rashad. You sound as if you're ready to burst."

"Indeed, I am, Pietor. As you will be, once you hear what I have to tell you."

"Well, then, do so quickly, old friend, before you succumb to a heart attack."

"We have DNA, Pietor!"

"I hate to burst your bubble, Rashad, but a couple of Noble Laureates named Crick and Watson beat you to that little discovery by more than half a century. I'm surprised you missed it. It was in all the journals."

"Don't be a wise ass, Pietor. Obviously, I wasn't referring to human DNA. I happen to have in my laboratory several amazingly well preserved dinosaur bones that, if one can trust the preliminary results of our tests, may contain a viable sample of DNA. My guess is they belonged to a seismosaur, based on the photographs I've seen of other, larger fossils recovered from the dig at which my team unearthed them.

"Now, are you at all interested in hearing more about this miraculous find, or would you rather continue trading puerile banter back and forth for the duration of our conversation -- which, I can assure you, won't last very long, if such is your intent?"

The two men talked for over three hours. Theirs was a serious discussion concerning a potentially extraordinary discovery, one that presented to Pietor Sinkovich a professional and personal opportunity about which, prior to now, he had only been able to fantasize. By the time he hung up the phone, Pietor's own euphoria matched, if not surpassed, that of his friend and colleague.

The first time Pietor Sinkovich examined the small vials containing the various bone samples forwarded to him by Rashad Kirmann, his mind wandered back to a lecture given by one of his college professors. In it, the professor compared the joys of scientific discovery with a fad embraced by American youth, early in the previous century.

Turning over one of the vials in his hand, he tried to visualize these young people, half a world away, contemplating a jar of . . . what was it called? Ovaltine. Yes, that was it. Pietor could imagine their youthful exuberance as, sifting through the fine powder, their tiny fingers finally found the coveted prize, a Captain Midnight decoder ring. Oh, in that moment, the enigmas they must have aspired to uncover, the mysteries these young children undoubtedly hoped to solve!

Pietor experienced a similar exhilaration, now.

Kirmann informed him that additional tests had established an even higher probability that the bone fragments did, indeed, contain Deoxyribonucleic Acid. DNA. And not just any DNA. Preserved DNA from a dinosaur! A coded message of life transmitted through history.

No. More than this. If, indeed, the genetic blueprint of a seismosaur lay trapped within these ancient remains, Pietor was holding a biological thread that stretched across a span of time so vast, so immense, its other end was anchored in an epoch that _preceded_ history. Exposing the secrets entangled within the deceptively unsophisticated double-helix of this biological thread would reveal previously unknown information about grand and magnificent creatures that last wandered the Earth tens-of-millions of years in the past.

And if he could do that . . .

No, Pietor admonished himself. Successful scientific inquiry relied on precise procedures. The most fundamental of these was to establish and maintain strict priorities. It was not prudent to anticipate what _might_ be accomplished beyond your immediate task, before that task was itself completed. Evaluate, then extrapolate, based on the results of your objective analysis.

First things first. And the first thing Pietor had to do was determine exactly what he was dealing with. There would be plenty of time later to speculate on the wondrous things that could be possible, using the genetic tools fate may have placed within his grasp.

Kirmann's decision to contact Pietor Sinkovich had not been based exclusively on their friendship. Among his colleagues, the unassuming Russian was considered one of the world's preeminent biogeneticists. Given the number of bright stars illuminating this relatively new and highly specialized field of scientific research, such kudos represented no small accomplishment. Although a naturally modest man, Pietor recognized the honor inherent in the recognition of one's peers. There were times, however, when he questioned whether his abilities matched his reputation.

Case in point: the weeks immediately following Rashad's call. The proverbial needle in a haystack would shine forth like a beacon at midnight, compared to a single, elusive strand of DNA embedded within a fossilized bone. Ferreting out this genetic chimera was a tedious and time consuming process. Pietor had to constantly remind himself that the speed with which he was making progress -- or, to be more precise, the lack thereof -- was dictated by the complexity of the challenge confronting him, rather than any absence of skills on his part.

He began by extracting several minute core samples from a number of the bone slivers. After grinding these samples into a fine powder, each was given a bath. This cleansing did not involve anything as mundane as soap and water. Rather, Pietor used a special acid mixture that, although it was corrosive enough to break down the minerals in each sample, preserved any organic materials it might contain. "Tough on dirt, but gentle on your hands . . . or any other living matter, for that matter," Pietor would quip, whenever he was asked to describe the process.

