DAWN OF THE ENDLESS NIGHT
H a r r y  H a r r i s o n

Akotolp was deeply asleep, immersed in the dreamless and immobile sleep of the Yilane. Then the dawn came and she was instantly awake, instantly aware at the same time that something was very wrong. The light was far too bright for dawn, far brighter even than midday, burning through the gaps between the leaves that walled her sleeping chamber. Her nictitating membranes closed as she pushed aside the vines and stepped out beneath the branches of the city tree.
“It is wrong, all wrong,” she said to herself, making the twisting tail movement of intensity magnified. For this dawn that was not dawn was in the west. This could not be, but it certainly was. As a scientist she was forced to accept the evidence of her senses, no matter how unbelievable they were.
The light was fading, slowly becoming dimmer, obscured even more by the figure that stood before her. A fargi; Akotolp waved her aside but she did not move. She spoke instead.
“The Eistaa . . . summons of great urgency.”
“Yes, of course—now move out of the way.”
Akotolp watched until the last glimmer had faded from sight. The stars reappeared, as well as the almost full moon that spread silver light across the city. The fargi led the way, stumbling and shuffling through the shadows towards the open, central area of the ambesed where the Eistaa waited.
“You saw the light,” she said when Akotolp stopped before her.
“I did.”
“Explanation-expatiation desired.”
“Desire to obey—however insuffiency of knowledge—information.”
The Eistaa signed surprise and disillusion. “In a lifetime of acquaintance-friendship I have never heard you admit to any lack of knowledge.”
“There is a first time for everything. I am considering this matter slowly and rationally. The cause of this great light is unknown. It is not fire, for I have seen fire.”
“What does that termfire mean?”
“Explanation time-consuming, unneeded.”
“The fargi panic, my scientist knows nothing. It is all very disturbing.”
“A strange phenomenon—but it is over.”
Akotolp instantly regretted saying this, for no sooner had she spoken than the earth beneath her feet shuddered and a great sound assaulted them. The attendant fargi wailed in fear and clapped their hands over their ear-openings; same even fell to the ground and lay writhing there. The Eistaa was made of sterner stuff and stood stoutly upright, back arched with legs spread wide, toe-claws sunk into the soil to hold her erect. When the noise had sunk to a rumble she signed great disapproval.
“You did say it was over, scientist of great knowledge?”
“Apology for misconception, humble submission.”
Akotolp stretched her neck back, exposing her throat in added emphasis. The Eistaa signed acceptance and rejection of death offer.
“Tell me your thoughts, for feeble as they are this night you are still the only one who might possibly explain what happened.”
“I cannot explain. Only analyze.”
“Then proceed.”
“An event of geological magnitude—”
“Definition needed unknown termgeological .”
Akotolp fought not to disclose her agitation at the interruption. She concealed her movements of distaste by turning and kicking aside some fallen leaves, then settling back comfortably on her tail. She used the simplified motions of night-talk, clearly visible in the clear moonlight.
“Geological refers to the earth on which we stand. There are beneath this solid ground great forces at work. I have seen, beyond the jungles of Entoban to the east, a range of high mountains that have burst open and give forth melted rock. I saw fire there as well. An event that can tear open solid mountains and melt solid rock is of geological magnitude.”
“Was this a geological event?”
Akotolp sat rigid and unmoving, wrapped in thought. It was some time before she stirred and spoke.
“No, I am certain it was not. It was too sudden. All of the events I watched began slowly, grew and proceeded. This came too quickly. And it was very large, though distant.”
“Distant? Explanation needed.” The Eistaa, while efficient at ruling and ordering her city, neither knew nor cared about the facts of science. Akotolp forced herself to proceed patiently.
“Distant because of the strong light that awakened us. A Yilanè of science in the city of Yebeisk to the south conducted a series of experiments to discover at what speed light passes through the air. She told me that refine the experiments as she might the speed always seemed to be close to instantaneous. But the speed of sound is very slow. This is easily demonstrated. Therefore, since the sound of the event came a good time after we saw the light, the conclusion is that what happened was far distant in the ocean. And very large.”
The Eistaa made motions of impatience-confusion. “As always I find your explanations impossible to follow. Now you will clarify-simplify.”
“Something very large happened far out in the ocean.”
“The light flared. Later there was the sound and the ground moved. Why?”
