They shook hands awkwardly and parted. Already the Nacre was tugging at the anchor.
The wind was fair and gentle, the sky overcast, and progress was satisfactory. The mantas sailed out over the water, stunning fish with their tails. Cal scooped them in with the net and piled them aboard the raft so that the mantas could feed at leisure.
It was interesting that the sea here was completely Paleocene. No ammonites, no rudists. Would Aquilon have dreamed about the rudist bivalve if he had described it to her as another typically Cretaceous sea creature? Only the reptiles had retained their hold on the sea, as part of the enclave. What did this signify about the relation of land and sea forms? There had to be some continuing link between the reptiles of land and air, so that they became extinct almost together...
The island was a mile astern when the tremor came. The water danced as though rain were hitting the surface, but there was no rain. The mantas, disgruntled, closed hastily on the raft and boarded. Debris sifted down from the trees visible along the shore, and dust came up in peripheral sections of the valley.
A tremor - no more than fifteen seconds in duration, not really severe. Cal did not react with unreasoning dread. Perhaps this little shake signified nothing - but it could be the prelude to a far more violent siege.
Veg and Aquilon were on the island, stranded there until they could construct a second raft. Certainly they would not attempt to swim to the mainland during the heat of the day; the carnivores of water and shore forbade it. But of course there was no security from an earthquake. They were as safe on the island as anywhere. Perhaps safer, when the great land predators, surely roused into anger by the shake, were taken into account.
He could return, but it would not resolve their interpersonal dilemma. The arguments had been made, the positions clarified. Best to continue as he had planned.
In the distance, in the strait between the islands Aquilon had dubbed Scylla and Charybdis, he made out animate activity. The water dwellers had indeed been shaken up by the tremor, and were casting about, trying to flee or attack but finding no way to isolate the cause. Cal decided to steer well clear of them. Most were far smaller than Brachiosaunis, but many were more predacious, and even a herbivorous dinosaur was dangerous when alarmed, as the battered craft testified.
Tremendous pteranodons sailed in the sky, the only creatures unaffected. No - as he watched, the winged reptiles changed course en masse. The wind had shifted, as though blunted by the tremor.
That meant trouble for him too. He had traveled under fair auspices so far, but any change in the wind would be the worse for him.
He untied the sail and began to haul it down. Now his lack of strength was critical, for what Veg made seem easy was a tremendous strain on his own resources. The sail, under tension, resisted his efforts.
Then the wind shift caught up. The sail fluttered violently as it was struck almost at right angles, and the raft began turning. Cal knew how to adjust the sail and use the rudder so as to tack into the wind, but he also knew that he had neither the agility nor the strength to perform the coordinated tasks required. Sailing a clumsy raft was at best a two-man job, and tacking took muscle.
He did the next best thing. He steered the Nacre around forty-five degrees, heading northwest instead of west. This would bring him to land too soon, but seemed to be his safest course.
The mantas perched on the cabin roof, unable either to assist or to offer advice.
All too rapidly the Nacre came at the shore. This was the swampy region where certain tribes of duckbills foraged, but none were in evidence at the moment. Just as well. They were not inimical to man, but would have reacted unpredictably to a charging raft.
Now was the time to drop the sail, but the line was still jammed. The Nacre was diving relentlessly for the bank of land, carving a ragged course through the water plants.
The mantas dived for the sides. So did Cal.
He hit a cushion of soft plants and took in a mouthful of warm, slimy, but not salty, water before finding the mucky bottom with feet and hands. The depth here was about a yard.
The Nacre ploughed on, slowed by the thickening growths. Then the keel scraped into something more solid than the bottom mud, and the whole thing crunched to a halt, upright and listing only momentarily. The jammed rope let go, and the sail dropped resoundingly to the deck, releasing the raft from the urging of the wind.
Cal had taken his plunge for nothing.
He waded up and sought the crude anchor. This might not hold against a determined offshore wind, but again there was nothing better he could do. He would have to leave the Nacre and hope it remained secure for a day or two, until he could return. He was, at least, on the right side of the river.
He donned a small pack, taking only enough baked fish to last him a day, since he hoped to pick up supplies at Camp Two. He would be foolish to wear himself out prematurely, on this easiest leg of his journey.
As an afterthought, he took his quarterstaff too.
It was now early afternoon, and he knew he could not make the twenty miles the compass indicated before dark. He would have to husband his strength and do the job in stages. Time was as critical as survival.
He trekked through the slough all afternoon, resting more frequently than he needed to. His strength was for the moment his most precious commodity, and he guarded it jealously. The mantas stayed with him though they would have been happier on their own; they were evidently concerned for his safety. By dusk he had achieved higher ground. He threw himself down, eyes closed, not bothering at first with any formal bedding.
Veg could have made this distance in an hour, he knew. But to Cal it was a victory, for a year ago he could not have made a tenth of it. He was tougher than he had been in a decade, and he took an unobjective pride in it.
