by David Boyle
“But it hurts, Wheajo. Please?”
The request was not unexpected. “If you insist.” Charlie turned his head when Wheajo peeled away the bloodied strips. “The dressing should also be changed. If one of you—”
“I’ll take care of that,” Charlie said, calls drifting across the lake when he got to his feet. “I get the blood rinsed out and there should be enough here to make another bandage.”
“And when you come back, would you see if you can find the aspirin? Should be a bottle in the bottom of the yellow dump bag.”
“Will do,” Charlie said, trotting away. “Back in a minute.”
Hayden had no desire to keep eating, and at the same time drank as much water as he could stand. He took in the sights, listening as his friends debated the possibility their dinner guests were related to birds or were part of a different lineage entirely, and opined on whether the meat was an improvement on the smoked hadrosaur they’d packed.
The skies were filled with birds and pterosaurs, the latter like crescent-winged gliders, never ceasing to amaze as they soared about the lake. Dinosaurs of different types and sizes wandered the shorelines. Ron, Charlie, and especially Wheajo were becoming proficient at recognizing many of them by their voices. There seemed no end to the variety of animals, their calls, whether grating or whimsical only adding to the wondrous confusion.
“It’s like bein’ in Africa. Only a million times better,” Charlie said, watching a group of weirdly adorned hadrosaurs feeding to the southeast.
Hayden massaged his shoulder. “I just wish we’d remembered to bring Tony’s camera. I think even he would have enjoyed it here.” Ron grinned as he unsnapped the lid on his gun kit. “Okay, maybe not.”
“If ya think about it,” Charlie said, picking up on where he left off, “it’s sort’a like bein’ in a zoo. Only without the glass or bars.”
Ron nodded. “Just remember,” he said, screwing sections of the ramrod together, “that every so often steel bars and glass can come in handy.” He turned to Wheajo, who was busy making entries in the yaltok. “What’s your take on all this?”
The alien thought for a second. “This site in particular has an extraordinary diversity of animals,” he said, glancing about the shorelines. “It would be most enlightening to determine if such is representative of the planet’s present biosphere, or whether we happen to be situated in an atypical environment.”
Hayden grunted onto his feet. “That’s another one without an answer.
“I’ll say this,” he added, rocking his shoulder, “whatever you did, it’s working. Shoulder’s still stiff, but definitely better.” He stared off, then meandered through the maze of fat-bodied cycads and down to the cove.
Ron focused when the call sounded again. “That’s a flat-head,” he offered, turning to check on Hayden.
“No way. Listen… right at the end and—”
“Now where does he think he’s going?” Ron pushed up from beside the canoe. “Prentler, would you stay put for a change?”
“Leave him,” said Charlie, catching a glimpse before Hayden disappeared behind the trees. “He’s probably feeling pretty darn sore about now and needs to walk it off. Help me out here, Wheajo.”
“Discomfort is to be expected. And the activity will aid the healing process.”
“What’d I tell you?”
Ron settled back and drizzled gun oil on the rag. Rifles were so much easier to take care of.
Charlie saw he wasn’t thrilled. But then, Ron seldom was. “I just keep seein’ Prentler hitting the water.” He shook with a chill.
“Your friend would do well to be more cautious.”
Ron and Charlie nodded in near unison. “Whatdya think? A couple a days? Those were some pretty nasty cuts.”
“Days?” Wheajo repeated, looking up from the yaltok. “No, not days. Your friend should be fully functional by tomorrow.” The remark stunned his human companions.
“You’re kidding… Prentler’s going to be good by morning?” Ron stared long and hard before realizing the alien wasn’t about to repeat himself. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
To Charlie it sounded like magic. “That’s… that’s….”
“Incredible?” said Wheajo.
“That’s the word. Incredible.” Charlie shook his head. “Man oh man… You realize what we could do with a thing like that back home?” The alien’s gaze turned suddenly cool.
“Uhm… uh… Charlie. Why don’t you and that Ruger go keep dumbshit company? You know, make sure he stays out of trouble?”
“Yeah, yeah. Good idea. Damn. Hayden’ll be happy to hear this.”
A thick hide and an even thicker skull seemed the only explanation for Charlie not to feel the looks stabbing him in the back. Ron could, and he wasn’t even the target. “Maybe we should pack up the rest of this meat. Give me a hand?”
Wheajo turned with that same icy stare.
“Uh, never mind. I can do this alone.”
*****
“Prentler…? Hey… wait up!”
Hayden twisted around, pussyfooting along shore while Charlie hurried over. “Beautiful isn’t it?”
“Yeah, place is really neat. But I’m more interested in you. You hangin’ in?”
“So far.” Hayden demonstrated by flexing his arm. “And I guess I don’t have to tell you how glad I am that Wheajo brought along that analyzer of his.”
“Funny you should mention. Me an’ Ron were just talkin’ about that. And get this. Wheajo says you’ll be up to speed by morning. I know it sounds impossible, but—”
“And two hours ago I would have thought so too. But not now. Thing is, I can still feel that last treatment. Like ants maybe…”
Charlie crinkled his face. “Oh, yuk.”
“No, not like that. Not crawly. More… tingly I guess you could say. Like workers—and yeah, I know this sounds stupid—but like little workers racing around… stitching stuff back together. Fixing what’s broke. Hard to explain. But it feels, well… good.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll take your word for it on account I ain’t lookin’ to find out on my own.”
