Chosen One Read online

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  Copyright ©2007 by Alan J. Garner

  First published in SynergEbooks, 2007

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  Chosen One

  by Alan J. Garner

  Copyright 2007 by Alan J. Garner

  All Rights Reserved

  Published by SynergEbooks

  www.synergebooks.com

  Dedication

  For my wife, Michelle, whose love inspires me to finish what

  I start and without whom my world would be a sadder place.

  Prologue

  The asteroid field lay virtually unchanged.

  Since its inception five billion years earlier in this backwater galaxy, the jumble of spacial flotsam had existed relatively untouched by time. Assembled from the cosmic debris left over from the formation of the diminutive planetary system it encircled, the wide and unbroken ring of astral rocks numbered somewhere in the region of 90,000 and ranged in mass from pebble-sized asteroids to hulking planetoids several thousand miles in diameter.

  Lying near the outer rim of the unmoving, weightless boulders floated a particularly mammoth specimen. Measuring 50,000 miles across, this impossibly huge asteroidal chunk equalled the dimensions of a large planet while lacking the spherical contours normally associated with celestial bodies of such magnitude. Its surface was instead a mosaic of assorted craters, sheer cliffs and bottomless crevasses that shaped the massive rock's outline into an incoherent pattern of jagged irregularities. Jutting outwards at the dim star and its lone planetary satellite forming the hub of the wheel of stellar rocks projected a monstrous outcropping of barren stone pointing menacingly at the moonless biosphere like a prophetic finger of doom. This was by far the largest of many such protuberances that rose out of the asteroid's craggy and pitted surface, being roughly conical in shape and shaded the same drab nondescript grey colouring the rest of the astral monolith.

  A disquieting flicker of white incandescence appeared suddenly at the base of the outcrop to disturb the cloak of timeless serenity that had shrouded the torpid rock for aeons. The mysterious glimmer lasted only an instant before giving way to a vivid, pulsating flash of harsh yellow that doubled in breadth and intensity with each passing moment. Within seconds, the sweeping brightness totally engulfed the tip of the asteroid, completely masking it from view before abruptly vanishing. The prominence unexpectedly shattered, blown apart by the devastating explosion heralded by the deadly hypnotic light display. The extreme force of the cataclysmic blast was evident only visually, for its deafening roar was smothered by the stifling noiselessness of space.

  Pandemonium erupted throughout the stoic asteroid field as the impact of the tremendous detonation took effect. The planetoid reeled drunkenly from the blow that had blasted a fifth of its mass asunder and rent a disfiguring chasm on its already cracked exterior. Spiralling slowly away from its familiar resting place, the great lump of celestial rock dredged a sluggish path through the belt, effortlessly brushing aside its smaller companions as it unerringly pushed its way to the edge. Rotating with deceptive laziness, the errant asteroid broke free from its constraining brethren and exited into empty space to eventually be swallowed up by the immeasurable vastness of the inky void.

  In the wake of its forceful departure the blasted planetoid left a growing melee of tumbling and spinning rocks, the product of a chain reaction of kinetic energy that swiftly spread amongst the formerly motionless space boulders like an incurable malignancy. The deathly stillness that had permeated the asteroid field for untold centuries was suddenly shattered. Rock after dormant rock was stirred into life after millennia of inactivity as the wave of disruption escalated. They tumbled uncontrollably after being struck by their close companions and in turn bumped and set into motion their immediate neighbours. The circular belt of stellar matter quickly became a confusing scene of shifting points of stone.

  From out of the midst of this chaotic scattering of revolving rocks burst forth the jagged remnants of the shattered tip of the receding planetoid. Reduced by the explosive light to a mosaic of fragmented pieces, the shivered outcropping was hurled in all directions with unimaginable force. The majority of the shards were smashed into nothingness after colliding with the more substantial rocks careening around them, but a few somehow avoided being dashed to smaller pieces and were flung clear of the maelstrom. These dozen of so scraps of cosmic shrapnel erupted from out of the field at a staggering 90,000 miles per second, narrowly missing the isolated planet in the center of the rocky ring before shooting past the subdued sun faintly glowing in the near distance to vanish into the dark spacial depths.

