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Project Circe
Topic Started: Feb 2 2016, 06:15 PM (4,037 Views)
Flisch
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Disclaimer:
This story may contain adult themes* and violence that might not be suited for younger members of the forum. Keep reading at your own discretion.


*Adult refers to sexual themes, though not (intentionally) pornographic ones.





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In order to prevent the story from being broken up too much, please post comments, questions or suggestions in the OOC thread. Thank you. :)
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Subject: No subject
 
Date: 2019/11/18
Time: 16:51
To: Staff

So I heard a decision has been made to continue Project Circe. I am not entirely sure what I am supposed to feel about it. On the one hand this is big. On the other hand this is exactly what worries me. It could be too big to handle.

But at least we have a plan now. I can't say it's a particularly stable plan, considering it builds on nothing definite other than "Maybe this works.". Project Circe is steering towards an uncertain future and I hope our plans with A. Johnson will not end in tragedy, should he even accept, which is far from assured.

I also want to take this moment to remind everyone of how serious the situation is. This was not a minor setback. We lost two good people, because we weren't prepared. We should not make the same mistakes again. Even if Johnson is indeed as good as it is claimed, we should double up on our efforts, triple up if possible.

We are not only testing new technology and learn more about the history of our planet. We are also gambling with people's lifes here. Whenever we send someone back, there is a good chance they won't return. I want everyone to remember this, to internalize this.

Personally I can live with the shut-down of Project Circe, but I don't want to be responsible for another person's death. I hope we all see eye to eye here.

Regards,
C. Peters, Head of Research
Edited by Flisch, Apr 9 2016, 05:41 PM.
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I find myself disliking Quinton-as someone who's all too familiar with his type, he kind of grates on me. Still, I like that he does acknowledge that he's gonna need more help for this.
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I walk down the hallway to the lab. I take note that I'm moving faster than usual, but I do nothing to slow down. My hair is still damp from the shower. I didn't have the patience to let it dry. As I'm entering the lab I can see the scientists already working at their stations. Quinton is also there, immersed in some papers. Chris greets me by acting surprised that I'm already there. I ask if I'm late, but he assures me I have arrived just in time.

Very well then. I move towards the timepod, but Quinton intercepts me. He quickly recaps the time I'm going to travel to. It will be during the Miocene, about 15 million years ago with a deviation of up to four million years in either direction, so it could be anywhere between 11 to 19 million years ago. I ask him why I hear about this deviation only now, though I remain conscious of my temper. I notice that he's not as enthusiastic as he was when we first met, and I feel bad for yelling at him yesterday. Not for him, of course, but for me. I don't like the idea of losing control over myself. I am not even sure what happened yesterday.

He tells me that the deviation is negligible and I point out that it is eight million years we're talking about. He says that in evolutionary terms, eight million years is not really that much. Plus, the odds of ending up at the extreme ends of the range are smaller than ending up in the middle, roughly around the time they aim for. I decide to believe him. In the end it doesn't really matter to me. There are so many possibilities for where I could arrive at one point of time alone.

Meanwhile Chris has already prepared the timepod and by prepared I mean he has pulled up the lid. I think I might have been able to do that myself, but hey, I'm not the one with a doctor's degree in time machine engineering. Better let the professionals handle that.

As I sit down, Peters tells me they will do a 30 minute run this time. I ask him why we don't do an hour. He says that they want to minimize risk, so they do shorter timespans for now. He assures me that we can increase the time durations later on. I tell him that the risk is not really any lower with shorter durations, at least when it comes to 30 minutes. Should I be in any immediate danger, 30 minutes is too long to survive and if it's something that's not immediately lethal, like an infection, 30 minutes won't make a difference. In all but some fringe cases it won't matter.

Peters thinks for a moment, while everyone is looking at him. He asks me if I am really sure I want to do a full hour. I confirm and after another pause he gives in. One hour it is. Good.

I lie down on the timepod and watch Chris close the lid. Then I hear Josh initializing a ping of 13. It's a good thing I'm not superstitious. As he is counting down, I find my lips following suit.

Three. Two. One.
Edited by Flisch, Feb 29 2016, 07:36 PM.
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As the moment of vertigo fades, I try to make sense of my surroundings. It feels familiar in a way, but also entirely alien. Everything is black and white, but I can see bright schemes around me. I can hear a multitude of sounds, none of them I have ever heard before. There is nothing below me, except darkness. I realize I am in water and my body is rather big. I have trouble looking at myself, but I can feel enough. I don't have legs, but I do possess arms, or rather hands. Now I see they're flippers. I have a powerful tail with a fluke at the end and my mouth is very big. My tongue scrapes against a ridged surface on all sides. It feels like a comb.

I'm a whale, and I am not alone. Around me are others of my kind. I can see my fellow whales on both on my left and my right simoultaneously, such is the advantage of having eyes at the side of your head. What puts me off though, is the blind spot directly in front of me. I can tell that they are friendly, both by their movements and the sounds they emit. Each of them lets out a long rolling sound, deep but not threatening. Some of the younger ones produce higher sounds, reminding me more of the whalesong samples you sometimes hear.

