Primordial Island Read online

  PRIMORDIAL ISLAND

  Rick Poldark

  www.severedpress.com

  Copyright 2019 by Rick Poldark

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, events, and dialogues either are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Rick Poldark

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Part I

  Catalyst, Reaction

  Chapter 1

  Dr. Peter Albanese sat up on the stage at commencement in full academic dress next to Dr. Tracey Moran. He was sweating under his robe, but it wasn’t from the weather. In fact, it was a cool, pleasant day in May, and the ventilation in the auditorium was thankfully working.

  However, Peter hated crowds. They had always made him uncomfortable, and although he wasn’t the focal point of this massive crowd of proud parents and bored siblings, he always found the occasion to be stifling and was appreciative it was only an annual tradition.

  He looked over at Tracey, who was positively radiant, beaming as if she were graduating herself. Hers hadn’t been that long ago, so the gravitas of the situation likely stirred happy memories for her. Peter’s graduation was a bit further in the past, though not by much, and he felt the same way about it then as he did now.

  After sitting through countless speeches from various university officers, guest speeches (this year from a local politician and a television actor he was unfamiliar with), the ceremony was wrapping up, and the Department of the Geosciences would be joining the other departments at the reception to follow.

  When the graduates were applauded and the announcement of the reception made, Tracey turned to Peter. “Well, that was something.”

  Peter frowned. “Wanna blow off the reception?”

  Tracey punched him in the arm and chuckled. “Aw, you know the dean would be displeased if we did that.”

  Peter stood up. “Time to meet the parents.”

  Tracey stood as well, and they followed the crowd of academics out of the auditorium. “Oh, it’s not so bad.”

  Peter arched an eyebrow. “Not so bad? We are responsible for releasing their children, their pride and joy, the apples of their eye, into the world as doctors of paleontology.”

  Tracey hooked her arm in his. “Oh, come on. Stick with me and you’ll be all right. Let’s see our students off.”

  Peter, flushing a bit at Tracey’s gesture, allowed himself to be led into the throng exiting the vast auditorium. His face felt hot, partially from his physical proximity to Tracey, but mostly from being shoulder-to-shoulder, bottlenecking like cattle being led to the slaughter, and wondering why there were those in civilized company that apparently didn’t know the proper use of deodorant.

  It wasn’t that Peter didn’t want to see his students off. He loved his students, and he loved teaching. It was the parents who didn’t quite know what to say to him about their adult child who now had to struggle to obtain a decent-paying job in the narrow field of paleontology. He almost felt guilty about it. Fortunately, this year’s class was only fourteen. There had been seventeen, but three had dropped out; one after the first year, and the other two after comps.

  They entered the reception hall, and the place was filled with students, families, and faculty from the various departments on campus. He had planned on staying put in one spot and letting his students find him. Tracey had other plans.

  She grabbed him by the arm again. “Come on. Let’s go find them.”

  There was no arguing with her, so Peter let himself be ushered around the room.

  Tracey pointed off to the right. “Look, it’s Lucy. Let’s go congratulate her.”

  They approached Lucy, who smiled when she saw them approaching and met them halfway. In tow were her parents and a bored adolescent brother who somehow deftly negotiated the crowded room with his face in his cellphone.

  “Congratulations, Lucy!” beamed Tracey, hugging her.

  This brought wide smiles to the parents’ faces. The teenage brother glanced up at Peter and went right back to his phone. Peter stepped forward. “Congratulations, Lucy.”

  Lucy smiled and opened her arms to approach for a hug, but Peter awkwardly extended his hand for a handshake. Consequently, his hand touched one of her breasts.

  He retracted his hand as if touching something extremely hot. “Oops! Sorry.”

  She, instead, extended her hand and shook his. Her father’s smile waned a bit.

  “Mom, dad…this is Tracey and Peter. Peter was my dissertation sponsor.”

  Lucy’s father extended his hand first, and Peter shook it. Then he shook her mother’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Gottesman.”

  Mrs. Gottesman drew her shoulders up to her ears, smiling a little too widely, looking unsure of what to say next. “Lucy’s been obsessed with this dissertation for months. It looks like it was quite the project.”

  Peter nodded, smiling. “She was very brave, electing to study theropod tooth anatomy. She’s devised the beginning of a feasible system of assigning specimens to their appropriate taxonomy based on total crown length, base length and width, base shape, squatness, apex location, and serration size.”

  Mrs. Gottesman’s smile faded, her expression morphing to embarrassment and then possibly a hint of antipathy. She cleared her throat and placed her arm around Lucy. “Well, we’re very proud of her.”

  “Yes,” added Mr. Gottesman. “Now she can get a job as a dentist for dinosaurs.” His tone was more sarcastic than humorous.

  Peter managed a smile for Lucy. “Well, congrats. You worked very hard.”

  Tracey gave her one last hug. “Congrats!”