“The ground must have been moved by the movement of the sea—”
Akotolp gasped, her mouth opening wide with shock. She jumped to her feet and turned to look at the smooth water of the bay.
“It will happen!” She signed urgency and fear so strongly that the Eistaa recoiled.
“What is it? What is happening?”
“What will happen. You must order your fargi to go among the sleepers at once. Awaken every Yilanè. Order them inland as quickly as possible, to the hills beyond the fields where the onetsensast graze. Order it, Eista.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you see? A force so distant that could shake the ground here must be very strong indeed. It will make waves such as we have never seen in the worst storm. Those waves are coming even as we speak.”
The Eistaa reached an instant decision. “I will so order—”
It was already too late, far too late.
The waters of the bay were draining away, pouring through the harbor entrance into the sea. And distantly, growing instantly louder, was the crashing rumble of water falling on water, churning and roaring. Drowning out all other sounds.
Striking and drowning the shore, filling the bay in an instant. Rising in a flood that engulfed the city tree, broke off the limbs, stripped away the smaller growth, hurtled inland.
Akotolp closed mouth, eyes, nostrils, struck out in panic at the salt water that engulfed her. Felt the pressure of the water above her. Swam upwards in the darknes§. Was struck a terrible blow in her side that numbed her. Clutched her wounded arm with her other hand, thrust violently with legs and tail.
Burst into foam-filled darkness, gasped in air.
Was struck again in the darkness. Almost unconscious, weakened by pain, she swam on, knowing that this was her only chance of survival. If she sank below the surface again she would never emerge.
An unmeasurable, pain-filled time passed before she felt solidity beneath her feet. Muddy, debris-laden water streamed about her, dropped lower, to her midriff, then to her knees. She staggered and fell heavily, screamed with pain as a greater darkness closed over her.
Akotolp woke slowly to light and agony. A heavy, warm rain was falling. Black rain, streaming filthily across her skin. She blinked with incomprehension, felt the grit in her eyes. Sat up and her vision blurred red with pain. Arms and legs moved, apparently no bones broken. But the immense soreness in her side must surely be more than mere bruising; some ribs might be broken. It hurt to breathe. Alive and injured—but still alive. Only when she was gratefully aware of this did her scientific curiosity return.
She was standing ankle-deep in a plain of mud. Branches, entire uprooted trees were strewn about her. Two dead Yilanè were nearby, broken and unmoving, one of them crushed by the bulk of an armored fish of some kind. Her arms crossed across her ribcage, Akotolp walked slowly and painfully up a rise to the top of a nearby mound, leaned gratefully against the broken trunk of a tree on its summit.
Nothing looked familiar; she was pinned in a nightmare landscape of mud and destruction. Only when she faced inland, blinking through the sheets of rain, did she manage to make out the familiar shapes of the range of hills. They ran down almost to the sea, almost to the outlet of the bay. Using this as a guide, she was horrified to see that the birth beaches were gone, gouged out by the sea and washed away. The far side of the bay was gone as well, the bay and lagoon now joined directly to the ocean.
Then that heap of dark debris must be all that was left of her city tree. She moaned in agony at the sight. If she were weaker she might have died. Yilanè, when deprived of their city did die, she had seen it happen. But she would not. Others might. Not her; she was strong enough to bear the shock. Pushing herself upright, she stumbled toward the remains.
And she was not alone. Others were moving that way as well, fargi who signed respect and gratitude when they identified her. They moved close to draw strength from her presence. One of them, despite the the bruises and filth caked to her skin, she recognized.
“You are Inlenu—she who commands the workers at the fish pens.”
Inlenu signed gratefulness for attention. “We have happiness-magnified and greet you, Akotolp. Humbly request explanation of happenings.”
“Your knowledge is as great as mine. Something disastrous occurred far out in the ocean. With it was a great light, a great sound. This something caused the earth to move, the sea to rise. What you see around you is the result.”
“The city, everything is destroyed. What will become of us?”
“We will live. The waters will not have covered all of Entoban. There will be food, in the forests and in the sea.”
“But our city—”
“Will be regrown. Until that time we will sleep on the ground under the stars, as countless others have done before us. Do not despair, strong Inlenu, we need your strength.”
“As we need yours.” She signed respect-admiration, a movement that was echoed by all the fargi watching and listening. They would survive now.