Only now do I realize that the sounds that are all around me are also largely whalesong, though of a different type and they sound far away. Some come in groups, likely from pods like mine while others seem to be isolated, probably belonging to lone whales. But among all those sounds there are others, quick staccato-like sounds, almost like machine gun fire, but also very low rumbling sounds that build up and eventually seem to topple over themselves only to fall into silence. Nothing of it is deafening and feels more like ambient noise, similar to how you hear insects, birds and the rustling of leaves in a forest.

I can tell apart all my fellow whales by their song alone. Everyone has their own unique style and tonality, and even their voices are different. Unlike humans, their voices do not reveal their gender, that's what the smells are for. As far as I can tell most of us are female, with only the calves in the middle of our pod having males among them. We are not many. I count eleven adults and three calves, two of which are male.

I have been silent this entire time, so I try joining in on the underwater choir. It's not like I have anything better to do while we're drifting through the water anyway. I have no idea how whales actually produce sounds, but I trust my muscle memory. I manage to emit what probably passes as some incoherent murmuring among whales. I can tell it is nowhere near as sophisticated as that of the others.

One of my pod members changes her song into a different pattern. It sounds... concerned and confused. I am not even sure how I can tell, but that's the feeling I get. I have no idea how to reply so I trust my instincts and attempt to sound like I'm fine. Apparently I just sounded even more like an idiot, as her confusion deepens. Maybe I should just stop singing before I embarass myself even further.

Luckily one of the other whales distracts from my inability to mingle and breaks formation. She too changes her song but this time it feels more like a call for attention, as if she is asking us to follow her.

Moments later I pick up the scent of food in the water.
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We begin to dive down. Even after merely a body length it becomes too dark to see much. I can still make out vague shapes around me, but I hear my fellow pod members more than I see them. Meanwhile the scent becomes stronger and soon I see what we are after. In front of us is a huge mass of flickering little things. I realize that this is a school of fish, their silvery scales reflecting the dim sunlight from above. The light conditions make it hard to discern individual fish, but I can see where the school roughly ends.

Some of the other whales take positions below and around the school. Only the top remains unobstructed. For a moment I consider taking that spot, but I have an idea what they are trying to do. Immediately after taking positions, the school of fish moves upwards. The whales at the side let out bubbles of air, which prevents the fish from escaping.

Judging from the formation the others have assumed it seems like they have integrated me into their plans. Only the calves and two adults stay behind and since I did not remain with the young, it is assumed I help out with hunting.

Well then. I can already see a part of the mass bulging into my direction as I have yet to produce bubbles. I try to correct that mistake and rather hastily close the gap on my side with a barrier of air. It doesn't look as neat as that of the others, but at least none of the other whales seem to notice. Or maybe they just don't judge. Either way is fine with me.

As the fish move upwards, the curtain of bubbles keeps them inside and forces them into a tighter formation. Similarly we draw our circles closer, giving the fish even less space to move. One of the whales, the same one who was concerned about my singing, catches up with me and seems to correct some of the mistakes I make when producing my part of the bubble ring. Looks like once I'm gone, my whale has some explaining to do.

Eventually we reach the surface again. I can see more clearly and can even make out single fish in the now densely packed school. Some of the whales, including the calves and their custodians now move below the big ball of silver before swimming up in high speed, opening their jaws at the last moment to take in a mouthful of fish, which is a lot when you're a whale.

The remaining fish scatter in all directions but are quickly herded back into their ball by the whales around them. Now I watch some other whales doing the feeding maneuver while more or less trying to help keeping the fish inside their designated area. After they are done I decide it's my turn and get into position together with several other whales. I try to do how the others are doing, concentrating more on them than on the food above me. We rush towards the surface and before I enter the school of fish, I open my mouth wide open.

I can feel a lot of tiny bodies hit my tongue as I surge through the school. Only a moment later I breach through the surface, though only with the head. I see the other whales also sticking out of the ocean, the water around them foaming with panicked tiny fish. I can even see seabirds, flying above us and occasionally plunging into the water at high speed.

Meanwhile the other whales have dived back into the water again. I take note that the taste of raw fish in my mouth does not feel unwelcome. I guess I take over the flavour preferences of the animal I'm in. Good, at least I don't have to worry about having to eat something potentially disgusting with it actually tasting disgusting. I just hope the taste won't linger when I return to the present.

Still having a bunch of wriggling fish in my mouth, I decide to gulp it down. For some reason I hesitate, the seawater in my mouth does not feel right. Subconsciously I push my tongue forward and let it fill the entirety of my oral cavity while opening my mouth just a little. I can feel seawater escape through the opening while all of the fish remain inside, filtered out by my baleen. Now I close my mouth again and swallow the remaining fish with the help of my tongue.

I figure that the next feeding round is starting and I dive back down under the surface and swim out of the way. The school of fish has shrunk considerably, but it's still about two times the size of any of us. I can see the birds divebomb into the water, each one leaving a clean trail of air behind it, almost like a tiny jet plane.

As I watch the birds continuing with their daring maneuvers, I pick up a change in tone in the song of one of the herding whales. She sounds... alarmed.
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Upon hearing the whale's call, the others are retreating from the school of fish, which is now expanding again, no longer besieged from the sides. Below us I can see another fish, a swordfish from the looks of it, taking this opportunity to help itself to a meal as well. Despite being a relatively large fish, it still looks tiny next to us and I doubt the whales would be afraid of such a small animal.

