Bastion Science Fiction Magazine - Issue 4, July 2014 by Alex Hernandez George S. Walker Eleanor R. Wood Robert Quinlivan Peter Medeiros Hannah Goodwin R. Leigh Hennig Page B

Plasma Frequency . She writes and eats liquorice from the south coast of England, where she lives with her husband, two marvelous dogs, and enough tropical fish tanks to charge an entry fee.

     

The Maltese Pterodactyl
    George S. Walker
     
    Yasmine had been watching crabs scurry on the beach when the promontory behind her exploded. Boulders tumbled down the cliff side, and the girl ran for her life.
    Waist-deep in the Mediterranean, she finally turned, sea breeze whipping black hair around her face. The last rock stopped rolling on the beach. Shrieking gulls circled back.
    The cliff now had an ugly gash about twenty feet from up the beach. The midday sun shadowed a cave-like opening.
    She looked around. No witnesses.
    If she told anyone, the Maltese authorities would cordon off the peninsula. If she didn’t, she could explore. That was something to email her father about. Maybe he’d answer–for once.
    Yasmine waded back to shore and crossed the sand in her bare feet. She knew every foothold on the cliff and zigzagged from ridge to crevice. Pausing just below the new cave, her body pressed against the rock, she listened…only wind and the cries of gulls.
    The explosion must have been a UXB, an unexploded bomb left from the WWII siege of Malta. By now, anything left of the bomb was scattered over the beach.
    Yasmine pulled herself over the lip of the cave and crouched on the rocks. Her eyes darted over jagged walls and rubble. There was something–not a rock–at the back, mostly buried. She let her eyes adjust to the darkness, then crept cautiously into the cave. She heard a scraping sound, like something trapped under rocks. Maybe there’d been a hidden cave with a UXB in it. An animal must have set it off. Somehow, it was still alive.
    She began moving rocks out of the way, careful not to crush her toes. She could see something trapped in the rocks. It was quivering, probably afraid. She called softly to reassure it.
    After half an hour, she’d clear away enough rocks to partly expose one of its limbs. It was emaciated, with loose leathery skin and three large bird talons at the end. But if the bird was upside down, with its head crushed beneath the rocks, how could it still be alive? The talons clenched when she touched one.
    This was like no bird she’d ever seen. She stroked the black leathery skin, feeling for traces of feathers.
    It was like fabric and flesh at the same time. As she tugged gently, she realized the limb wasn’t a leg. It was like the wing of a bat. The wingspan must be huge , she thought. Scales like a chicken leg led to the talons.
    The truth dawned. It was a pterodactyl.
     
    #
     
    Dr. Huntington was in his CERN office in Geneva, double-checking the GRACE orbital data when his secretary called.
    “I have the captain of the HMS Trafalgar on the line. Will you–”
    “Put him on!”
    After a pause, there was an electronic hum. “Captain?”
    “Dr. Huntington, I have orders from CINCFLEET to assist you. Some sort of science experiment.” The captain sounded annoyed, as if ordered to chaperone grade-schoolers.
    “We need to gather data on a mascon in the Mediterranean. Somewhere north of Libya.”
    “A mascon?”
    “Mass concentration. According to the orbital detectors, an Everest-sized mountain just appeared out of nowhere.”
    “A mountain,” the captain scoffed.
    “It may not appear as a mountain. It could be a magma swell.”
    “I don’t see what the Trafalgar –”
    “Or something like a black hole, though that's impossible.”
    “Black holes are those things you make in your Hubble Collider.”
    “Large Hadron Collider. We don’t make black holes.”
    “What’s a hadron?”
    “A bound state of quarks.”
    Silence from the other end.
    “Very small particles,” Huntington said patiently.
    “All right. I have orders,” said the captain, “but if you want my help, you’ll have to get to NATO Base Sigonella on Sicily. We’ll send a helicopter from the Trafalgar