This acid bath transformed the pulverized bone chips into gelatinous puddles of chemical soup. Pietor then passed what remained of each sample through a series of special filters he jokingly referred to as his "Soup-er Sieve." These filters were designed to extract large particles, leaving behind a highly distilled liquid in which Pietor might possibly -- and, he had to keep cautioning himself, only possibly -- discover a biological Holy Grail, the search for which had preoccupied much of his adult life.

Pietor honored his pledge to proceed methodically right up until the afternoon a complex combination of chemical dyes revealed the existence of viable DNA within one of the liquefied bone fragments. The instant this telltale stain appeared, his focus shifted from discovery to dreams.

The announcement captured the world's imagination. Within a single week, the proud duo of Kirmann and Sinkovich graced the covers of _Time_, _Newsweek_, and _Discover_. The following month a comprehensive if somewhat clinical account of their achievement, complete with exhaustive descriptions of the exact procedures used to unearth, identify and isolate the tiny DNA sample, appeared in the prestigious scientific journal, _Nature_.

Pietor accepted his sudden fame gracefully. Whenever possible, however, he deferred to Kirmann on those occasions when opportunities arose to bask in the glow of public acclaim.

Let Rashad enjoy this brief moment in the limelight; and, indeed, the normally reserved paleontologist seemed to be doing exactly that. Living within the shadow of his associate suited Pietor just fine. He still faced months, possibly years, of experimentation. Each minute he did not have to waste satiating the public's seemingly endless curiosity freed up an additional minute for his own research, which he now pursued with renewed fervor.

Pietor reacted sharply to the sound of the opening door. This being the weekend, he did not expect any visitors -- or unwelcome interruptions, to put it more bluntly.

"What? Who? Oh, it's you, Katrina."

"Oh, Daddy," his daughter sighed, glancing around the laboratory. One look told her everything she needed to know.

The air in the room was stale, laden with the odor of constant occupation. Assorted burettes, flasks and petrie dishes, the contents of which Katrina could only speculate about, challenged half-empty food containers for space on the desk, tables and countertops. It was obvious that her father had been working virtually around the clock, stopping only long enough each night to catch a few hours of sleep on a cot he had set up in one corner of the room.

Katrina walked over to this makeshift bed and smoothed out the rumpled sheets, picked up the crumpled feather pillow. "Oh, Daddy," she sighed a second time, hugging the pillow to her chest and burying her face within it.

"What do you want, child?" Pietor asked brusquely.

When she looked up, Katrina was weeping. She dabbed her eyes with a corner of the pillowcase. "I want to talk, father. I want to talk about you. About me. About you and me. About me and Nikolai."

"Can't this wait until I get home? I'm very busy here."

"You're always busy, these days. And you're always here. Take today, for example. Did you know it's Saturday?"

"Of course I do, child. I haven't forgotten how to read a calendar."

"No, I'm sure you haven't. But do you remember what Saturday this is?"

Irritated, Pietor closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He tried to recall what his daughter might be referring to. The look on his face communicated clearly his inability to do so.

"You, Nikolai and I were supposed to take the train to Talinn today. I purchased our tickets weeks ago. I even reminded you about it Wednesday morning -- which, you probably don't realize, is the last time I saw you.

"Well, this morning the two of us went to the station, positive that you would be there. We waited until our train departed. That was two hours ago. Damn it, Daddy! I can't believe that you forgot."

"You watch your tongue, young lady. No daughter of mine uses language like that."

"How would you know? You haven't been home often enough these past few months to have any idea _what_ I do."

She was right, of course. Since isolating the DNA uncovered by Kirmann's team, Pietor had dedicated almost every waking hour to his research. He left the lab only rarely. But didn't what he was trying to accomplish justify such sacrifices? Especially now, when success seemed so near.

"You just don't understand, Katrina. What I'm working on here is important, more important than anything else I've done in my entire life. Surely, you and Nikolai can think of some other way to occupy your weekend. Here. This should cover the cost of whatever the two of you decide to do."

Katrina did not take the money from her father's outstretched hand. Nor did she acknowledge his offer in any way. Instead, she walked in silence toward the door. When the young woman did finally speak -- her back to the room, one hand already reaching for the doorknob -- her voice was indifferent, almost a monotone.

"There's something I have to tell you, Daddy. Don't worry. I'll do so quickly. After all, I wouldn't want to interrupt your precious experiments." Opening the door, Katrina turned around to face her father. There were no longer tears in her eyes. Like her voice, they also lacked any emotion. "Last night, Nikolai asked me to marry him. We were hoping to discuss our plans with you this weekend, during the train ride to Talinn. Since you obviously don't have time to concern yourself with such mundane matters, however, I'll simply inform you that I have decided to accept his proposal.