Surely they would—for when they were closer they saw that hidden behind the rubble was the sturdy trunk of the city-tree, some of its thick branches still intact.
And-wonder of wonders—standing at its base was the solid form of the Eistaa. The fargi hurried forward, bodies and limbs writhing with pleasure and great awe at her presence. They signed gratitude and happiness as well. Pushed close, then moved back when she signed them this order, parted to let Akotolp through join her.
“You have survived, Eistaa, and therefore the city shall survive as well.”
“There has been great damage, many deaths.” She signed the fargi away so that they could speak without being heard.
“Two out of three, possibly more, are dead. Others badly injured will die as well.” With quieter words and smaller motions she revealed an even more terrible fact.
“The males are gone. Every one. The eggs they carried will never hatch.”
Akotolp swayed with agony, fought for control, spoke calmly and wisely. “It is not the end. We are only one city. There are other Yilanè cities inland along the great rivers to the north. One even on the inland sea of Isegnet. When the time comes I will visit them and return with males. Yilanè are as one when facing disaster. The city will be grown again.”
The Eistaa moved with pleasure when she heard this and took Akotolp’s upper arms between her opposed thumbs in the gesture of greatest happiness, highest respect. The fargi murmured with pleasure at this happy sight, pain and despair forgotten for the moment. The city would grow again.
They set to work, under the Eistaa’s instruction, clearing away the mud-caked debris. The rain never stopped, pouring darkly from a muddy sky. By nightfall much had been done. They discovered that fish that had been washed in from the sea were still alive in the remaining pools of water. These were gathered and shared out. In the end, tired and wounded, they slept.
The flood of water that had destroyed the coastal plain had also destroyed the civilized, formal way of life of the city. The fish vats were gone, along with the enzyme vats that cured and preserved the flesh of the animals. These creatures were gone too for the most part, the thorn barriers between the fields wiped away, the penned animals drowned or fled. Only a single hunter had survived—though all her weapons had drowned. With teeth and claws alone she could not supply the city with meat. Therefore it was the sea they turned to, the sea they had emerged from, renewing ancient swimming skills, seeking out the schools of fish and herding them into the shallows. Then the ocean churned with silver bodies seeking escape and reddened quickly with blood. It was crude but effective; they would survive.
Many days passed before Akotolp approached the Eistaa where she sat in the newly-cleaned ambesed. All had worked hard. The dead had been cast into the sea, the lightly injured had recovered. The badly injured were dead, for all of Akotolp’s healing creatures were gone and she could not aid them.
“Everything is gone,” she told the Eistaa. “You must remember that all of the creatures bred by our science are mutations and most cannot survive on their own. Our weapons, the hèsotsan, lose mobility with maturity and must be fed. We need more of them—as well as all the other forms of life that enable Yilanè civilization to survive. I have now done all that I can within the limitations forced upon me. I have taken fargi inland and returned with sharp-thorned vines that have been planted to once again form our fields. I have examined every fargi; the badly wounded are all dead. There is a sufficent supply of fish.”
She acknowledged the Eistaa’s motions of commonplace and boring food. “I agree, Eistaa. But it enables us to live. To improve our situation I must take fargi with me to Teskhets, the city on the great river beyond the hills. I know all of the things we need, hesotsan and string-knives, nefmakel—the list is very long. I will return with breeding stock and our city and our lives will be regrown. I ask only your permission to leave.”
The Eistaa moved tail and thumbs in the sign of doubt magnified. “Your presence is needed here.”
“Was needed. I guided and explained, you ordered. My work is done—unless I get those things that make science possible. Fargi are training as hunters, the meat supply grows. The fishers grow more proficient. Under your supervision the Yilanè will eat, the city live.”
The Eistaa radiated displeasure, looked out at the dark and ceaseless rain. “We live, but barely. More like wild creatures than Yilanè.”
“But we live, Eistaa, that is what is important. In order to live once again the rich life of Yilanè you must permit this expedition.”
“I will consider it. The meat supply must be greater before you go. You must find a way to bring that about.”
Akotolp did what she could, which was very little, knowing that it was only the Eistaa’s sense of unease that prevented her making any decision. It was understandable. At least six fargi, uninjured and strong, had simply curled up and died. This of course happened when a Yilanè was forced to leave her city, a terminal punishment only meted out after great provocation. Now it happened spontaneously. That even the Eistaa was disturbed by terrible events of this magnitude was understandable.
