Adam and the Arkonauts

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To Alice, my mother

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Contents

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Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Also by Dominic Barker

Imprint

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PROLOGUE

Deep, deep in the Amazon rainforest, two days' paddle by canoe from the nearest human habitation, Doctor Will Forest hacked his way through the dark jungle. Sweat dripped from his brow, his clothes were clammy against his skin and he itched unbearably from the bites of swarms of insects. In spite of this, his determination didn't waver. He attacked the undergrowth with his axe, chopping his way through vines thicker than his arm while trying to avoid the stabs of thorns sharp as daggers. Above him the jungle canopy was alive with the sounds of birds and monkeys, their cries mixing together into a shrieking cacophony that swelled and intensified as the Doctor forced his way deeper into the forest. Strangely, the harder the battle became, the more the Doctor seemed to relish it. For this was the land he had come so far to find, undiscovered, unspoilt, unknown by man since the beginning of time: a place that might hold the answer to a mystery that had consumed him for many years.

Unexpectedly a shaft of light pierced the thick canopy. A great tree had been struck by lightning and had fallen, cutting a swathe through the surrounding vegetation – its blackened stump was still ever so slightly smouldering.

‘This will do,' said Doctor Forest softly. ‘This is where I will try for the last time . . .'

A lifetime's quest had brought him here. As a boy, he had seen a dog and a cat on the brink of a fight. They had barked and hissed at each other, making their bodies as big and scary-looking as they could. At any moment, a tangle of fur and biting teeth seemed certain to ensue. But then . . . then, somehow, the hisses and barks had become less angry, their bodies had shrunk back to their normal sizes, and the two creatures parted without hurting one another. Watching on, it was obvious to young Will Forest they had argued, threatened but ultimately decided that it was better for both of them not to fight. They had communicated.

And it was then he had asked himself the question that would dominate the next twenty years of his life: if animals can communicate with each other, shouldn't humans be able communicate with them too?

He had grown into a man trying to answer this question, studying a variety of species, how they interacted with their own kind and with others, and trying himself to establish some sort of contact, but always with limited success. He had got married, had a son, and still he felt compelled to search for the answer.

He decided to focus his efforts on man's closest evolutionary ancestors: the monkeys. If he could crack the code with them, he felt sure it would lead to success with other species. The trouble was gaining the trust of these animals. They had learnt, justifiably, to fear mankind. Perhaps only in a place where man had never before set foot would an animal allow him to discover the answer to his question.

So now, after years of tireless research, Doctor Will Forest crouched motionless near a smouldering tree stump in a clearing in the remotest part of the world, and waited.

A golden spider monkey spindled down the trunk of a nearby tree, her long thin arms and legs expertly reaching from one branch to another – her hands moulding odd knobs of wood into secure handholds. Dropping easily to the ground, the monkey scanned the clearing. Nuts and fruit, dislodged by the tree that had fallen in last night's storm, were strewn temptingly across the rainforest floor. She moved towards them, her eyes ever watchful for predators, for she was far more vulnerable when away from the safety of the green canopy.

She picked up a nut, cleverly broke open the shell and then swallowed the kernel. Then, chattering a little to herself, she found a piece of fruit, then another nut. Convinced there were no predators nearby, she seemed confident, able to relax and enjoy her meal.

It is now or never
, thought the Doctor. And he moved.

Immediately the monkey's head swung round towards him, the half-eaten nut in her hand, ready to dash for the trees in an instant. But she had never seen a human before. Was this strange furless white beast really a predator? The monkey gave herself a fraction of a second to decide. And in that fraction of a second the Doctor made a noise – the noise that, after so much study, he had concluded meant to monkeys: hello.

The monkey did not flee.

Fifteen minutes later, she was still there. And she was chattering warily to the Doctor.

Thirty minutes later, the monkey and the Doctor had moved closer to one another. The Doctor's arms mimicked the movements of the monkey and he was copying the cries she made.

An hour later, the monkey and the Doctor were crouched opposite each other. The monkey stretched out an arm towards the Doctor, palm outward in a display of friendliness. Slowly, he moved his own arm towards hers. This was no circus trick achieved after hour upon hour of tedious repetition and a system of rewards and punishments. This was it: genuine voluntary communication between species, based on equality and mutual cooperation. The Doctor felt a surge of pride. The door to a whole new world of understanding between men and animals was opening. The monkey pressed her palm against the Doctor's.

As they touched, a creeper was swept aside on the far side of the clearing, another one behind the Doctor, a third to his left. Four Amazon tribesmen, naked except for loincloths, emerged from the undergrowth, each carrying a wooden blowpipe. Doctor and monkey froze.

Then into the clearing strode a man wearing an immaculately pressed expensive brown suit, sporting a monocle and carrying an ivory cane.

Surprised, the monkey pulled her hand from the Doctor's and scampered away, leaping into the nearest tree. The Doctor couldn't believe it – his moment of triumph dashed.

‘Why did you frighten her away?' he demanded angrily.

‘You are a very clever man, Doctor Forest,' the monocled man observed, stepping firmly and deliberately on a blue beetle which was scuttling innocently across the clearing.

‘How did you know –' began the Doctor.

‘Silence,' interrupted the well-dressed intruder, stroking his chin. ‘You are evidently confused as to who will be asking the questions in our conversation. Let me enlighten you. It is going to be me. You will notice the blowpipes in the hands of my companions. You may also notice the darts they carry. Be assured that they are tipped with the most deadly poison known to mankind. One word from me and four darts will fly towards you, simultaneously piercing your skin. Their marksmanship is unrivalled. Death will be instantaneous.'

