“I have to tell you,” she was saying, her voice slightly muffled by the door, “that if it’s a piece of the Ark you’re after—I think that’s quite foolish. Hespa is right to call it a thing of pure evil; what else could something be that was seeding the clouds with those awful lights?”
I approached the door of the unit and paused, considering what she’d said, then reached out and turned the knob, slowly—only to find it locked from the other side.
“Because that’s what it was doing—seeding the clouds; launching little replicas of itself, like satellites, like glowing arrowheads. At least, until we came out the next day and found it half in the drink—with a trail of wreckage behind it ... your shards.” She laughed, brusquely. “Better be ready, though. Because the dinos love that thing—and its
