One more small town marked the turnoff to Sanbona. Many kilometers later they found themselves working to maintain their poise as the scanner attached to the terminal at the park’s entry gate took its time examining their maniped identification. A seven-meter-high double electrified fence marched off to east and west as far as the eye could see. Ingrid was struck by the barrier’s height and depth. From the brochures she had perused on the box she had some idea of what the fence was designed to contain, but it was far more impressive when viewed in person. The terminal’s voice was cool and synthetic as it requested payment. Whispr expressed his surprise with a whistle and an epithet. As she had ever since they had left Savannah, Ingrid gritted her teeth and paid.
“The mobiads say this is a unique place, even for Africa. It had better be.”
“They also say specific sightings ain’t guaranteed.” Whispr gripped the 4×4’s wheel. “I’ll settle for a few of the usual and one special.”
The methodical gate voice continued. “You acknowledge that you are entering a vast and largely undeveloped wilderness area that is home to a number of species that are potentially dangerous to Naturals and Melds alike? Each adult will please signify their understanding by voiceprint.”
“I do,” Whispr declared.
“I do,” Ingrid added.
“You further acknowledge as consenting adults of sound mind that the SAEC Parks and Preserve Board bears no responsibility for any ill or injury that may befall you in the course of your sojourn in Sanbona Preserve, up to but not excluding the possibility of dismemberment or death?”
“Uh, yeah,” mumbled Whispr.
“Please acknowledge by saying ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ If English is not your primary language please choose from the following …”
“I do,” Whispr added hastily. Ingrid added her agreement after him.
“A variety of accommodations from tents to luxury rooms are available at Dwyka Lodge. All self-guiding visitors are required to check in at the main ranger station by nightfall on their date of arrival. Failure to check in will result in immediate expulsion from the Preserve and possible prosecution under SAEC’s preservation code. No private travel is allowed in the Preserve before sunrise or after sunset. Removal of anything from the park, be it organic or inorganic, is a prosecutable offense. Removal of or harm to any fauna constitutes a felony punishable by a fine of not less than ten thousand rand plus prison time.”
“Serious little bastard of an infochip, isn’t it?” Whispr muttered under his breath. Louder he said, “Directions?”
“Please press a standard communicator or other recording device against the terminal.” Beneath the scanner’s translucent vandal-proof armor a green oval glowed brightly. Removing his unit from his pocket Whispr pressed it against the softly pulsing plastic surface. Seconds later a beep indicated that the transfer of information had been completed. He then handed his unit to Ingrid. The doctor touched it to her own more expensive handheld and the information was transferred a second time. Each of them now had access to everything they needed to know about the Preserve; its history, size, flora and fauna, facilities, roads, and more.
Slipping his device into the multistandard receptacle slot on the roadster’s dash and voicing a request produced a three-dimensional heads-up display that showed the destination lodge and ranger station squinched down on the near side of a lush river valley. Unlike on the N1 there was no automedian here to take control of their vehicle and guide it to its destination, but by the same token it would be hard to get lost unless they deliberately went off-road. Its business concluded, the efficient terminal bid them a pleasant if emotionless farewell.
“Enjoy your visit to Sanbona. Remember the hallmarks of a successful visit. Take nothing but memories and leave no body parts behind. Under no circumstances should you exit your vehicle anywhere within the Preserve except in areas clearly marked and fenced for that purpose.”
Accompanied by a soft electronic chirping the tall gate in front of the visitors opened to admit them. Once their vehicle had advanced inside the first fence line the gate closed behind them. Only when it was shut and latched did the second inner gate open to finally allow them into the Preserve.
They drove slowly, letting the heads-up that had been downloaded from the entrance terminal guide them in the direction of the only place visitors were allowed to stay within the Preserve. There was no camping in Sanbona, and for good reasons. Watching her companion as they abandoned the last pavement and the supposed road became more and more difficult, Ingrid could see his expression slowly fall, his excitement subside.
“What’s the matter? Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“I thought—I dunno, doc.” He waved a hand to take in their surroundings. Towering gray escarpments and scrub-covered plains now dominated the horizon in every direction. The high double fence had long since receded behind them. Though it was graded, the single-lane thoroughfare would not pass muster as a decent country road back in Georgia. “I thought there’d be jungle, or at least—what do they call the open spaces here with all the thousands of animals?”
“Veldt.” She shook her head sympathetically. “That’s all in East Africa, Whispr. And the jungle is in the middle part. Down here where we are—this is like Arizona, not the Congo.”
“To come all this way …” Overflowing with disappointment his voice trailed away. “We might as well make a loop or turn around and get started toward our real destination.” In front of the roadster clumps of lavender and yellow wildflowers splotched the otherwise dull terrain as if the rocks had been drizzled with paint.
Moving from left to right, a herd of shapes sprinted across the road in front of them. Some kind of antelope, Ingrid told herself as her heart raced a beat. Springbok, most likely, or klipspringer, or maybe even red hartebeest. She couldn’t be sure. The time she’d spent reading about the place had been brief. Whatever they were, they were moving fast. Almost, she thought, as if something might be after them.