Still Akotolp was displeased, even angry. There was really nothing more for her to do. The endless clouds, the almost continuous rain, did nothing to change her mood. A second time the Eistaa refused her request; she was hesitant about a third. It was Velikrei, the hunter, who brought a measure of light into her darkness.
“I seek permission to speak as one to one,” the scarred hunter said, moving one of her eyes in the direction of the nearby fargi.
“Granted. We will walk along the shore.”
“Respectfully suggest forest instead.”
There must be a reason for this, Akotolp realized, and signed agreement. They were silent until they had crossed the hardened mud flats and reached the trees beyond.
Here, out of sight of any watchers, Velikrei stopped and spoke.
“You must tell me what to do. I hunt, that I do well. And I follow orders. I serve the Eistaa. Now order and service clash.” She brought her fists together with a loud crack; her body writhed with indecision. Akotolp saw she needed quick reassurance.
“The city needs you, Velikrei, at the present time far more than it needs me. Let me help you, for I respect and admire your skill and your strength. My thoughts-rational powers are at your service now. Tell me what disturbs you.”
“One comes from the forest with fargi. She will not enter the city, will not see the Eistaa. Asks if a Yilanè of science is here. She knows your name. Orders me to bring you, not the Eistaa . . .”
The hunter could no longer talk, her mouth gaped wide as she shuddered. Akotolp touched all four thumbs to her arms in reassurance.
“You have done the correct thing. The Eistaa must not be disturbed in her labors. I will talk to this one who comes—then I will tell the Eistaa about the matter. The responsibility is now mine.”
“You have decided,” Velikrei said, relief draining the tension from her knotted muscles. She was safely back in the chain of command, following orders. “I take you to her.”
“Name?”
“Essokel.”
“I do indeed know her as she knows me. This is very good—for all of us. Take me to her, quickly.”
Akotolp recognized the tall form of the other scientist at once, waiting in the shelter of a large tree. She stepped forward when they approached, made motions of greeting. Velikrei stood hesitantly to one side, signed gratitude when she was dimissed, almost fled from sight. Only when she was gone did Akotolp speak.
“Welcome, Essokel, welcome to what little remains of our city.”
“Of many cities,” she answered grimly. “I was far inland when this thing happened, returning with fargi to my city. When I saw the destruction along the coast I halted them in the forest, went on alone.” There was pain in her eyes now, the wound of memory. “Destroyed, gone, none survived. I came close to dying myself—but I did not. I have willed myself to forget the name of my city, strong-request you do not repeat it.”
“You are welcome-magnified here. You are now a part of my city, our city. We were injured, we survive. With your aid we grow anew. You will mend our broken egg. We now have nothing other than the claws and teeth with which we emerged from the ocean.”
“Then I can indeed be of service,” Essokel said, drawing herself up, pride replacing death in her movements. “Mine was a long expedition to distant cities. My fargi carry everything we needed—that your,our, city needs.”
“The fargi are here?”
“Close by and out of sight. I wished to talk with you and you alone.”
“Not the Eistaa?”
“Not yet. There are matters of science that are for our knowledge alone. Are you strong, Akotolp?”
“I survived. I will survive. I am needed.”
“Good. I must talk with you, share my knowledge and you must query it. For I have fear.”
“Of what?”
“Ofeverything .”
There were such overtones of despair and death when she said this that Akotolp cried aloud and recoiled. Then controlled herself and spoke with all the courage she could summon.
“You are no longer alone, my old friend, no longer surrounded by mindless fargi you cannot speak to. Unburden yourself, share your knowledge and thoughts. Fears shared are halved, for we will each carry part of the load now.”
“You are a Yilanè of great intelligence and strength, Akotolp. I will tell you what I have seen and reasoned. Then you will query me, perhaps even prove me wrong. It is as you say, a burden shared. First I need information for I only saw what happened from afar. You were here?”
“Indeed—and it is only by chance I can talk to you now for only one in five survived. It was night—and then it was day. A light that hurt my eyes before slowly fading away. Later there was an immense sound and the ground moved. Later still, as I thought it would happen, the ocean rose and enveloped us.”
“You thought it would—why?”