"And now, father, I'll leave. Don't worry. I won't bother you again."

A pneumatic hiss, the sound of the laboratory door closing slowly behind her, punctuated Katrina's parting words. Pietor wanted to go after his daughter. He started to, until he remembered the group of cultures he'd prepared earlier that day. They required his immediate attention.

He could always talk to Katrina later, after she'd calmed down. Right now, he had to analyze the results of several critical tests. If they were what he expected, dinosaurs would wander the Earth once again.

And beyond that? This close to success, it was impossible to ignore the possibilities.

Pietor returned home three days later, exhausted but elated. He was also confident that, once he told Katrina what he had achieved, she would forgive him his uncharacteristic selfishness of the past several months. Then he and his daughter -- and her new fiance, of course -- would reschedule their trip to Talinn.

Together, they would travel to the city in which Pietor had spent his youth, the city in which Katrina was born. On the train, the two young lovers would inform Pietor of their desire to wed and, after the appropriate amount of hesitation and feigned uncertainty, he would consent.

Once they arrived in Talinn, they would visit the small cemetery containing the graves of his wife and father. There, Pietor would tell Nikolai about the family into which he would soon be welcomed. He would tell Katrina everything he remembered about the woman she resembled so closely that, at times as his daughter was growing up, it had been impossible for Pietor to look at her without considering what might have been, if only things had turned out differently. He would tell them both about an uneducated yet wise man who raised his son and then helped raise a granddaughter, after his daughter-in-law's unexpected death left Pietor alone with a newborn child -- a responsibility for which the then-young biogeneticist found himself sorely unprepared.

Together, they would laugh. They would cry. They would experience emotions impossible to convey with a single word. And then, when he felt the time was appropriate, Pietor would tell Katrina and Nikolai of his accomplishment. He would explain how, as a direct result of the startling discoveries he'd made while working with Kirmann's DNA samples, these marvelous people, this wonderful family, would soon be more than just a memory.

Only after he returned to St. Petersburg -- having shared an amazing secret for a short while with his daughter and the man she loved -- only then would Pietor once again don the scientist's frock and reveal his latest triumph to the rest of the world.

"Katrina!" Pietor shouted, as he burst through the door of the apartment. "Katrina, come quickly! We have such wonderful plans to make!"

Pterodactyls in flight suits. Tyrannosaurs in tweed. Surreal and serendipitous images merged into one another like slides on a carousel -- changing too rapidly to be perceived clearly, remaining visible just long enough to register on your subconscious. His father slogging through a primeval swamp, naked, knee-deep in the mud and muck. Maria, his wife, screaming in pain. Then, an instant later, weeping with joy as she clutched an infant to her breast.

The child lay motionless. It did not appear to be breathing. Smiling, Maria extended her arms, slowly, tenderly, offering the infant to some unseen observer of this macabre tableau. Suddenly, inexplicably, the tiny body began to dissolve -- individual cells breaking off, seeping through his wife's outstretched hands like grains of sand slipping through an hourglass. When Maria saw what was happening, she began to laugh. An instant later, she screamed.

Pietor awoke with a start. He had fallen asleep at the desk, his head resting on his arms. No lights were on in the laboratory. Pietor was alone in the darkness.

Outside, it was snowing. A damp, oppressive snow. The kind of snow to which people quietly acquiesce, seeking temporary sanctuary in a warm and cordial place. Their home. A church. The neighborhood tavern. Anywhere they were not forced to confront the elements. Anyplace they could share their forced hibernation with friends or, if necessary, only acquaintances.

The thick, white shroud muffled the familiar din of civilization. Even echoes, their vibrations effectively muted by the dense and frigid air, did not disturb the silence that had descended over St. Petersburg.

Pietor would have been sitting in his laboratory, alone, even if the city were not under Nature's siege. He had nowhere else to go.

A handwritten note lay on the desk in front of him. He did not need to see Katrina's words to know what they said. Pietor had read them so many times since finding the envelope addressed to him on the kitchen table, they were branded into his memory.

_Dear Father,

I wish I didn't have to write this, but I must. I have moved out of the house to live with Nikolai. We still plan to marry, probably in the Spring, but I could not stay here until then, not with the way things are. I don't think you realize how much you've changed in the past few months, since you and Dr. Kirmann announced your discovery. I can no longer watch what you're doing to yourself, to me, and to everyone else around you.

Once, you were passionate about your work. I respected that. And I loved and respected you in large part because of your dedication.