But our fish hunt seems to have attracted more than just birds and swordfish. A dozen body lengths away I can see multiple shapes heading our direction. My pod gets into positions, taking the calves and young adults into the center while the older members take the perimeter. The whale that was concerned about me before and helped me with the bubbles is now taking her place right next to me, swapping places with another one. I get the feeling that she and my whale have a closer connection to each other than to the rest of the pod.

The shapes are now close enough that I can identify them as whales, though of a different kind. They are barely one third the size of any of us, somewhat smaller than our youngest calf. Their shape reminds me of a bulky porpoise while their colouration evokes the image of a killer whale, though they lack the trademark white spot near their eye, but have a large white patch that begins behind their dorsal fin, extends down to the sides, where it joins with the white of their belly, and ends halfway on their tail. I count six individuals in their pack.

The killer porpoises slow down as they approach our pod and vocalizations are exchanged between both groups. The whales of my pack do not sing this time but instead let out short booming sounds, similar to barks. The intruders counter with series of short repeating clacking sounds. If they weren't so monotone, I might liken them to laughter.

It seems like the killer porpoises want to claim the fish for themselves, while the whales in my pod simply try to get them to understand not to come near us. None of our groups is out for direct conflict and the whole scenario almost feels like a mafia tactic, with the whale pack terrorizing us into giving them what they want.

Most of us already had their fill, so my pod decides to leave them alone to their fish. We slowly move away, careful not to leave any openings between the killer porpoises and the calves. All the while the vocalizations continue, although they decrease in intensity and frequency as the distance between us grows. After some time the other whales feel safe again and we assume the standard pod formation. Or try to at least. My inability to properly coordinate with the others always seems to throw a wrench into their plans.

Apparently prompted by my lack of singing and general clumsiness, the whale who frequently interacts with me approaches once more. Her song comes off as concerned again, though not quite as serious as the first time she sang to me. Talked to me. Whatever you call it. I have to assume this is the whale method of asking if everything is alright. I have now the choice of either replying with gibberish or not replying at all. I decide to go with the latter. Hopefully whales can be moody at times.

Apparently they cannot, as she keeps singing to me, though her note becomes more playful over time. Is she seriously trying to cheer me up? Is that something whales can do? She then decides to swim closer and runs one of her flippers over my hide. Still not getting the kind of reaction she hoped for, she rotates in the water a bit and begins nudging me very gently with the top of her snout. I decide to ignore her. These two whales can sort this out once I'm gone.

We're swimming very close to the surface, so I move upwards, mainly to escape the awkward gestures of affection. Once my blowhole is out of the water I almost involuntarily breathe out and in again. I haven't even realized I hadn't taken a breath ever since we fed.

Feeling the cold air on my skin gives me an idea. I decide to breach the surface multiple times. I cannot get my body fully out of the water, but I do manage to lift out all but the tail. Every time I'm back in the water to prepare for the next attempt, I can hear my whale friend singing to me, though I can't quite make out the intention this time.

After the eighth time however, I hear the song of another whale, one of the oldest in our pod. She sounds... angry for the lack of a better word, though it's not quite right. It also has traces of authority. I realize that the other whales have moved on ahead, and there is quite the distance between us now. I figure that she is the alpha female and just told me to get back in line.

I suppose that a single whale would be easy prey. Those killer porpoises may be small, but in large numbers they can probably bring down one of us rather easily, considering we don't have any meaningful weapons, apart from our size. I move back to the pod, taking in the rich soundscape around me.

Then, without forewarning, I am overcome by a downright deafening silence. My slow but steady movements through the water come to an abrupt halt as I find myself back in the timepod. As I see Chris opening the lid, I wonder if it really has been one hour.

I slowly get up, though I feel slightly disoriented. Below me is solid ground and my field of vision is suddenly so... narrow. On the other hand I can see colour again, which is nice. Plus, I don't have to deal with overaffectionate whales anymore. I look up to see the researchers staring at me expectantly.

But I guess I have to deal with overinquisitive humans again.
Edited by Flisch, Mar 5 2016, 06:43 PM.
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C:\Users\qross\Documents\PalaeoNotes\Johnson_2019_11_25.doc
 
Timeframe: 19 mya - 11 mya
Era: Miocene
Session Length: 56 min
Location: Ocean (open sea)

Todays session has yielded some very surprising information. Johnson was put into the body of a baleen whale and what he told us is nothing short of astonishing. We do know that whales are pretty smart, but those he described are possibly only rivaled in terms of intelligence by dolphins. And even then it's not farfetched to believe that those whales formed complex cultures and societies not at all unlike those of early humans. But I am getting ahead of myself.

These whales differ in behaviour from modern baleen whales quite a bit. The first thing to note is that these whales appear to form stable social bonds. Johnson's pod was composed of all females, except for the calves, with what he described as an alpha female. This heavily implies that there is a strict social structure these whales follow. They are not gathering in loose groups that may disband just as quickly as they have been founded. And the fact that there is a leader of sorts and males are absent requires there to be rules to follow. I suspect that males live alone or may even form their own "bachelor" pods. I am strongly reminded of elephants in this regard.