But he still assessed his chances of success at less than even.
He ate a salted fish for breakfast and moved out. His legs were stiff, but he felt stronger than ever. This was the first time in many years he had traveled by himself, and he was pleased to discover how well it was going. He was making much better time on this firm terrain.
There were more deciduous, broad-leafed trees than he had supposed at first. Counting them idly, he found that fully a third of the substantial growth were familiar hardwoods - beech, birch, maple, ash, elm, and so on. Though the typically Cretaceous flora predominated, the balance was even now shifting to these newer types. The land like the ocean, was advancing relentlessly into the Cenozoic Era. Only the reptiles lingered.
By noon he was within five miles of the camp. The intricate distance-gauging compass assured him of that, since it had been keyed to Camp Two. He stopped to eat the last fish and sup water up from a small rain-formed pond, and the mantas ranged out to bring down their meals too. He was not worried about nourishment; the mantas would gladly kill for him if that became necessary, and show him the way to fresh water. He would spend the night in the lean-to, then attempt to make the return trip in one more day. There would have to be many such journeys, of course, for he could not carry much at a time - but the exercise over a familiar trail should toughen him up for the major journey ahead. Perhaps he could fashion a harness-drag, and transport a greater weight at one time. He felt better able to cope than ever before.
Hex came in, tail snapping. Trouble!
A predator dinosaur had come across his trail and was pursuing him. The mantas had tried to distract it harmlessly, but it was intent on one scent. This was what they had been alert against. A big one. Hex clarified: Tyrannosaurus Rex, king of the camosaurs.
The creature could be stopped, of course. The mantas could harass it and probably blind it. Tyrannosaurus was far larger than the omnivore of Nacre, but no more dangerous to the swift manta. Four against one -
'Do not attack it,' Cal said.
Hex didn't understand.
'This creature's world is on trial. If I get to the radio and send my report, my people will come and exterminate the bio
logical system that now obtains. Not all at once, but over the years, the centuries, until the only dinosaurs remaining are caged in zoos, and the same for most of the primitive Paleocene fauna. Modern mammals will be introduced that will compete aggressively with the less sophisticated natives, and the trees will be cut for timber and pulp and the rocks mined for precious minerals. So Tyrannosaurus is fighting for his world, though he doesn't see it that way. If the reptile brings me down, the report will not be made, and man will not come here - at least, not quite so soon. If I escape the reptile, I will have vindicated my right according to the implacable laws of nature, to supersede it on Paleo. It is a contest between us, and the prize is this world.'
He had issued a statement whose entirety they could hardly be expected to grasp, but it seemed better not to confuse things by attempting to simplify a difficult concept. The mantas should understand that he did not want them to intercede on his behalf, and that he had reasons that were sufficient for his own mind. That should be enough.
The other mantas came up, and an eye-to-eye dialogue followed. Would they acquiesce?
'Let me meet Tyrann alone,' he repeated. 'You watch, but do not interfere. Mammal against reptile, the chosen champions, one to one,'
Hex snapped once. Yes, they accepted it. The mantas understood the rite of personal combat.
The four spread out to the sides and disappeared amid the cycads. Cal was on his own.
But not for long. A mile back, the giant was coming, crashing through the brush horrendously.
It had been easy to commit himself, for that was necessary by his definitions. It would not be as easy to survive the consequence of that decision. He was hardly the best representative of his species or class for such an encounter. But that was the way circumstance had offered, and he was ready to abide by nature's verdict. He had never been one to avoid confrontation with death.
Cal waited where he was. He wanted to face his opponent. It would be no good for him to sneak away, even if that should fool the reptile. He had to stand up to Tyrann, let the thing know he was challenging it. Then he could make his escape, if it was in him to accomplish it.
The ground shuddered, and not from any geologic tremor. Tyrannosaurus was closing in, unsubtly. Every step rocked the land, and the crashing of saplings became loud. This was the pinnacle of reptilian predatory development; no more massive carnivore had ever walked the earth.
The slender fern trees swayed aside, as though reaching to the ginkgo for comfort. A terrified bird flew up. Through the palm fronds poked a gaping set of jaws - fifteen feet above the ground. Then the whole of it came into view: seemingly all teeth and legs, so tall that a man could pass upright under its thighs and tail without stooping. A roar like none ever to emanate from a mammalian throat shook the air, and the tiny cruel eyes peered down. Tyrann had arrived.
XV - AQUILON
'He's sailing the Nacre' Veg said as he reappeared. 'Going back to the radio and sending the message.' He threw down the pack of supplies he had brought from the raft.
Aquilon was appalled. 'He can't possibly do it by himself!'
He shrugged. 'Can't stop him from trying.' But his jaw was tight.