“A chain of logic. An incident of great force occurred, the light of which we saw. The sound came much later—and the shock. A force at sea great enough to cause this would also move the ocean as well.”
Essokel signed reinforced agreement. “I did not see or experience what you did—though I surmised as much from physical evidence. Important query: what do you think caused all this?”
“Profess lack of knowledge, lack of theory.”
“Then listen to mine. Have you any interest in astronomy?”
Akotolp signed negative. “Biology fills all my time and needs.”
“But you have looked at the night sky—seen various phenomena there. You have seen the lines of light that cross the darkness from time to time?”
“Assuredly. Though I have never heard an attempt at explanation.”
“I have. Our atmosphere grows thinner as one go higher; this has been proven by those who carried pressure devices up mountains. If this is true, then logic dictates that if the pressure drop is continuous then at a certain height there is no more air.”
“I know of this theory and am in agreement. That air ceases to be and beyond our atmosphere there is a nothingness.”
“But matter exists in this nothingness. We see the moon and the stars. Now hold that thought and in parallel entertain another thought. A bird moves faster than a fish because it moves through a less dense medium. If something moves through a medium of no density it could have a speed beyond comprehension. So much so that if there are particles of matter moving through this emptiness, small particles, through the operation of the laws of dynamics they would exchange motion for temperature. And glow with light.”
Akotolp closed her eyes, wrapped in intense thought. Opened them and signed agreement. “I cannot argue with facts revealed, extrapolation of idea.
Seek relevance.”
Essokel was grimly silent for a long heartbeat of time, then spoke quietly. “I suggest to you the possibility that a larger particle from above might strike our atmosphere. A particle the size of a boulder, a tree—perhaps a mountain. What would happen then?”
“Then,” Akotolp said, slowly and carefully, “this mountain of speed would cause the air to glow fiercely. It would strike the ocean. If it were hard enough, heavy enough, it might even strike down through the water to hit the ground below. This im mense shock would be felt through the ground, heard through the air for great distances. The mountains of water pushed aside would innundate the shores of this land. I am in awe of your wisdom and intellect.”
“There is more to come. The clouds that have never parted once since that day, the clouds that rain down dirt, that are black with filth undoubtedly thrown up by the impact. How many days have they remained up there?”
“A great number. I have kept count.”
“As have I. Now, one last fearful consideration. What if they remain there longer and longer? What if the warmth of the sun never bathes us again? What will happen to us then?”
Akotolp the biologist swayed in pain, almost lost consciousness at the terror of this thought. Recovered to find that Essokel was holding her, that she would have fallen without her friend’s support.
“Death will be our lot. Without sunlight the green plants will not grow. When they die the creatures who eat them die. When they die—the Yilanè die. Is this what is to happen?”
“I do not know; I fear for the worst. I have measured carefully. The air temperature is lower each day. We cannot live without heat, without sun.”
“The clouds must part!” Akotolp cried aloud. “They must. Or . . .”
She did not finish the thought. There was no need. It was Essokel who finally broke the terrible silence.
“We will go to the city now. And tell the Eistaa . . . ?”
“Nothing. If these things we talk about come to be then we are helpless, powerless. Instead of bringing them death you will now bring them happiness and pleasure. There will be warmth, shelter, food. If . . . what we discussed . . . comes to pass, it will not need discussion. It will soon be obvious to the stupidest fargi.”
Akotolp was correct; Essokel and the burdens her fargi carried brought civilization and great happiness back to the city. Hesotsan for hunting, the pleasure of sweet warm meat for all. There were many cloaks in the bundles, for the expedition had been through the mountain passes where the air was chill. They were needed now: the nights were growing colder, and these flat brainless creatures if kept well fed had high body temperatures. All the city leaders had cloaks and slept well. The fargi did not and could only huddle together at night, draw warmth from one another and shudder in silence.
But the pleasure could not last. Even the stupidest fargi, fresh from the sea and unable to talk, could see that the nights were growing colder, days as well. The fish were no longer as plentiful as they had been. The clouds did not part, the sun did not shine, the plants were dying. The animals they ate were leaner and tougher as the grazing grew harder. Still they ate very well, for the enzyme vats were kept filled with meat. Which was a very bad sign indeed, for they were not being killed—they were dying. This was the time when the Eistaa summoned the two scientists to join her in the ambesed where she waited with Velikrei.