This time Doctor Forest said nothing.

Shocking the Doctor into silence seemed to cheer up the monocled intruder. He adopted a friendlier manner as he strode towards him, pausing only to stab a spider with his cane.

‘My name is Professor Scabellax. I am intrigued by the same area of scientific exploration as you. Five years ago my own research stalled. Can you imagine the frustration? A man such as myself, who has never failed at anything, waking up in the morning without an idea in his head. Or at least a scientific idea . . .'

The Doctor was only half listening to the Professor. He was trying to calculate if there was any direction in which he might run that would give him a chance of reaching the haven of the forest before a dart could fell him. Instinct told him he was too far away.

‘I hired some discreet people to monitor the work of the others in the field. It quickly became apparent, Doctor, that you were the only serious scientist. So I had you followed, I had your computer files copied, your lectures observed and your travel monitored.'

‘That is outrageous,' cried the Doctor. ‘That is –'

‘I thought it was rather clever!' observed Professor Scabellax, swatting dead a bright red butterfly that alighted briefly on his arm. ‘But then, suddenly, you and your nice young family set off for the rainforest. It was most inconvenient of you. My investigators, excellent though they are, could find no information to explain your sudden departure. Yet I sensed it was important. So there was nothing for it. I had to follow you myself.'

How much does he know?
the Doctor wondered.

‘You are wondering how much I know, aren't you, Doctor?' the Professor observed. ‘I can assure you that I know enough.' Scabellax clicked his fingers. The four tribesmen pulled a poisoned dart from their loincloths and placed the deadly darts inside their blowpipes. ‘I thought I'd save time by making it very clear what will happen to you if you don't cooperate.'

‘If you are as informed about me as you claim, then you know that I am a responsible scientist. I will research things further and then publish my findings. The information you want will be available in less than a year,' said the Doctor.

‘But not just available to me,' said Scabellax. ‘Available to all. I'd rather have more . . .
exclusive
ownership of the knowledge.'

‘What do you want to do with it?' the Doctor demanded.

‘You appear to have forgotten who is asking the questions again,' said the Professor, clapping his hands and squashing a blue dragonfly which had flown too close to his face.

‘If I tell you, how can I be sure that you will let me go?'

The Professor smiled.

‘That question I will allow you. You are aware of my power and also of the lengths I will go to to get what I want. I assure you that if you so much as hint at this information when you return to civilisation, I will take immediate action to have you silenced. I know, therefore, that there is no need to worry.'

The Professor looked the Doctor straight in the face.

‘So I can promise you that I will not kill you now.'

Upon the words ‘not kill' the Doctor knew his fate was sealed. For one brief moment the Professor's eyes could not meet the Doctor's. The Doctor had studied language all his life, including body language, and he knew very well that when a person looked away suddenly it meant they were lying.

‘Now we've got that little unpleasantness out of the way,' the Professor went on, ‘I await your explanation.'

He leant on his cane and prepared to listen.

‘Where to start?' the Doctor began. He could feel adrenalin pouring into his veins. His body demanded action but he knew he had to time his escape attempt perfectly.

‘Doctor?' the Professor sounded impatient.

Will Forest opened his mouth as if to speak. Instead, he turned and ran full speed across the clearing. His heart was pumping as he dashed towards the safety of the trees. Cover was almost in reach . . .

However, the tribesmen had reacted instantly. They were sure and swift and, despite the Doctor's best efforts, they were faster than him.

Leaning on his cane in the centre of the clearing, Professor Scabellax watched with an air of amusement. For the Doctor was no longer fleeing; he was being hunted down. Years of chasing wild boar had made the tribesmen experts at cutting off routes of escape. Trapped like a wild animal, the Doctor charged desperately one way and then another.

‘I do hate to see energy wasted so pointlessly,' the Professor observed, spying an ant on his suit and smacking it dead immediately.

Having cornered him against an enormous tree, the tribesmen approached the Doctor, their blowpipes held to their lips. He slumped back against the trunk, resigning himself to capture. The tribesmen sensed his surrender and allowed themselves to relax also – taking their blowpipes from their mouths and looking at him with broad smiles.

And then something extraordinary happened.

From nowhere a cascade of sticks rained down from the canopy, hitting the tribesmen. Yelping with pain and surprise they cowered down, glancing about them in alarm. In all their years of hunting, this had never happened before. Their ancient superstitions filled them with doubt. Was the forest displeased with them? They looked at each other in confusion and fear.

For not a single stick had struck the Doctor.

But Professor Silus Scabellax did not believe in ancient superstitions. He knew that if there were sticks falling from the sky, then someone or something was throwing them and they were doing it for a reason.

The Doctor saw his opportunity, reached for the lowest branch and began to climb.

‘Fools!' shouted Scabellax at the tribesmen. ‘He's getting away. You're being outwitted by monkeys.'

The rage of Professor Scabellax was so terrible that for a moment it outweighed the tribesmen's fear of the wrath of the forest. They looked up to see the Doctor scrabbling up into the canopy.

‘Remember I want him alive,' the Professor shouted.

But it was too late. Dishonoured by seeing their prey on the verge of escape, the tribesmen lifted their blowpipes and took aim.

Above him the Doctor saw a thick branch. If he could reach that he would be safe. Below him the tribesmen, their blowpipes raised to their mouths, were trying to make out his body between the thick leaves.

He jumped for the branch and tried to haul himself up. He willed himself to cling on but already the strength was fading from his muscles. He clawed wildly at the slippery resin but he couldn't get a grip . . . His arms were in agony . . . digging his nails in didn't work . . .

There was a cry of excitement from the ground. The tribesmen had spotted him.