Another very important thing is that not only do females sing in this species, but they also do so frequently. To quote Johnson for a moment, these whales "sing all the goddamn time". Apparently they use whalesong not only to attract mates, but to communicate. Although they also sing when idle, I cannot help but liken their whalesong to human speech in terms of function. Johnson has even described how certain patterns carry different emotions with them, like concern, sadness and even oddly abstract concepts like authority. No doubt did Johnson's human brain convert these messages into human emotions, but it stands to reason that this whalesong can be used to carry emotions at the very least, if not actual information. Since Johnson seemed to produce gibberish when he tried himself at whalesong, there also seems to be a learning aspect to their songs, which would indeed turn it into a full-fledged language. It would also imply that Johnson couldn't pick up the complete meanings.

As far as I know, none of these behaviours have been observed in modern baleen whales, which makes these now extinct whales unique among their kind. I do not dare to say for certain whether they are more or less intelligent than today's dolphins, but until we find out that dolphins can communicate complex concepts, I'm inclined to believe these baleen whales beat them to it.

One peculiar thing Johnson mention was that there was one whale that seemed to be friends with Johnson's. When Johnson attempted to join in on the whalesong and produced gibberish as a result, she was the only one to 'comment' on it. Johnson mentioned that he felt concern coming from her song. Later she was helping him out when they were hunting fish and after that she approached him once more. Johnson described her behaviour this time as trying to cheer him up and from his depictions, that seems likely. She supposedly changed her song into a more cheerful note and made playful body contact. I do wonder about the exact nature of this bond between them. Were they really friends? It sounds mundane, but it would be amazing to find out that animals can have, for the lack of a better word, favourite conspecifics. Another possibility is that the females in the pod form stable romantic bonds due to the absence of males. After all homosexual relationships exist in various forms among modern animals.

Unfortunately Johnson could not give me any helpful anatomical clues as to which modern whales would be their closest relatives. However, due to their hunting strategy, that is remarkably similar to that of humpback whales, I'm inclined to believe that these whales can be placed somewhere near those on the evolutionary tree. Maybe I could play some whalesong recordings to Johnson and see which ones sound most similar to the ones he heard, but then again his human anatomy wouldn't allow him to hear them in the same way a whale would.

Whatever the case may be, it is a sad thing to know that such intelligent animals went extinct, and also a bit scary. Intelligence is an asset that gives the animal in question a huge advantage, or so it is thought. Of course, intelligence without the ability to put it to use may not be as beneficial as it was for humans. These whales could not build tools or weapons. Any predator or competition would exert the same pressure on them as it would on a less intelligent animal. Additionally their complex brain would make them more susceptible to food shortages. Maybe they did not directly go extinct but rather gave rise to a less intelligent species, one that was just as successful ecology wise but less energy demanding. I am honestly not sure which fate is worse: Having your entire species go extinct, or having your descendants be reduced to mere animals.

Of course all of this raises the question as to how they evolved such a complex brain in the first place. Was there evolutionary pressure to develop complex social structures and communication? Pressure, which then disappeared? Maybe the question as to how sapience evolves is one that will haunt us forever.

The other things in the session were mostly unremarkable. There were seabirds, swordfish and schooling fish that would form bait-balls when threatened, although Johnson couldn't really say what kind of fish. To laymen they all look the same.

One interesting thing though were some animals that Johnson described as killer porpoises. They appeared to be a transitional form between killer whales and other members of the dolphin family. Johnson's description of their colouration sounds eerily similar to that of the porpoise Phocoenoides dalli. It could be just convergent evolution, but maybe the Dall's Porpoise is indeed the closest relative to the Killer Whale.

Correction: After some research it appears as if killer whales are more closely related to the snubfin dolphins (Orcaella) than to porpoises. It could still be that snubfin dolphins are an offshoot that didn't make it to killer whales and reverted back into smaller forms again, but for now it seems to be merely convergent evolution.
Edited by Flisch, Apr 9 2016, 05:49 PM.
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I lie awake. Still. For two hours I've been staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. This is unusual, normally I can sleep on command and wake up just as quickly, but tonight everything is different. I'm not even turning on the couch, I'm just lying there, perfectly still. The events of today's trip are flitting across my mind. There is no particular order, it's just the different scenes playing out time and time again. I'm not thinking about anything in particular, I'm more some kind of passive observer.

Several people have asked me to describe the feeling of being sent to the past, the atmosphere, the environment. I don't know how to describe it, not that I would have done that. If they want to know what it's like they can make the trip themselves. And yet, it gets me thinking. I find it hard to put the feeling into words. The world of the past is so much more... different. I can't tell if it's because these animals experience the world in other ways or if it's something else.

I figure that I could just as well do something productive while I'm awake and pay the gym a visit. As I am working out, my mind returns to the scenes. Before my inner eye I see the members of my pod barking at the killer porpoises, birds plunging into the water like bullets, my whale friend trying to cheer me up. After taking a shower I lie down on the couch again. The scenes are still playing, but my body is exhausted enough to welcome some rest. I can hear whalesong in my mind as I am drifting off to sleep.