  The group parted as gracelessly as it formed, and Peter and Tracey bounced around the room, engaging in similar interactions with their other students and their families. They were chatting it up with Mark Baker’s parents when Peter noticed Petra Vasiliev milling around, apparently alone.

  He didn’t necessarily want to leave this conversation, as Mark’s father seemed somewhat interested and enthusiastic about his son’s dissertation, but seeing Petra wandering the crowd alone, looking sheepish, affected him. He knew how she must’ve felt.

  Peter placed a hand on Tracey’s shoulder, but he addressed Mark and his parents. “Excuse me for a moment.”

  He slipped away from the conversation, which Tracey continued alone, and he began to meander through the crowd towards Petra. Tall and thin, in a slightly short black dress and high heels, Petra played with her raven black hair, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

  When she saw Peter approaching, she flashed a dubious smile, shrugging her shoulders.

  “Congratulations,” Peter managed, not knowing what else to say.

  “Thanks.”

  He looked around them. “Where are your parents?”

  “They couldn’t come.”

  “Really? I’m sorry.”

  “It’s no biggie. It happens.”

  Peter felt bad for her. Petra was playing it off as no big deal, but it was a big deal. It wasn’t every day one graduated with one’s doctorate.

  She glanced around the room. “Do you mind if we get out of here for a minute? This crowd is driving me nuts.”

  Peter couldn’t have agreed more. He looked over his shoulder for Tracey, who had been swallowed whole by the crowd in the reception hall. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s go.”

  As he followed Petra outside, he wondered where her parents were and why they didn’t come. Petra never talked much about her family. She was an enigma. On the surface she looked like a Goth girl, but beneath the surface lay a keen analytical mind. She took particular interest in the predatory behavior of the Tyrannosaur, which made her the perfect match for Peter, academically speaking.

  Once outside, Petra produced a cigarette, which she stuck between her lips, and then a lighter. She ignited a flame and placed it on the tip of her cigarette, shielding it from the wind with a cupped hand tipped with black fingernails.

  Peter watched the quadrangle. It was nearly empty, except for some folks leaving the reception early. Everyone else was inside. “So, what’s next? Looking for a job?”

  “Nah. There’s time for that.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I dunno. Travel, maybe. Europe. I always wanted to go to Prague.”

  Peter wondered who was footing the bill for graduate school and Europe. Perhaps the absent parents were loaded. They had to be, which would explain Petra’s general devil may care attitude towards life in general. “You know, there’s a dig site out in Arizona. They’ve found some crushed Triceratops bones with trauma marks that need analysis.”

  Petra looked at Peter with those deep blue eyes. “Really?”

  “I-I could pull a few strings and get you on the project.”

  She smiled. “You’d do that for me?”

  Peter smiled back. “For my best student? Sure.” It sounded like a flirtation, but Peter meant it. She was one of his best students, if not his best.

  Petra turned up the corner of her mouth into her trademark smirk. “Pre- or post-mortem?”

  “I believe Dr. Rathi said p
re-.”

  “Any signs of healing?”

  Now Peter was smirking. “Maybe.” He was being playful, to lighten the mood and help her forget about her parents.

  “Really? I just might have to take you up on that.”

  “I hope you do.”

  She took a drag of her cigarette. “So, what’s the story with you and Tracey?”

  Peter was taken off-guard by the abrupt change in topic. “What do you mean?”

  Petra grinned wickedly and bumped shoulders with him playfully. “You know what I mean.”

  “We’re colleagues. Friends.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yeah, not that it’s any of your business.”

  Petra mulled this over for a minute. “Good.”

  Peter was confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She took another puff and leveled her gaze at him. “I don’t know. We can figure it out over a drink.”

  Peter stepped back, placing his hands up, palms facing out in a defensive posture. “Petra, I think you’re misunderstanding this conversation. I just want to help you out with a job. Nothing more.”

  Petra batted her eyelashes. On any other girl, it would look innocent, but Petra wasn’t innocent. She was a predator. “Oh, come on, Peter. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “I’m your professor, your dissertation sponsor.”

  Petra dropped her cigarette to the sidewalk and stepped on it, twisting her tattooed ankle to put it out. “Ex-professor. I graduated, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m no longer your student.”

  Peter had no answer to this. She was technically correct. “Where’s this coming from?”

  Petra stepped forward, closing the gap between them, her confidence building. “I’ve always liked you.”

  Peter took a step back. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I just couldn’t show it. Because, you know, you were my professor, my dissertation sponsor.”

  Her mockery of his words was playful, and it turned him on. “I don’t believe you.” His remark was more than self-effacing. It was the defense of a shy man who wasn’t used to female attention. Most guys with better social skills would’ve been on the attack, capitalizing on the vibes Petra was now putting out in waves. But not Peter.

  His retreat appeared to embolden Petra. “Oh yeah?” She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. It was a deep kiss, and when their lips parted, Peter’s face was hot. In a guilty reaction, he looked around. He felt a presence behind him, and he prayed it was anyone but the dean.

