‘Usually,’ she said in her strong, slanted accent, and for a second, we could have been back in a lecture theatre, ‘evolution is a delicate balance of adaptation, and specialisation. However, it appears to be these – motherfuckers!’
Dr. Rodrigo withdrew her hand sharply from the nest. There was a long gash running down her finger, and along and almost down to her wrist. Blood surged and flowed through the lines of her palms. She swore again. ‘The kit. Get the kit.’
‘Let’s move away from the nest first,’ I suggested.
We made our way back through the ferny undergrowth a small distance to a clearing. I unclipped my backpack and rested it against a tree. The medical supplies were in one of the assessable side pockets. Rodrigo held out her wounded hand, which I cleaned and sanitised. I had to double check which of the repair shots were best suitable.
‘The yellow one. Let’s save the red ones.’
I did as she asked, and attached the cartridge to the little bolter and selected one of the veins of her sinewy, dry wrist. I glanced at her face. She was staring at the pine needle treetops, pointedly looking away. ‘You ok?’
‘Yeah, yeah course.’
‘Good.’ I fired the shot. There was a click as the trigger locked, a whirr, then another click as the needle pierced her skin. Rodrigo’s fingers gave a little spasm. ‘There we go.’ I dismantled the bolter. ‘Now, I clean this up for you… and dressing.’ As I worked up the wound, it had already started knitting itself back together, the natural clotting allied with the injected catalyst. ‘There. Hopefully it won’t scar. What happened?’
‘The fucker grew these teeth things.’ Rodrigo said, flexing her fingers and glancing back. ‘And lashed at me.’
‘You should have been more careful with the tag. They’re dangerous. It’s quite the adaptation, being that adaptable. Did you get it on?’
‘Yeah, it’s in there. It definitely digested it. Where are the eggs, sorry, the spawn we gathered?’
I pointed to my backback again. I checked the first aid box was secure and snug in its compartment, then shouldered the large bag again. It was very hot, pressing unpleasant the back of my slimy shirt. I brushed hair out of my face, and my fingers brushed again salty, dried sweat on my cheek.
She glanced at her watch. ‘That’s most of them tagged. I don’t know of any other nests we can do before sunset and mum comes home’.
We began the trek back to the rendezvous point. Rodrigo didn’t seem to be in much of a talking mood after the accident. We were passing through a clearing when there was a number of low, reverberating sonic booms, and I looked up, noticing several vapour trails streaming across the otherwise empty sky. A number of the bestial winged tree dwellers took flight in alarm.
‘We’re not expecting supplies are we?’ I asked.
‘No. They might not be anything to do with our camp.’
‘What do you suppose those are descended from?’ I pointed at the big bat-like shapes that were now circling above us on the air currents. Occasionally they let out a gurgling cry. ‘They look like birds.’
‘Uh. There aren’t many tetrapods in this biosphere.’ Rodrigo watched them too. ‘It looks like most of them died out fairly early on. I have no idea what they are. But they’re not very related to our adaptable little friends’. Rodrigo smiled for the first time since the nest. ‘Funny little fuckers aren’t they? Well, the babies anyway… Should be a fantastic resource for our research.’