I wake up to footsteps outside my apartment door. Stuart, from the sounds of it. Moments later I hear the bell ring. I know I'm late before I even check the phone. I get up to open the door. Stuart is visibly startled, possibly because I am naked. He apologizes and tells me that he just wanted to check on me. They expected me earlier. Earlier? It's just been three days and they- Oh whatever. I tell him that I'll be there in half an hour and close the door without waiting for a reaction.

I go eat at the cafeteria. At this time of the day it's not as empty as when I normally go to eat in the morning, but it's not exactly crowded. I can see a few military personnel. It seems like the cafeteria is shared among the project's staff and the military, which is odd because their housing is separate. The few apartments would not be enough for all the soldiers, plus I haven't seen a single one in the building outside the cafeteria. They possibly have their own barracks in one of the smaller buildings outside.

Once I'm finished with my meal I go to the lab. In addition to the scientists, Quinton is there again as well, trying to fill me in on the time I'm going to visit. It will be the end of the Eocene, possibly start of the Oligocene, about 31 to 39 million years ago. He mostly tells me things I have already memorized from our lesson on sunday. He does however go into more detail on the marine environments this time, possibly because we only skimmed it in the lesson and my last trip went into a whale. He tells me about some early whales as I am taking position in the timepod. I'm only half-listening. Most of what he tells me is not practically useful information.

His talking stops as I lie down on the surface. Chris gives Quinton a quick look before lowering the lid. Like last time, Josh initiates a ping of 13 and starts the countdown.

Three. Two. One.
Edited by Flisch, Mar 7 2016, 06:28 PM.
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In order to prevent the story from being broken up too much, please post comments, questions or suggestions in the OOC thread. Thank you. :)
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Guys, please follow the OP's wishes and don't post replies here.
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I find myself in a forest. It is not a thick jungle like the ones from my earlier trips. The tree trunks are relatively thin and there is little undergrowth. The canopy is sparse enough to bathe the ground in sunlight.

After taking in the surroundings, I take a look at myself. I already know I'm a bird, but I want to know what kind. I have two powerful long legs, a long muscular neck and a big bulky beak. I spread my wings and almost don't see them. They're so tiny they barely stick out of the plumage. Of course, when I'm a bird, I'm a flightless one. Well, next time I guess.

I try to judge my height from my surroundings. Either the trees are relatively small or I am relatively big. The leaves and branches on the ground indicate that I'm no larger than a human, possibly measuring no more than 150 centimeters at eye level. This would mean the trees around me are not taller than six or seven meters. That seems about right. The trees don't look that old either.

I take a stroll through the forest. Something feels a bit off, the forest looks both clean and messy. After taking a closer look I see why. The bark of the trees is a sooty black and some places have peeled off. New shoots are emerging from cracks all over the tree. None of these shoots look particularly old, their stems have not hardened yet, some of the leaves are still rolled up. The same is true for the undergrowth. Fresh bright green is sprouting everywhere between fallen black twigs. None of these young plants are higher than 40 centimeters. Even if they grow relatively fast, this can't be more than a few days.

There must have been a wildfire very recently. As I walk around I note the relative lack of small animals around. I can hear birds, sure, but I miss the buzz of beetles and the swarms of dancing flies in sunrays. I also haven't seen any small mammals and reptiles yet. The only other animals I encounter are some browsing animals, feeding on the young sprouts. There is a loose herd of mammals that remind me of horses, though their face is shorter and looks more like that of a deer. Their fur is grey with a white underside and the faces have white spots, similar to freckles. Their shoulder height is lower than my eye level, so they are not as big as actual horses.

I walk for several more minutes, when I notice nuts lying on the ground, nuts that, I now realize, are everywhere. The ground is littered with them. I did not see them at first, because they are charred black just the same as the twigs and branches. Each of these nuts is somewhat round, but has an open slit running from the top halfway down to both sides. From this opening the seed inside has already germinated and taken root. Small two-leafed sprouts emerge from each capsule.

I take a look to the trees and sure enough, I see the same nuts hanging from the branches, although still closed. Most are higher up, where I can't reach them. I suppose the heat of the forest fire let them pop open, allowing the seedlings to sprout. When I look at the still closed seeds hanging in the trees, I feel a bit hungry. I suppose that this is what my bird eats. That explains the big powerful beak then.

As I am searching for nuts that hang on lower branches, one of the horses speeds through the undergrowth and rushes past me. Several others of its herd follow quickly. I watch them all disappear in the distance and turn around to face whatever they were fleeing from.

Apart from the swaying undergrowth nothing moves and the birds in the canopy are the only thing that keeps the moment from falling into complete silence.
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I stand perfectly still, scanning the area in front of me with great attention. If whatever these horses fled from is a threat, I might not get a second chance if I make a mistake. Nature knows no pity.

My mind races through possible scenarios. How would I escape a tiger? A pack of wolves? My options are limited due to the lack of hands. I cannot draw any weapons, I cannot even pick up any of the branches around me. All I have is my beak and my legs which, hopefully, will be quick enough should the need arise.