Something was, and it had been chasing the antelope toward its mate.
His jaw dropping, Whispr slammed the roadster to a gravel-scattering halt as something massive and muscular erupted from a cluster of boulders off to their right to smash into one of the fleeing springbok. The impact alone was sufficient to break the prey’s neck.
“Holy Hell,” Whispr yelled, “a white lion!”
Ingrid was staring, her mouth also agape. When she finally found her voice again it was to point out the stunningly obvious. “It’s white, but that’s no lion, Whispr.”
The “one special” Whispr had hoped to see had more than justified their visit.
With the initial shock of the ambush over he was able to see how right she was. This was one of the sights they had come for but could not be certain of encountering in Sanbona’s hundred thousand hectares, far less in such dramatic fashion. The rugged terrain and vast amount of open space, the lack of tourists who opted for more famous game parks like Kruger and Addo, made it ideal for the purposes of the gengineers who operated the Preserve’s main facility. Sanbona was a place where the fruits of reverse genetic engineering could roam free and enjoy a privacy and seclusion unavailable to animals in more level, easier to negotiate preserves.
The Smilodon that had struck the antelope was not pure white but more of a mature pale beige color. As it lay panting on its belly with one massive paw resting protectively atop the dead springbok its mate, who had chased the herd into the ambush, appeared off to the left. Padding leisurely across the dirt roadway directly in front of the 4×4 and its awed occupants she yawned as she approached the kill. The razor-edged upper incisors thus revealed were more than a dozen centimeters long and pointed like knives. Both of the light-colored, spotted predators had stubby tails and were stocky of build, more like bears than cats.
The 4×4’s electric engine made no noise, allowing Whispr and Ingrid to watch in fascination as the two hulking sabertooths tore into the fresh carcass. She could not have s
aid how much time had passed since the kill before she finally murmured to her companion.
“Well? You wanted to see animals.”
Whispr muttered something under his breath. “After this it’s gotta be all downhill, and I don’t mean the road.” He nodded forward. “What now? Do we just drive around them?”
“I guess so.” The kill, thankfully, had taken place just to the right of the graded route. “Unless you think they’ll try to eat the car.”
He didn’t laugh. Thrust downward by powerful muscles, those saber teeth might conceivably penetrate a windshield. Fortunately the big cats paid no attention to the vehicle as it trundled silently past. Ingrid looked on with a physician’s detachment as the apex predators efficiently ripped the dead springbok into sections, tearing off limbs and chunks while using their scimitarlike teeth to open up the belly and other soft parts of the kill. Only when the roadster had moved on and the bloody scene had vanished behind them did she speak again.
“Do you want to head for the lodge or keep driving? This is your big deal, your payoff for agreeing to come with me. So you’d better make the most of it.”
He considered his options. A check of the sky showed that they still had a couple of hours until sunset. A broad smile spread across his narrow face. The rare expression made him look like an entirely different person and a childish enthusiasm infused his words.
“Let’s go find some mammoths.”
Having become skilled at melding their own species it was hardly surprising that some gengineers and biosurges with an interest in paleontology had chosen to devote themselves to the even more exotic efforts to reconstruct the megafauna of the preboreal Holocene. Working with DNA extracted from frozen and otherwise preserved creatures they had managed to reach as far back in time as the late Pleistocene. Restoring creatures who had gone extinct even more recently quickly became commonplace. Tasmania was once again home to free-ranging thylacines while New Zealand and Madagascar featured farms that flocked with giant elephant birds and moas. The moas’ traditional ancient predator had also been brought back to life, but unlike its prey it was not allowed to roam free in the skies over Aotearoa. Since a Haast’s Eagle could carry off a child as easily as it could a moa its range was restricted to the interiors of several gargantuan aviaries.
As soon as the science became viable the whole question of resurrecting ancient predators had been subject to serious debate. In the end it was decided that a sabertooth cat living in a nature preserve or park was not any more dangerous than a present-day lion or tiger, and in many ways less so since it was not as fast. Bringing the American cheetah back to the plains of Namerica to once again chase down its natural prey, the fleet-footed pronghorn, turned out to serve as a natural and welcome brake on the exploding cougar population. Previously extinct dire wolves mixed easily with their modern gray, Mexican, and timber cousins. But due to political pressures the more dangerous resurrected predators like Smilodon were not yet allowed in North America, Europe, or developed Asia. In contrast Africa offered plenty of sites well away from population centers as well as unrivaled experience in managing large numbers of megafauna.
Still, only in a few select locales could one hope to encounter the full range of once extinct Pleistocene and Holocene animals. Because of its rugged terrain and the cost of admission, among the largest and least visited of these was Sanbona.
Much to Whispr’s obvious disappointment they didn’t see any mammoths as they took their time wending their way to the lodge. They did encounter a small herd of woolly rhinoceros grazing in the river canyon. There was also a family of Irish elk led by a magnificent stag. Cropping grass close to the lodge itself was a herd of beautiful bluebuck. Occupying a similar plot of land on the south shore of the straight but slow-moving river, ranger station and visitor center alike sheltered behind curving double walls of the same high electrified wire that encircled the entire vast Preserve.
