She nodded. ‘I can produce a mathematical algorithm and use that as an alpha-numeric offset code. My duplicate should be able to recognize the pattern of the algorithm and produce a decode key.’
‘No,’ said Edward, shaking his head. ‘It’s too easy to break a math-based code. If they… you know, if they put a big enough computer on it, they could crack it. Simple.’
Kelly nodded. ‘And you can bet the NSA or the CIA or whichever bunch of spooks ends up calling will have no shortage of computing power at their disposal to crunch your code.’
‘There is no other way to generate a code that can be unlocked at the field office,’ said Becks. ‘My duplicate needs to have the same library of algorithms — ’
‘ Every math-based code can be broken,’ said Edward, his quiet voice finding a little more confidence, ‘you know? Eventually. It’s just a case of how much computer power you put on it.’
‘Edward’s right,’ said Howard. ‘Think about it, what if the message is discovered, say…’ He turned to Whitmore and Franklyn. ‘When did they first discover fossils in this place we’re headed to?’
Franklyn shrugged. ‘Early 1900s.’
‘Right. So if the American secret services of that time secured that fossil back then they’ll have had a whole century of time to crack the algorithm and decode it before they come knocking.’
‘But computers powerful enough to work on it were only developed in the ’80s,’ said Juan. ‘Don’ forget that.’
‘That’s more than enough time,’ said Howard. ‘They’ll come knocking knowing the entire contents of the message. Their only concern will be securing your agency’s HQ and confiscating all your technology. Your colleagues will be a secondary consideration.’
‘Your code has to be like a personal thing,’ said Edward. ‘Like a secret. Something only you and they know.’
Howard shook his head. ‘I’m thinking this is a seriously bad idea. We could end up really messing with history. And I thought you guys are meant to stop that kind of thing happening.’
‘And staying here, young man?’ said Whitmore. ‘What do you think that’s going to do to history? Homo- sapiens existing right now? Sixty-five million years before they’re due?’
Howard shrugged. ‘We won’t exist for long, though, will we?’ His words silenced the teacher. ‘You actually think the sixteen of us are going to survive and thrive? You think we’re going to breed and produce lots of offspring and establish a Cretaceous-era human civilization that’s going to change the world?’
Whitmore shrugged and half-nodded. ‘It’s possible.’
Howard laughed. ‘No, it’s not. We’ll eventually die out here.’ He looked around at them. ‘There are six females in the group.’ He looked at Becks. ‘Not counting you. I’m not really sure what you are.’
‘I am incapable of sexual reproduction,’ she replied flatly.
‘Six fertile females,’ continued Howard. ‘We might be able to make a few babies, but there are too few of us to sustain ourselves. If disease doesn’t get us, or some hungry carnivore, then in-breeding would eventually.’ He managed a wistful smile. ‘We’ll die out soon enough… months, years, decades maybe… but it’ll happen and history won’t be changed by us having been here. Maybe we shouldn’t do this. Maybe we should accept we’re stuck here and — ’
‘You can forget that!’ said Laura. ‘I want to go home!’
Kelly nodded. ‘I think we all want that, right?’
Heads nodded around the fire.
Liam sat forward, held his hands out towards the fire and rubbed them. ‘We’re doing the message, Leonard. We have to. Now I’ve just got to figure out something that only we… and they know.’
‘How big is your agency?’ asked Laura.
Liam smiled and replied hesitantly. ‘Oh, you know, it’s big. Lots of us, so there are.’
‘You know them well?’
‘Sure, we’re all pretty close.’
‘Friends?’
‘Yes, I’d like to think we’re — ’
‘Then maybe there’s something like a song, or a film or something? You know? Something like that you could use as a common reference point for — ’
Liam suddenly felt his hand being crushed by a vice-like grip. He looked down and saw Becks was holding it, and squeezing it.
‘Ow! Becks, you’re hurting me,’ he hissed. ‘What’s the matter?’
She let go and looked at him, her eyes widened with a mixture of surprise, and perhaps even elation. ‘I have had an idea, Liam O’Connor.’
CHAPTER 39
65 million years BC, jungle
From the darkness they watched them. Beyond the illumination of the dancing yellow flower in the middle. Broken Claw had seen this fascinating dancing creature only once before, after a storm. When a stab of light from the sky had come down and touched the long dead trunk of a tree. The yellow flower had engulfed it, consumed it, producing such unbearable heat as it did so. He’d been young then. And ever since then the yellow flower had been an occasional monster in his dreams, chasing him, reaching out for him, wanting so much to consume him.
And now here it was, tamed like some sort of a pet by these new creatures. They were gathered around it, unafraid of it, every now and then casually throwing a branch on to it and not even flinching as the creature reared up angrily, sending tendrils of light up into the dark sky.
He looked around at his pack, cowering further back down the slope, clearly unhappy at being out of the jungle and here in the open. This was not their terrain, this was not where they were strong. Open ground made them visible, it made them vulnerable. Larger predators existed in the open; large, lumbering and stupid predators like the tall upright one with tiny front claws, enormous jaws, powerful rear legs and a strong sweeping tail. His pack called it Many-Teeth.
Out in the open Many-Teeth could quite easily kill them all. After all, Broken Claw’s kind were small, fragile things compared to this powerful mountain of muscle and energy. But between them his family pack had killed quite a few in his living memory. And always in the same way: luring them into the jungle with the tempting cry of one of their young. A pitiful cry that perfectly replicated that of a young helpless plant-eater, a cry that signalled fear and proved an irresistible taunt to one of those large stupid beasts. Once among the densely packed trees, unable to sweep its tail easily, unable to turn quickly, the pack was always able to leap upon the various Many-Teeth they’d lured in that way and begin to tear through their thick hides and rubbery bands of tough muscle tissue to the vulnerable soft tissues inside as they thrashed and roared.
Broken Claw had led many such attacks in past seasons, always the first to gnaw his way through the hide and into the bellies of such creatures, slashing and pulling through the vulnerable insides as the creature still stomped and roared, pulling himself towards the throbbing red organ in its chest. It was slashing at this that usually felled a Many-Teeth. Broken Claw and the others knew that this organ — which seemed to have a life of its own, which every species of creature seemed to possess — was the source of its very life.
In the seasons of his youth, the jungles had once been full of the larger stupid species. So many of them in fact that they often killed many more than they could eat, often only bothering to consume their favourite organs and leaving the rest of the carcass to rot.
But there were fewer now, far fewer of the bigger creatures. They only existed on the plain these days.
Broken Claw understood a simple principle. They had hunted too many of them. They had been too successful for their own good in the jungle, and his family pack had been forced to migrate from one jungle valley to the next several times during his lifespan. Now too, in recent seasons, this jungle had become sparsely populated — another hunting ground that they’d almost completely exhausted.
There certainly was not enough food available in the jungle valley for these new creatures as well.
Slowly, lightly, he glided forward across the loose shale, mindful that his agile feet not dislodge anything that might make the slightest noise. Behind him he heard the soft barking cough of one of his mates warning him not to