I see a shape in the far distance. The sparse undergrowth and canopy lets me see a great deal in this forest. It seems to be a quadrupedal animal, with a long tail, but I can't make out any details. It does not seem to be in a rush, neither does it charge nor flee. I assume this is what the horses fled from. I relax a little bit. At least now I can't be surprised anymore. The animal seems to have noticed me and comes closer. Its gait quickens but does not shift into a sprint as I would expect from a hunter. I can now make out details.

The animal is definitely a reptile, but not one I am familiar with. It has a short head with powerful jaws. Teeth are protruding down at the sides and one pair is slightly enlargened, giving off the appearance of canines. The legs are positioned below the body, unlike those of monitors and other lizards, giving it a somewhat mammal-like stance. The tail is long and vertically flattened with spines at the top and bottom similar to the back of an iguana. Big rectangular scales cover the entire body, which is tinged in a light brown. Some batches of scales on the body are coloured black while the tail, head and legs have black stripes.

For a moment I wonder if this is a dinosaur, but despite everything some elements feel oddly familiar. It's the eyes that give it away. Large amber-coloured irises with thin vertical pupil slits tell me that this must be some form of crocodile, as crazy as it sounds. The snout, the claws, the scales. It all fits now. I take a mental note about how Quinton forgot to tell me anything about these crocodile... things. Crocodog seems like a fitting name. Let's go with that.

Fittingly, the crocodog is only dog-sized unlike its modern relatives. This is however not too much of a relief, since I am not that big either. My shoulder height is still above that of the reptile, but knowing their modern counterparts, that doesn't mean much. It could probably still put up a fierce fight.

The crocodog stops some meters in front of me, looking me up, possibly to check if I am easy prey. I let it know that I am not. I prop myself up as large as I can, even stick out my pathetic wings. Involuntarily I raise feathers on my head as well. The reptile seems to have second thoughts. It takes a quick look around, probably searching for other animals. Now I notice a wound on its right hind leg and I begin to pick up on some subtle clues. Its movements are not as quick as I would expect from a predator and it doesn't look too convinced about me as its prey. It feels as if the crocodog hasn't had any luck in hunting lately, due to its injury, and is now starved.

It must have been up all night. Its eyes look much more like that of a nocturnal animal, the pupils have contracted into tight slits, letting only the barest hint of light inside. The crocodog's colouration reminds me of ambush predators and the forward facing eyes fit into that as well. Problem is just, that there is no undergrowth in this forest, which makes any attempt at ambushing prey futile. The crocodog is in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's completely out of its element, like a fish out of the water. No wonder it hasn't been able to kill any prey yet.

The reptile won't make it for long unless it fnds something to eat and it seems to be aware of that fact itself. It stopped looking around and focuses on me again, trying to find an opening. Shit, now things get serious. I maneuver myself around to position a tree between us. The crocodog follows my movements and tries to counter my strategy, circling around and occasionally snapping at me. Its movements are too slow for me though and I evade any attacks. I'm thinking about running away, but crocodiles can be fast and this one is built for walking on land, so I am not sure how good my chances would be. Plus, it doesn't give me any opportunity to do so. I have trouble keeping it in front of me. I need to wait until the right moment, either to land an attack on my own or to flee.

After a while the attacks become more aggressive and more frequent and I'm starting to have trouble evading them. The rush of adrenaline has probably quickened its movements. Fighting might not be the best idea anymore, considering the reptile is about my size, mass-wise. I decide to go for the fleeing tactic. I just need to find a good moment to turn my back on it. I see another tree nearby that I want to use as a barrier between us so I have just the second I need to escape.

My attention was not fully on the crocodog though and I react too late to its attack. It circles around on me and lunges forward.

Pain bolts through my body as the reptile's teeth dig deep into my left thigh.
Edited by Flisch, Mar 11 2016, 07:49 PM.
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I jerk up my thigh and stagger backwards, causing the crocodog to let go. I retaliate by swooping down and biting the reptile's snout. I only get a hold of the upper jaw and the animal desperately bites me back but can only make contact with my bony beak. My hold isn't perfect and during our struggle the crocodog rolls on its back and I slip off. I don't lose any time and use the moment to attack once more, this time getting both jaws in my beak. I press down as hard as I can, trying not to let go this time. I hear a crack as the bones of the reptile's lower jaw give in and my hold tightens. As I shake the crocodog's head around, it thrashes about desperately. Eventually I hear a muted snap and the animal's body goes limp.

I wait a few seconds to be sure until I let go of the dead body. The adrenaline rush of the battle had drowned out the pain, which is now returning to full force. I look at my left thigh and see a stream of blood running down my legs. The crocodog must have hit a major vein. I need to stop the bleeding, or I will die before the hour runs out. Now it's a race against time.

My mind is sifting through possible ideas at a dizzying rate. If I had hands I could apply a tourniquet to at least slow down the bleeding. I can't even put a hand on it to provide some pressure. I limp through the forest hoping to find something, anthing to help me out. Maybe I could find some vines. Maybe I could use loam to seal the wound.

I quickly realize that I am running out of time. There is nothing but trees as far as I can see. Nothing to seal the wound or slow the bleeding. The blood flow on my leg doesn't stop and I press my thigh against the bark of the nearest tree, just to apply some pressure. The effect seems to be only minimal as the blood is running down the bark. If I don't find a solution soon, I might be dead in a few minutes.