Lately, however, you've become obsessed with your research. This new attitude, I hate. And I realize that I have to get away from here before I end up hating you, also.

Do you remember how resentful Granddaddy became, just before he died? I do, even though I was very young then, only seven or so. This was in the waning days of the Great Empire, as he called it.

I recall asking you once why Granddaddy seemed so bitter. You explained to me, in your patient way, that he was unwilling to accept the changes happening around him. Instead, you told me, Grandaddy wanted things to stay the way they were, the way that, in his mind, they had always been. "If your grandfather would treasure the past but live in the present," you told me, "he would be a much happier man." In the end, I believe this bitterness and unhappiness contributed to his death.

I have helped you collate enough of your notes to understand what it is you're trying to accomplish. I know that you hope to resurrect the seismosaur by replicating and reproducing its DNA. This seems, on the surface, to be a wonderful achievement. I also believe, however, that I've figured out your ultimate goal. I know about the cell samples you took from Granddaddy and, yes, even my mother, before they died. If you are attempting what I suspect, then you're making the same mistake Granddaddy did.

Please, father, recall your own words, before it's too late. I don't want what happened to him to happen to you. I love you too much to watch that.

Today disappears with the fulfillment of its own promises. In this way, the present surrenders itself to the future. And once today becomes yesterday, it is gone. Forever.

It cannot be recaptured. It cannot return.

I don't know if any of this will make any sense to you. I can only pray that it does. If it does, you know where to find me.

Katrina_

The Earth had changed dramatically in the 65-million years or so that had passed since thunder lizards last wandered the planet. Gone was Pangaea, the single, monolithic land mass upon which the dinosaurs originally evolved. Plate tectonics had slowly but inexorably divided it, subdivided it, and then subdivided it yet again, into seven distinct continents, until it was, quite literally, a new and different world.

The arrival of _Homo sapiens_ on the scene accelerated this process. Unable to leave nature to its own devices, humanity had etched additional and artificial divisions into the Earth's surface. Provinces now existed within regions, which existed within nations, which existed within the countries that arbitrarily partitioned the planet.

Where did a 160-foot, Brontosaurus-like creature from a primitive era fit within this geological and political Chinese puzzle box? Surely, the alterations humanity had made to the Earth would overshadow even this mammoth beast, in much the same way he once towered over nascent mammals with whom the dinosaurs once shared a primeval planet -- ironically, the ancient ancestors of a humanity that had displaced him.

The dinosaurs once dominated the world, to be sure. And yet, Pietor was forced to admit, the world over which they ruled no longer existed. Their present, in the words of his daughter, had surrendered itself to the future.

It was relatively easy to detect change across such a vast time period. And, as Katrina was so fond of pointing out, Pietor tended to perceive things on a grand scale. But could his daughter be correct in her other assumption, as well? Was it possible that the same principle also applied at the more personal, human level?

The world of his father no longer existed. Like Pangaea before it, the monolithic empire under which he'd lived his entire life had split asunder. It had been divided, subdivided and subdivided yet again, into numerous, smaller nations, not all of which recognized the sovereignty of the others. Border skirmishes and internal civil strife still erupted constantly -- pitting friend against friend, neighbor against neighbor and, in some cases, brother against brother.

What kind of man would his father be, Pietor had to wonder, reborn into such a world? How might he develop, amidst such madness? Surely, whoever evolved from the few strands of DNA Pietor had available as a template would not be the same person he had known and loved.

And what of Maria, Pietor's wife, Katrina's mother? How many times had he imagined a life that might have been, had she survived? And yet, wasn't Maria, like his father, a human amalgam of unique experiences -- culminating, and then ending, with the birth of a daughter Pietor loved more than life itself? Mammals did not flourish until the dinosaurs disappeared. One could not prosper, until the other passed away. Was it possible that, in some curious way he could not hope to comprehend, Maria's death served a similar purpose?

So many questions. So much uncertainty. Searching his own soul, Pietor could find no answers -- at least, not with the degree of certitude his current decision demanded. He needed counsel. He needed someone to analyze the potential consequences of his planned actions from a perspective other than his own.

Grabbing his coat off the back of the chair, Pietor picked up Katrina's note, folded it carefully, and placed it in the pocket. Surely, his daughter and her fiance would be home on a night as inclement as this one. As he opened the laboratory door, light from the hallway spilled into the darkened room, briefly illuminating a small, hand-carved plaque on the opposite wall.

_"To know yourself, you must be willing to learn from others."_

Tonight, the wisdom contained in his father's epithet would once again transcend the generations.

-----

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