Chapter 38 #3
Hands shaking, Ripley opens her bag and takes out a cordless microphone.
On the near wall, two black-clad figures separate, Finn heading toward the soundboard at the back, Fiona crossing the room to lay a Bluetooth range extender and a stack of photocopies at the front of the stage.
When she reaches the opposite wall, Fiona takes off her lanyard, covers her pale hair with a black beanie, and keeps walking toward the ballroom door.
The conference chairman taps the microphone at the lectern, frowning.
“Go, Reaper. We can do this.” Griff squeezes Ripley’s arm.
Will chose to start this. She’s choosing to finish it.
Ripley takes a bracing breath and walks onto the stage, microphone in hand. Relieved, the chairman reaches for the replacement microphone he thinks she’s bringing. When Griff puts his body between them, the chairman’s glistening forehead accordions with confusion.
“Excuse me,” Ripley says into the mic, a little startled at the sound of her amplified voice. “If I could have your attention, please.” Gradually, the buzz of conversation dies down.
“I’m Ripley Adams.”
Halfway to the back of the room, flanked by security officers, James stops dead.
“You may know me from such scandals as the recent impoundment of a pair of potentially novel theropod fossils in Bozeman, Montana.”
There’s a wave of uncomfortable laughter. Nobody’s quite sure what’s happening.
In the far corner of the room, there’s a disturbance. It’s dark, but Ripley thinks she sees a blond surfer haircut on the man who’s shouldering his way to the front. Will.
“I’ll ask you to hold your applause until the conclusion of my remarks.
First, the winner of tonight’s Othniel Marsh Chair is Will Stone.
” Half the attendees applaud despite her telling them not to, but at least Will’s progress is temporarily arrested by a knot of people offering what Ripley presumes are congratulations.
In the middle of the room, James is arguing with the two security officers.
At the back, Helen’s waving in a phalanx of beefy people in security uniforms.
“Three years ago, I wrote a paper about bird ancestors in North America. Will Stone tried to steal that idea and publish it as his own.” The APS slideshow disappears from the screens behind the stage, replaced by jumpy footage rescued from Matteo’s grandfather’s Deleted folder.
On the screen, shoppers push carts full of lumber, late-summer flowers, and DIY fixtures across the parking lot of the Feed-n-Seed.
The twins have adjusted the sound so Ripley’s furious shout is crystal clear.
“There is no universe in which you mansplaining headgear is the same as you having an original idea about the migratory and evolutionary history of bird ancestors in Pangaea, Will! It wasn’t your idea!”
“It was enough of my idea,” Will says, his expression truculent. “You wouldn’t have had it without me. You could have taken second author, and everything would have been fine.”
The moment Finn pauses the video, Ripley jumps back in. “On top of trying to steal my work, Will made sure to ruin my reputation. His career flourished, while mine was destroyed.”
Onscreen, Ripley accuses Will of starting rumors. He shrugs—was it his fault they were so believable?
“Get her off the stage,” a male voice shouts.
“Oh, they’re working on it, don’t worry,” Ripley says.
She isn’t joking, but a number of people apparently find that funny.
“Several weeks ago, Will leased the property next door to my excavation site in western Montana. He claimed—falsely—that my team and I removed fossils from his site. You all know what happened next.”
The chaos in the room is nearing critical mass.
People jump aside as James churns his way toward Ripley with those unbeatable legs, a security guard holding him by a sleeve that’s torn halfway off his jacket.
Griff’s pinning the cowering chairman in place with a narrow-eyed stare while more guards move quickly forward along the wall.
At the front, Matteo holds up his phone.
There’s a tiny face on the screen that must be Jordin on a video call.
A lot of phones are in the air, actually.
It’s almost over.
Ripley pitches her voice above the rising clamor.
“I believe Will Stone may have sabotaged my work for reasons connected to Dr. Smithson’s concerns about his recent find.
He wanted to make sure nobody would trust or believe me.
And I know I’m not the only woman here who’s had her work dismissed, devalued, and stolen.
” She finds Cara’s eyes, gives her a tiny nod.
“Who’s been preyed on by men with power and privilege.
“This is wrong, and it needs to stop. It needs to stop tonight. If you care about paleontology, about truth, about science, you need to ask the APS to reject his findings until he submits his specimen for proper confirmatory testing, as James Smithson said. And please, please help me get my fossils back.”
Ripley picks up the top sheet from the stack of paper Fiona dropped on the stage. Matteo and Cara each grab a sheaf of pages and walk toward the exit, passing out the posters as they go. A squadron of guards thunder up the stairs to the stage.
Ripley holds up the full-color poster of an ancient bird hovering over her eggs. Three words are emblazoned above the bird’s head.
Free the birds!