As I watch my blood on the black bark, I do get an idea that might be so crazy it could actually work. Maybe, if these trees have a sufficient supply of resin, I could use that to seal the wound. Not losing any time I use my strong beak to hack on the tree, carving out a cleft. Luckily the red wood is not that hard and I make quick progress. I notice a sticky substance leaking from the opening.

Splinters of wood fall to the ground and a thought occurs to me. Even if I seal the wound, the bleeding might still continue internally. I could maybe use a splinter as a plug. Those that lie on the ground are too small, so I decide to carve out a bigger one. Before I do that I use some of the resin that flows from the injured tree to cover my wound. By now enough resin has accumulated that it begins flowing out of the opening and down the trunk. I realize that not only is the wood of the tree red, but the resin as well. It has such a bright red colour that it looks like the plant is bleeding. Is my mind playing tricks on me? Am I hallucinating already? Maybe I have less time than I thought.

I hastily gather some of the resin on my beak and slather it on my wound. To my relief it is viscous enough to stay on the wound and not let blood through. This should buy me at least a few minutes. I return to the tree and carve out a splinter that I believe to be roughly the size of a human thumb. Trembling, I position one end of the splinter over my wound and steady myself. In one quick motion I shove it in. The pain is threatening to overwhelm my senses and I expect to cry out involuntarily, but I don't. Yeah, animals don't do that. However, I do notice how my breathing quickens considerably.

I gather some more of the resin and apply it to the wound. Better safe than sorry. I can already see that the bleeding has largely stopped. The last trickles are already starting to dry up. Relieved and exhausted, I lie down on one side. For the moment I'm safe, though now I'm leaving behind a scent that tells every predator that I'm injured and easy prey.

After what I think would be a minute, I get back up and start limping through the forest, hoping to find a shelter of sorts, somewhere I can hide at least until the hour runs out. I figure it's probably still about twenty or thirty minutes. As I walk, every step sends out waves of pain as the splinter in my wound is being pushed back and forth. Good, as long as I can feel pain, it means I'm still alive.

After a few minutes of walking, I find another herd of these deer-faced horses. Who knows, maybe it's even the same one. I wonder if staying with them would be a good idea. Such a large gathering of herbivores might attract some predators. On the flipside, the horses would warn me of danger. Then again, even if I would be warned, I'm in no shape to run away. I decide it's for the best to stay on my own. Hopefully the herd will lure some predators away from me.

I still haven't found anything that could provide shelter. Looks like I need to improvise. I pluck some branches from the trees around me. They come down easier than I would have anticipated. Once I have gathered enough, I lie down on the ground next to a tree and build a small tent of branches and leaves leaning against the trunk behind me. Hopefully this makeshift cover will conceal me from any hungry eyes.

While I am waiting for the hour to pass I review my fight with the crocodog. Did I make any mistakes? Maybe I should have run. The horses did and they escaped. In retrospect, yes, I should have fled, rather than facing the reptile. So why didn't I do it? Why did I stay there? My legs surely would have been enough to outrun the crocodog, which was clearly an ambush predator. Maybe I didn't perceive it as a threat? Something is dawning on me. It wasn't because I misjudged the situation in front of me, I misjudged myself. I was extrapolating from the capabilities of a human. I probably couldn't have outrun the crocodog, if I was in my human body. In open terrain maybe, but not in a forest. Even if I could have, it's not always the best idea, since you might leave behind tools, weapons or supplies. This bird however does not have any possessions. Its legs even seem to be built for speed, at least more so than those of a human. I conclude that, yes, I should have run and take a mental note that in the future I need to take into account my animal body when faced with a situation like this. Too bad I can't take anything from the trip with me as a lesson to keep.

The waiting game remains rather uneventful, not that I'm complaining. Only one animal approaches my hideout, a slender badger-like mammal. It reminds me of a skunk without the bushy tail, but a similar black and white colouration, except that the stripes go across the body rather than running from head to tail. Its sides give off the impression of a ribcage this way. It sniffs at my hideout, possibly having picked up the scent of blood, but I scare it away with a sudden croak. Almost like a cat it jumps back half a meter out of surprise and changes its mind. A vocalizing heap of leaves and twigs that smells like blood probably doesn't fit into its prey pattern.

The time doesn't seem to pass and I'm starting to get drowsy. Maybe the loss of blood made me lightheaded. The pain in my thigh keeps me from falling asleep though. Instead I stare out of my Fort Makeshift. Some meters in front of me I can see a stain on the ground. I've seen quite a few, actually, but I didn't pay them any attention. Only now does their colour seem odd. It's dark, like that of a water stain, but not only does it stay without drying up, but it also has a colour to it. It seems to shimmer ever so slightly in a violet hue, except that it's not really violet. The more I'm looking at it the stranger it becomes. I try to identify the colour, but even though it reminds me of violet, it also appears as silver, just not in a metallic way. Isn't silver just a metallic grey? Is silver even a colour?

My thoughts are disrupted by the sudden change of surroundings. Rather than leaves, a lid made of metal and plastics is covering me. I push it up and raise my upper body. I begin massaging my left thigh as I still feel a dull pain coming from it. I suppose my body still remembers the injury, but the feeling is slowly subsiding. Chris, who seems to have noticed my fortured expression, asks me if I'm okay.