“Listen to what this hunter tells me,” the Eistaa said, darkness in her speech.
“The onetsensast that they butcher now, that goes into the meat vats. It is the last one. All others—dead, the fields empty.”
“What is happening—what is going to happen?” the Eistaa asked. “You are Yilanè of science, you must know.”
“We know,” Akotolp said, fighting to keep calmness in her words and motions. “We will tell you, Eistaa.” The hunter did not see her quick motion of pointing and dismissal.
“You have brought the information, Velikrei. Return to your forest.”
Akotolp waited until the three of them were alone before she spoke. Now she made no attempt to keep the dread and despair from her speech.
“It is the sun that brings us life, Eistaa. If the sun does not shine we die. The clouds kill us.”
“I see what is happening—yet I do not understand.”
“There is a chain of life,” Essokel said. “It starts in the cells of the plants, where the sun’s rays are turned into food. The fish and the ustuzou eat them and live. We in turn eat their flesh—and we live.” She leaned down and pulled a clump of yellowed grass from the ground and held it out. “This dies, they die, we die.”
The Eistaa looked at the grass, immobile, her muscles locked hard as the thought echoed again and again in her brain. In the end she turned to Akotolp and signed a short query.
“True?”
“Inescapable truth.”
“Can we not fill the vats, store food, wait until the clouds open up and the sun shines again?”
“We can—and we will. Seed will be stored as well, to plant and regrow when the sun returns.”
“This will be done. I will order it. When will the sun return?”
The response to this question was only silence. The Eistaa waited, her anger growing, until she could control it no longer.
“Speak, Akotolp! I order you to speak! When will the sun return?”
“I—we—do not know, Eistaa. And unless it returns soon the world as we know it is dead. Species once destroyed do not return. We are one of those species. We are important only to ourselves. In the totality of biology we are as important—or unimportant—as that clump of grass. It is of no help to us to know that even if the clouds remain forever life will go on. But it will not be the world we know. There exist life-forms that are very persistent and can endure a great range of temperatures and environments. We cannot. We will net survive on this world unless things remain very much as they always were. I fear, Essokel and I have discussed this many times that we have already passed the time of survival . . .
“That is not true! Yilágne live.”
“Yilanè die,” Essokel said with grim movements. “Fargi die already of cold. We have examined them.”
“We have cloaks.”
“The cloaks will die as well. It is already too cold for them to breed.” There was great feeling of despair in Akotolp’s shuddered movements. “I fear that all will be ended, all Yilanè dead, everything we are, everything that we have done, vanished. It will be as we have never been. When the clouds break, if they ever break, it will be the ustuzou who will live.”
“What? These vermin—crawling filthy things underfoot. Your speaking is an insult!”
As though in further insult an ustuzou scuttled through the dead grass close by, paused an instant to glance at them with tiny dark eyes, scratched quick claws through its fur. The Eistaa stamped out with her foot but crushed only dead stems as the creature vanished from sight.
“You say that these vile things will live—why?”
“Because of their nature,” Essokel explained patiently. “All complex creatures require regularizing of body temperature, they are all warm-blooded. But there are two ways of staying warm. We Yilanè are exothermic, which means we must live in a warm climate and take in heat from outside. This is very efficient. The ustuzou are very inefficient since they are endothermic, which means they must eat all of the time and turn their food into heat . . .”
“You speak like this only to confuse me—all this talk of hot or cold, inside and out.”
“You must excuse my inefficency-stupidity, Eistaa. I simplify. We will get cold, we will die. That small ustuzou will not get cold. When the air cools it will eat more. It will eat dead plants, dead bodies—it will eat our dead bodies. The corpses of our world will nourish these creatures for a long time. Perhaps until the clouds disperse and the sun returns. If this comes to pass then it will be an ustuzou world and the Yilane will not even be a memory. It will be as though we never were—”
“A thought I will not have!” the Eistaa roared with anger, tearing at the ground with her claws. “Leave me! Be silent in my presence hereafter. I will not hear these words again.”
The scientists left, a cold rain fell, night descended. There was the movement of tiny, furry creatures through the grass and into the dead forest beyond. Tiny creatures that ate seeds, stems, bones, marrow, flesh, grass, insects—anything.
Warm-blooded animals that could survive when ninety percent of all other creatures died.
Survive and evolve for sixty million years.
Whose descendants read these words.