The lodge complex was more extensive than Ingrid expected from the information that had been provided by the mobiads. It boasted not only a variety of accommodations but several restaurants, multiple gift shops, and proper recharging stations for the use of private as well as Preserve vehicles. One of her principal concerns about following through on her promise to Whispr to see animals was that in a small park they might draw attention to themselves. No need to worry on that score here, she told herself. Even at a time of year that would be considered off-season the lodge complex was still playing host to hundreds of visitors.
It made sense to concentrate them all in one place, she told herself. That way they could be looked after, accommodated, kept track of, and provided for with a minimum of logistics. Each morning organized groups would set out either in their own transport or on Preserve vehicles to see the sights and look for animals. Nightfall required them to be safely back inside the lodge complex or outside the Preserve altogether. Such arrangements were not only efficient, they helped to ensure the safety of visitors and Preserve employees alike.
Especially, Ingrid thought later that evening as her ears picked up a faint distant howling that sent an atavistic shiver down her back, when park residents included among their number some of the most fearsome warm-blooded predators ever to tread the surface of the earth.
“I know your insides have been heavily maniped, but as a physician it’s still hard for me to see how you eat enough to stay alive.”
Seated across the small table from her in the lodge’s quarter-full dining room, Whispr smiled across the top of his boiled egg. “It’s not just the melding. When you live on the street and everyday existence is hand-to-mouth, you get used to making do with as little as possible. That applies to food as much as to subsist or anything else.” Using a shaker taken from his backpack he seasoned the egg with one of his special powdered supplements, took a delicate bite, and chewed. “It’s all about fuel. My body is slighter than most, so I need less of it than average. Don’t compare my eating habits to those of a Natural.”
“I wasn’t.” She slathered local jam onto a piece of toast. Like the rest of her substantial breakfast it stood in stark contrast to her companion’s meal. “I was comparing them to those of a finch.”
He chuckled as he continued to nibble daintily at the egg. “I’m a filch, not a finch.”
One hand clutched the toast while the other made shushing motions. She looked around nervously. None of their widely scattered fellow early risers were looking in their direction, but still.…
“Let’s not broadcast your antisocial affectations, okay? See that chunky guy two tables over? He looks like a cop on vacation.”
Whispr barely turned, took a look, and shrugged indifferently. “He’s got two kids and a wife with him. In a place like this he’ll be lucky if he has time enough to remember what he does, much less worry about anyone else’s professional preferences. Why don’t you relax, doc? If I can do it, you sure can. We’ll be swimming in a sea of suspicion and paranoia soon enough, as soon as we get near SICK’s research facility.” He took a larger bite of his egg, dumped enough salt on it to make Ingrid wince, and waved the half-demolished hen fruit in her direction. However, she noticed, he did lower his voice somewhat.
“Speaking of which, I’m wondering if maybe we shouldn’t glom another biosurge before starting our final push north.”
Her eyes widened slightly as she laid the last of the toast aside. “Another manip? Oh, no, I’m done with that, Whispr!”
He grinned challengingly. “You’re just not used to them, that’s all.”
“And I have no intention of becoming used to them. I barely recognize myself anymore as it is.”
“The biosurges have hardly touched you, doc. You’re not even close to becoming a Meld. You barely qualify as a maniped Natural. It doesn’t have to be anything elaborate. No collagen this time. Just the hair and maybe some putty work around the obicularus orbits. Narrow ’em down for a bit.” He eyed her expectantly.
“You said the last manip was a g
ood enough change to my appearance for the near future,” she protested.
“And it is. But remember, you brought me along for my advice. So I’m giving it. We should change our appearance again while we still have the time and opportunity.”
She nodded westward, back in the direction they had come, back toward Worcester. “I’m not letting anyone near my face who hails from a town with fewer inhabitants than the typical Savannah suburb.”
“For an accomplished physician you’re mighty disparaging of your foreign colleagues.”
“I am when I don’t know much about the colleague, let alone the country where he or she works.” She shook her head. “Short of forestalling imminent death, this is the face and body I’m going home with.”
“Assuming we get home,” he murmured.
“What was that?” She eyed him sharply.
“Nothing, nothing. Just being my usual upbeat self.” He waved at the rest of the dining area. “It’s getting late in the morning for a game drive. You can tell because pretty much everyone else has already left.” He pushed back from the table. As he did so the linen napkin that had been covering his lap was retracted into the table’s central support pillar. It emerged a moment later stripped of organic debris and thoroughly sanitized by the u/v unit built into the center column, awaiting the next diner.
Though they could have stocked up for the forthcoming long road journey upon their return to the lodge, that evening Whispr convinced her to do so now. With everyone else out enjoying the scenery and looking for animals, the Preserve’s food shop was devoid of customers. After neatly piling their purchases in the 4×4’s trunk and activating its refrigerator, they were preparing to leave the compound when Ingrid suddenly began screaming.
“STOP, WHISPR, STOP!”
Startled, he slammed on the brakes with enough force to recharge half the regenerative system in one blow. “What, what is it, what’s wrong?”