He knew the mantas represented a formidable bodyguard, but there were things they could not protect Cal from. Drowning, physical injury, heatstroke -
Still, Veg was right. If Cal insisted on attempting a suicidal journey, that was his concern. At least, so long as the break between them continued.
If only it were something other than the future of a world at stake! She would gladly have gone along with Cal for the sake of unity on any lesser matter. But his report to Earth would damn Paleo by its praise, and she could not go along with that. It would violate all her most cherished, if uncertain, principles. The wolf should not be loosed at the lamb, not this way.
She felt guilt for either outcome: Cal's success or his failure. She knew he would not change his mind. If he lived, Paleo would die.
Now, too, she felt uneasy about her night of love with Veg. She had made her choice - but she had done it because of the convenience of the moment, and that was not far clear of prostitution, in retrospect. And she suspected from Veg's silence on that score that he felt the same. They had wronged Cal, whatever the merit of their respective positions. The Orn birds went about their business first one sitting on the nest, then the other, but usually the female. There were eggs, naturally; she had not glimpsed them, for the birds were sensitive about any human approach to the nest. But nothing else would account for such care.
The first day passed in beauty. She watched the Trachydon, the large duckbilled dinosaur, feeding among the pine trees. It was sleek in the water, with webbed feet and a tail flattened like that of a crocodile. When it stood on land it was fifteen feet tall, resembling an outsize kangaroo, and the hind feet were revealed as possessing tripartite hoofs. Duckbilled - but not ducklike.
Trachydon spent most of its time chewing, as though its digestion not only began in the mouth but ended there. Its hide was pebbled, without scales or other armor, and the play of the creature's musculature was quite clear underneath the skin. Its underside was whitish, reminding her of a snake. Its sheer size fazed her at first, but Trach was really quite likeable when familiar. It also seemed to pose for her, remaining impossibly still except for its jaws, and she painted many portraits. She was sorry to see Trach go, once its belly was full of pine.
At night the pteranodons returned to their bough to sleep, and that was another impressive spectacle. She had somehow imagined all dinosaurs to be ravening monsters or dim-witted behemoths, before coming to Paleo; this day on the island, watching Trachydon and pteranodon in life, banished that prejudice forever. These reptiles had individual personalities and problems, and were bright enough about the latter.
She also saw, that first day, the raft sailing before the wind, angling in toward the mainland, and finally anchoring there. She knew why: the wind had shifted after the tremor, and Cal had been unable to sail directly back to Camp One. At least he had made it safely to shore.
The second night she and Veg slept under the tarpaulin but did not make love.
Two nights and a day on an isle very like paradise - but the tension was cruel. What was Cal doing? He was so small, so weak; he could be lying exhausted in the swamp...
No. The mantas would come back and report. He must be all right.
Still-
'One's coming!' Veg called, looking up from the new raft he was building.
She ran to his side to see. A lone manta was speeding across the water toward the island. Circe!
The story did not take long: a tyrannosaur was after Cal. He had forbidden the mantas to help. Circe departed.
'The crazy fool!' Veg cried. 'He's suiciding again!'
But it was not that simple. Cal wanted to fight the dinosaur, according to Circe. Ritual combat.
'I know how he thinks!' Veg said. 'He wants to prove he can do it by himself. And he can't.'
'You mean, prove he's better physically than a dinosaur? That doesn't sound like the kind of thing -'
'That he can get through and send his message, no matter what. Our leaving him didn't stop him, Tyrann won't stop him. That makes it right, he figures.'
Suddenly she saw it. The mammals against the reptiles, each represented by its most advanced stage, one individual meeting the other on the field of honor. The decisive combat. The carnosaur had size and power; the man had brain. It was a fair compromise, a way to settle an otherwise insoluble dilemma. If Cal won, he would send his message and be justified in the spoils; if he lost - well, it was an answer, and he had chosen the way to come by it.
'I'm going over there,' Veg said.
'Veg-'
'I'll have to swim to the mainland and run along the shore. Cross the river up where it's narrower, nearer Camp Two. Hope I can pick up his trail, or maybe a manta'll show me. Fastest way. Might make it in time to haul him out of there alive.' He was fastening his clothing for
swimming as he spoke.
'Veg, I think we should let him do it his way. On his own. That's the way he wants it.'
'He'll get killed!'
She hesitated. 'Maybe - that's best.'
Veg stiffened. Then, so suddenly that she did not realize what had happened at first, he hit her. His arm came back in a hard swing that caught her across the side of the head and sent her reeling to the ground.
By the time she righted herself, he was in the water, well on his way. She must have blacked out momentarily, for she had not seen him go.
Her hand lifted to touch the stinging, swelling side of her face gingerly. His wrist had struck against her cheekbone; there was no blood. Veg had not even paused to see whether she was hurt. Thus eloquently had she been advised of his first loyalty.
Had she worried about coming between these men? She should have known there was no danger of that!
Of Man and Manta Omnibus Page 38