  This would have been the conclusion of yet another unremarkable, albeit violent, chapter in the infinite volume of interstellar events were it not for the nature of the astral missiles and the direction the horrendous blast had unwittingly fired them in. For although most of the fragments were no bigger than a football, they preceded a more substantial segment of the host rock that greatly overshadowed its leading entourage of tiny slivers. Meagre by galactic standards, the six-mile wide meteoroid was still of significant size to adversely affect any celestial body blocking its course, and four light years distant a fragile ocean-covered planet unknowingly stood directly in its path.

  The unstoppable journey of the Annihilator had begun.

  —

  NOTE: For the sake of improved readability, the frequently unpronounceable dinosaur names used in this story have been replaced by user-friendly designations. Refer to the glossary for the proper terms and pronunciation listed against their colloquial variants, as well as the literal translations where researched.

  Chapter One

  The storm raged unabated.

  Torrential sheets of rain driven relentlessly before howling gale-force winds lashed the densely wooded landscape. Flaring lightning forks stabbed the turbulent night sky, dancing along the treetops and reducing the sturdy boles they touched to charred monuments of smouldering timber. Moments afterwards, peals of crashing thunder rolled loudly through the stormy sky in aural accompaniment to the flashing bolts of energy. The air was alive with the sight and sound of the elemental forces as the tempest continued to loose its unchecked fury earthwards.

  The time was sixty-five million years into the Earth's past, and the mixed forests cowering beneath the boisterous storm would some day become part of the mid-western United States of America. For now, the vast tract of pines, firs and spreading broad-leafed trees on the nameless landmass were home to the planet's dominant life-form—the dinosaurs. For 150 million years these ‘terrible lizards’ had walked the cosmically young biosphere and the ageless reign of the ruling reptiles appeared immutable.

  Huddling around the columnar trunk of an ancient sequoia loitered a quartet of these imposing creatures, their mammoth shadowy forms rivalling even the immensity of the surrounding redwoods. The four Thunderfeet crowded close together in an effort to shelter from the savagery of the tempestuous night, but the bole they milled around was rooted on the edge of a capacious glade and its compact evergreen branches offered the animals little protection from the raging thunderstorm. Their dark hides glistened from the drenching rain pelting them, and the behemoths were briefly illuminated by the periodic flashes of crackling electricity that momentarily lit the sombre landscape. At the same time, a screaming s
outheasterly tore through the swaying trees, carrying with it a numbing chill that seeped through exposed flesh to freeze the bones.

  A searing bolt of lightning arced high overhead to strike the tip of a nearby pine, blinding the unmoving Thunderfeet with its fleeting brilliance. The topmost portion of the tree splintered, crashing to the ground scorched and smoking not twenty feet from the giants. Spurred by the devastation visited upon the conifer, the cluster of reptiles hurriedly moved away from their redwood umbrella as the partnering thunderclap to the electrical display broke loudly across the wild heavens. Opting for the uninviting openness of the treeless clearing, the foursome proceeded into the glade in single file, anxiously surveying their windswept surrounds with fretful glances. Coming to an uneasy halt before a bare patch of muddy earth set like an island amongst a myriad of waterlogged craters, they stood around indecisively.

  The clearing was ovular in configuration, and easily large enough to accommodate a half dozen of the gargantuan reptiles without causing them inconvenience. Ringed by a tightly regimented border of redwoods standing rigidly against the blustery weather, there was but a single entry point from the encircling forest into the secluded glade broad enough to permit the outsized dinosaurs unhindered access, albeit in a train. The exposed earth of the clearing floor indicated this was an area regularly visited by the giants, judging by the trampling of the fern cover into bare, compacted soil over time. The heavy downpour of nighttime thundershowers had now transformed the hardened dirt into a quagmire of sticky mud that clung maddeningly to the elephantine feet of the heavyweights.