Bluntly, I reply that I'm alive.
Edited by Flisch, Mar 13 2016, 08:26 PM.
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C:\Users\qross\Documents\PalaeoNotes\Johnson_2019_11_26.doc
 
Timeframe: 39 mya - 31 mya
Era: Late Eocene (possibly Oligocene)
Session Length: 56 min
Location: Pyrophilic woodland, likely southern hemisphere

Today Johnson's survival skills paid off. If what he told us is true (and I have no reason to believe he is lying) then we almost lost him by a hair's breadth. I may not be a big fan of him, but I can't help but feel grateful that he is taking the bullet for us, so to say. It's very frustrating to only hear about the past from second hand sources, but it's probably for the best.

Today Johnson stumbled into quite a peculiar ecosystem. It was an open forest in which the trees have adapted to fire. His descriptions of the trees strongly reminded me of Eucalyptus. They even had the red kino from some modern members. I dare not say if it truly was Eucalyptus, but it does seem to be a big coincidence. Even the way new sprouts emerged from the scorched bark seemed to match the modern species. There was only one thing that just doesn't really fit. Rather than having the capsules be covered with an operculum, the seeds seemed to be similar to nuts. Slits at the top would open in the fire to let the seedling inside germinate. I'm no botanist, so I am not entirely sure just how much this is a case against an affinity to Eucalyptus. Maybe it could be that the operculum merged with the capsule and developed a new breaking point in the middle? Or maybe the operculum is not an ancestral trait. I honestly don't know. It could be a relative to basal Eucalyptus or it could just be an unrelated plant that happened to evolve similar traits due to convergent evolution. Really, it could go either way.

What I find slightly more interesting than the exact evolutionary relationship of the trees is their ecological impact. I don't want to prematurely blow things out of proportion, since pyrophilic trees exist today in various places, but what if that was somehow tied to the rise of grasslands at the end of the Eocene? Maybe grasses evolved as a way to take advantage of wildfires, the same ones that had been 'cultivated' by pyrophiles. This way grasses would have adapted to periodic fires by growing quickly and producing underground offshoots. Since the Cretaceous they might have coexisted with pyrophiles this way until large hoofed mammalian herbivores arrived on the scene. Young trees would have been trampled, while grasses could withstand any damage the grazers would do. If this chain of events turns out to be correct, then that would mean that the pyrophilic trees dug their own graves in a way. Without them, grasses wouldn't exist and without grasses large grazers wouldn't exist. Subsequently, without large grazers, grasslands wouldn't exist. This series of events is just convoluted enough that I wouldn't be surprised at all if this was actually the case.

Speaking of grazers, Johnson also described various different animals. One type of them was what he described as horses with shorter faces. He explicitly told me they weren't deer, because they had one hoof on each foot. It should be noted that these weren't actual grazers, but browsers.

Then there was a large flightless bird, the animal Johnson was actually inside. It sounded remarkably similar to Gastornis, even down to the ecological role it played, feeding on nuts and possibly fruits. It was, however, much smaller, about half the size of an actual Gastornis.

Another animal was what Johnson described as a "skeleton skunk", based on its colouration, which apparently reminded of a ribcage. Unlike an actual skunk however, its tail wasn't bushy but smooth. It also didn't spray any foul-smelling secretion when it became startled.

Last but not least there was a terrestrial crocodile, or crocodylomorph, rather. He called it a crocodog, because of its size and anatomy. I was actually somewhat amazed when he described it. Its snout was really short. I showed him some pictures of reconstructions of extinct terrestrial crocodiles but he would always say the snout was shorter, like that of a dog. Additionally, the legs were very much like that of a mammal, or dinosaur I suppose, not spread out like those of a monitor. Even large ones like the komodo dragon have a sprawling gait. Of course, we knew that terrestrial crocodiles wouldn't have such an awkward stance, but I always expected the legs to have at least a small angle.

All of these animals combined paint a rather contradictory picture. As Johnson was retelling his trip, I was trying to figure out where exactly he landed. Gastornis lived in europe, while early horses were most prolific in north america. However, terrestrial crocodiles of the cenozoic suggest south america or australia. The skeleton skunk could be anything. The carnivoran anatomy has evolved so many times that it's hard to tell what it actually is, from an encounter that lasted mere seconds.

Due to the crocodog I assume it must be either south america or australia. The bird could be a herbivorous member or relative of the Phorusrhacids, while the deer-faced horses easily fit the "south american ungulates" Litopterna, specifically the Proterotheriidae. Australia had already split from antarctica at this point, so unless the horse anatomy evolved three times, this time within marsupials, the trip was most likely in south america. Additionally, the description of the crocodog deviated too much from the terrestrial crocodiles found in australia, such as Mekosuchus.

Interestingly enough, the earliest fossils of Eucalyptus have been found in south america, which could be another sign that the trees from the trip were related to the ancestors of Eucalyptus.

As for the skeleton skunk, honestly it could be anything, but since south america was isolated from the other continents at this point, I find it likely that it is a marsupial, maybe related to opossums.
Edited by Flisch, Apr 9 2016, 06:06 PM.
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