  He turned to find Tracey standing there.

  She gawked at them in disbelief. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No,” was all Peter could manage, but Tracey didn’t stick around to hear an explanation. She made a hasty exit, disappearing back into the reception hall.

  Peter turned to Petra. “Please excuse me.”

  Swearing profusely, he dashed back inside the hall, frantically scanning the crowd for Tracey. She was lost in the sea of people, swallowed whole. His mind raced, struggling to interpret her reaction. Was she upset? If so, why? Was it because she saw him kissing a student? Why would that matter to her? Ex-student, like Petra said. Was she disappointed? Jealous?

  The true analyst, he began to question his own reaction. Why was he so upset? Any guy would’ve jumped at the opportunity with Petra. Was that what he wanted? What did he want? Who did he want? Did he have feelings for Tracey?

  Peter ran into Nick Lyons, a fellow faculty member, nearly spilling his drink.

  “Hey, Peter. Some crowd, huh?”

  “Yeah. Nick, have you seen Tracey?”

  “Yeah, she left with Joel.”

  “Left? With Joel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When?”

  “A few minutes ago. You just missed them.”

  Peter pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket and queued up Tracey’s number, his thumb poised above the dial button.

  Nick, oblivious to his predicament, decided to continue to mill around with his drink. Peter weighed his options in his mind. Did he dare call her? How would it look? Would it look desperate? Worse, would it look guilty? Guilty of what? Petra kissed him. But how could Tracey know that? How much did she see?

  Peter cursed himself silently.

  * * *

  Noi Bai International Airport

  Vietnam

  Bill Gibson stowed his carry-on bag up top on the rack and plopped his carcass into the window seat over the wing of the airplane. He wanted the aisle seat, as his middle-aged bladder wouldn’t allow him a non-stop back home, but he wasn’t going to let that detract from his victory in Hanoi.

  Construction on the new plant would begin within the month, which would make Alan happy. If Alan was happy, it would improve Bill’s chances of landing the VP position up for grabs. Word around the watercooler was that the company was looking in-house. He would be able to deliver on that new kitchen he had been promising Trish.

  An older Asian woman shuffled over to the aisle seat next to his. She smiled at him, and began to struggle stowing her carry-on up top. She grunted as she tried to heft her bag over her head, unsuccessfully.

  Bill stood up, crouching a bit so as not to hit his head on the air vents above. “Let me help you with that.”

  The lady nodded and backed away a bit down the aisle to allow him out. Bill moved her black luggage bag out into the aisle to make way, and he maneuvered past the aisle seat. He grabbed her bag by the handle and lifted it up, shoving it into the overhead compartment with relative ease. He closed the hatch and nodded to the lady.

  She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  Great. She spoke English. Bill saw this as an opportunity, and one thing he was great at was capitalizing on opportunities. “Hey, would it be all right if we traded seats? You could have the window. I’m probably going to have to use the bathroom pretty frequently.” He did his best to look sheepish.

  “Oh, no,” said the lady. “I’m terrified of flying. I don’t like to look out the window. Too scary.”

  Negotiation time. “You can pull down the shade.” Bill gestured to the window, pointing to the retractable shade, which was currently in the up position.

  The lady looked agitated, waving her hands in front of her. “No, sir. Sorry. I like to stretch my feet out in the aisle. Poor circulation.”

  Bill saw that he wasn’t going to win this negotiation. Being a gentleman, he let it go. He returned to his window seat and decided not to let his placement get him down. He was moving up in the world. Besides, he’d get his revenge by asking her to make way several times during the flight when his bladder would nag him.

  Noi Bai was a busy airport, but after taxiing around a bit, the plane lined itself up on the runway for takeoff. The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom, relaying their flight time, weather conditions, etc. The flight attendants quickly finished their safety review, and Bill felt the engines revving up.

  He looked out the window. It was pitch black, and rain droplets collected on the small portal. Lightning flashed up in the sky, above the clouds. That was what they were flying into.

  Given his line of work, Bill was a seasoned flier. When the plane began to accelerate down the runway, he didn’t bat an eye. The lady next to him, however, gripped the edges of her armrests until her knuckles turned white.

  “It’ll be okay,” offered Bill. “This is safer than a car.”

  The lady, eyes wide, shot him a dubious look.

  The plane lifted off the ground, bouncing around on the air, and outside Bill’s window the flashes of light drew closer. They passed through the dark clouds, and within minutes, they reached cruising altitude. There was the occasional chop, which kept the seatbelt sign illuminated, but they were above the clouds.

  The lady next to him seemed to relax a bit.

  “The riskiest parts of air travel are during takeoff and landing.”

  She smirked at him. “What are you, a pilot?” She had an accent. He guessed she lived in Vietnam and was visiting relatives in Australia.

  Bill smiled. “No, but I fly a lot for work. My name is Bill.”

  She smiled. “I’m Bian. Nice to meet you.”