  'Hardly the best of nights to be overseeing a hatching, Grand Matriarch,’ one of the three Thunderfoot cows commented to her elder compatriot. ‘It's only water, Rosade,’ Balticea declared nonchalantly, ‘and if necessary we'll weather a flood to witness my daughter's clutch successfully hatch this time.'

  The old cow who had answered was typical of her kind. Spanning seventy feet in length, from her elegantly tapering snout to the tip of her lengthy whip-like tail end, this latest link in the sauropodal evolutionary chain greatly resembled her remote ancestors in appearance: a long, almost sinuous neck, topped by a disproportionately small head, radiating from an expansive humped body and massive gut set upon four pillar-like legs, finally ending in the thinly elongated tail. Supporting her hefty thirty-ton weight were wide, five-toed splayed feet sporting tough blunted claws. The inner toe of each forefoot was enlarged and curved, providing the colossal plant-eater with an effective digging tool or scythe-like weapon for combating the few predators game enough to tackle a fully grown Thunderfoot. Colouration was the traditional drab hues found on animals of such immensity—a deep reddish-brown draping the upper body that graduated to a more earthy brown on the lower extremities. But there was a distinctive feature that set this individual cow apart from her uniformly similar companions. Her massively wrinkled frame denoted an age well exceeding the customary 100 year life span of her species.

  A second stab of lightning speared the murky sky to the west of the clearing, heralding the ear-shattering thunderclap that burst directly above the Thunderfoot group. The plainly apprehensive reptiles barely flinched at the din of the tumultuous boom, their attention jointly focused upon the circle of untouched sludge at the very center of the glade. As if prompted by the clamorous skies, the youngest of the cows slowly plodded across the saturated earth toward the undisturbed area. The lone bull of the party, markedly smaller thanks to the dimorphism exhibited by the Thunderfoot sexes, stamped his forefeet agitatedly in the squishy dirt.

  'Hold your ground, Sorrin,’ ordered the elderly female.

  Sorrin swivelled his neck to regard his herd leader. As Grand Matriarch, Balticea's command could never be ignored, and doubly so when the oldster happened to be the mother of his mate. Still, the perturbed bull was compelled to try. ‘She shouldn't have to go through the ordeal alone, Balticea,’ he contended.

  'My daughter has our support,’ stated the matron, ‘but she must undertake this act alone.'

  'Surely you could make an exception in Beliann's case,’ Rosade interjected on Sorrin's behalf.

  'No Healer. Tradition cannot be circumvented.'

  'She has suffered the disappointment of so many failed clutches already,’ argued Rosade. ‘To have Sorrin at her side will give her much-needed moral strength.'

  The Grand Matriarch was not swayed. ‘If anything, Beliann must exemplify our ways. How would it look to the herd if their future leader flaunted custom just to allay personal fears? Longstanding practice has it that an egg-mother alone is the first to greet her hatchlings. I'll not defy that, even for Beliann.'

  Sorrin glowered at his mother-in-law. ‘Sometimes you're as cold-hearted as a Killjaw,’ he accused.

  'Sorrin! That's uncalled for.'

  'It's all right, Rosade,’ soothed Balticea. ‘I've been called worse. I am not unfeeling, merely practical.'

  The trio resumed their silent vigil over the Grand Matriarch's daughter.

  Secretly, Balticea fervently wished otherwise but protocol was unalterable. Thunderfoot ritual was being observed by the attendance of the egg-father and both herd healer and leader on this special occasion. But as her dam, Balticea was inherently more than Beliann's chief. She was herself a worried mother desperate to offer her child comfort. Bound by matriarchal constraints, the stalwart old cow could only respond stiltedly in her capacity as the ruling Thunderfoot.

  Rosade sympathised with her friend and leader while she gazed compassionately at Beliann struggling through the sea of mud. No Thunderfoot, other than the Grand Matriarch, better appreciated the mounting pressure their race was under to survive than she did. The ancestral Thunderfeet, once a thriving species, were nowadays being supplanted by the swelling herds of rival Shieldhorns and Duckbills. Little did the inoffensive giants know that they bore demoralising witness to their inescapable extinction in the face of unbeatable competition from newer models. The growing incidence of infertile clutches dug out by fretting mothers was making matters worse still. The healer was increasingly presiding over non-events in the Hatching Circle, and Beliann was not exempt from such heartache. Her current clutch was the swan song of yet another dismal laying season, and Beliann's ninth attempt in as many years to rear a brood. Aside from her and Sorrin's yearning to parent a family, the leader's daughter was under the unspoken obligation to produce her own heir to the vaunted matriarchship. Tradition only kept Thunderfoot society from collapsing entirely in the face of such calamitous times, a fact that compelled Balticea to adhere to convention with even greater strictness.

  The watchful Thunderfeet waited for over an hour in the downpour, their uneasiness building to unbearable levels with still no sign of emergent life from the glade's centre.

  True to reptilian form, these oversize lizards communally laid 100 football-sized eggs each in shallow, soil-covered trenches rather than giving birth to live young. Incubated by the warmth the covering layer of dirt generated, the developing infants were protected from egg-stealers by a solitary adult who diligently guarded the vital nests day and night. Hatching from their leathery cocoons twelve weeks thereafter, the newborn Thunderfoot would struggle to the surface to be welcomed by their mother, who instinctively knew the exact moment her offspring were due to emerge. The dam would then shepherd her brood to a collective nursery in the thickest part of the forest where the bulkier meat-eaters could not reach the tiny, defenceless hatchlings safe and secure in the impenetrable undergrowth. A season or two would pass before the fast-growing yearlings were of respectable size to join the adults of the herd that was always within earshot.

  'Where are the hatchlings? They're overdue’ muttered Sorrin. His eagerness for fatherhood had not waned despite nine seasons of letdowns.

  As if answering her mate's call for action, the mud at Beliann's enormous feet moved slightly. Sorrin's cow backed carefully away and lowered her head to examine the sticky ground. The ooze moved again.

  'Look!
’ Rosade exclaimed excitedly.

  A tiny snout suddenly poked through the muddy ground. It was followed a heartbeat later by the rest of the head as the hatchling pushed upwards to survey its storm-tossed world with the infantile air of innocence. Beliann gently nuzzled her wide-eyed offspring, triggering the baby Thunderfoot to fully haul itself free from its underground nest. The attentive cow began licking the mud from the bandy-legged hatchling's soft hide, cementing the formative mother-child bond so critical in the precious few minutes following parturition.

  'Mother, she's a girl!’ Beliann delightedly proclaimed to the Grand Matriarch after finishing grooming her infant daughter.

  Balticea heaved a sigh of relief. The unbroken matriarchal lineage of her family line was to remain intact. The elderly cow squinted. ‘Are there any others?’ she enquired. Though her mind remained sharp as a thorn, Balticea's eyesight was progressively failing.

  Beliann fussily scanned the unmoving mud about her and sadly shook her head, her joyfulness tempered now by a measure of solemnity.

  'I can see no more hatchlings, Grand Matriarch,’ confirmed Rosade.

  'Very well. Sorrin, you are free to join your mate. Rosade, examine my granddaughter if you will. I want to be sure that she is a healthy calf.'

  The healer and bull did as both were bidden. Sorrin rubbed his neck affectionately along Beliann's flank and stared adoringly at the three-foot long hatchling sheltering from the inclement weather beneath her prideful mother's vast underside. She was a perfect replica of the adults, if only being a scant fraction of their enormous size. Rosade congratulated the happy pair before passing her appraising gaze over the youngster. ‘Well done, you two. She appears to be in good health,’ pronounced the healer. ‘Except...'

  'For what?’ Balticea hurriedly asked.

  'You had better come and see for yourself.'