Hayden caught himself midway through a chuckle. “Good plan.”
They walked the narrow shoreline, listening to the dinosaurs and the wind in the trees, watching the fire on the horizon fade, the orange glow accentuating the line of dark clouds. The storm was moving fast, the last gasps of sunlight spilling through gaps in the thunderheads by the time they reached the end of the island. The wind was up a notch and kicking chop across the lake, the waves driven ever harder ashore.
Charlie rolled the hollow core of a tree into position. When it came to storm watching, nothing served quite like a log. They had a splendid view of the lake. A wide open sky. Waves crashed and surged alongshore. Looking southwest, with the trees to their backs and the wind pummeling their faces, it was almost as if they were lounging on the bow of a ship. They sat there, relaxing after a long tumultuous day and inhaling delicious lungfuls of the storm scented air.
“Ain’t never seen anything like it before. Not in books, not in movies. I mean like nowhere.” Charlie smiled, casting about the lake. “Course, up until a coupla days ago I never saw a live dinosaur either.”
“Crazy is what it is. Crazy and fantastic. Even now,” Hayden said, acknowledging his arm. “I have to say this is the most fabulous thing that’s ever happened to me. Probably to anybody ever! Just look where we are, Bull…,” he said, sweeping his free arm to emphasize the point. “Those are dinosaurs over there, and there… and there too. And here we are, two goofs on a log seeing things that no human being has ever seen before! And for that matter, ever will.
“We’ve been here for what, a week?”
Charlie shrugged. “I dunno. Somethin’ like that.”
“However long it’s been, I’ve kept telling myself this cannot be. That it just isn’t possible. And yet, here we are,” he said, taking in the sights and sounds of the world around him,
feeling the place in the very pores of his skin. “I’ve been thinking—once we get that time travel gizmo of Wheajo’s recharged—that I’d, well, like to stay here awhile. You know, after?”
“Uh huh,” Charlie said, gazing across the lake.
“No really. I mean it.” Charlie had a weird look on his face, honks sounding in the distance. “We’ll never be back. And so long as we’re here, why not make the most of it?”
Charlie was used to Hayden blowing smoke, except that this time he sounded serious. “You worry me sometimes, you know that?”
The sky faded quickly from gray to black. Jupiter, like an airplane’s landing lights, shining brilliantly in the east. It wouldn’t be there long of course, not with the storm sweeping in. Flickers of light danced through the clouds, the sound of distant drums rumbling across the water.
“How bout we head back? It’s gettin’ hard to see. And if we don’t leave now, we’ll be soaked by the time we reach camp.”
Hayden sighed. “I guess…. Do hate to miss a good show.”
“Yeah, well, next time bring your rain jacket. Only don’t count on—”
A roar bellowed from the gloom, joined immediately by the shrill honk of duckbills. Hayden peered, the frightened voices leaving no doubt animals were fleeing for their lives. “You see them?”
“Like I got night vision eyeballs.”
Again the savage roar; the hunter charging, zeroing in. The terrified voices…
“He’s close now.”
…the sound of frenzied splashing. Then a garbled half-scream and the heavy thud of multi-ton bodies slamming to the ground. Hayden and Charlie raced alongshore to close the distance, between the wind rattling the trees and the sounds of the dinosaur’s terrified companions, straining to hear news of the struggle.
But the battle had already been won.
From the darkness came a series of menacing, grunt-like roars. Roars that rolled on and over and across the lake. That spoke of the hunter’s strength. Of its triumph. Its victory.
And to others a warning: Beware, this kill is mine….
*****
The rain was getting serious by the time they reached the cove, and while the shoreline was easy to negotiate in the dark, finding their way through the cycads was not. “Charlie—ouch!—slow down would you? I’m getting sliced to ribbons here.”
“Then maybe next time you’ll start back sooner,” Charlie said, barging through the sloppy windblown fronds. Using the campfire as a guide, they soon exited the cycads and hurried past it to the tent. A flash lit the surroundings, the trees, the cove, even the raindrops, frozen in space for an instant.
“Charlie, hurry up with that zipper, would you?” Hayden said, the booms pummeling his back. “I’m getting soaked!”
“Just gimme some room. McClure, why’d you zip the thing closed in the first place?”
Ron was sprawled on his sleeping bag. “Hey, don’t go blaming me because you’re too dumb to know when to get out of the rain.” Charlie piled in, then Hayden . “Don’t get me wet. And watch you don’t step on the rifle.
“Where have you been anyway? I expected you back half an hour ago.”
Charlie cranked a thumb at Hayden. “Blame Mr. Storm Watcher here. And thanks for moving my boat.”
“We figured it was better moving it now than looking for it in the morning.” The fire streaked the tent with ghostly orange fingers. “And you might think about wringing your clothes out.” Ron shook his head. “You and Bennett. I would’ve thought you’d have seen enough storms by now.”
“What can I say? I like fireworks.” Hayden pocketed his glasses, thunderclaps booming. “Is the bota in here? And what happened to Wheajo? Figured he’d be in here with you.”
“The bota’s empty, so forget that,” said Ron, twisting. “But the canteen should be here somewhere. And last I saw, Wheajo was headed for the sandbar.”
Charlie peeled off his shirt. “What the hell for?”
“Taking measurements maybe? Who the fuck knows? Ask him when he gets back.”
Hayden found the canteen and unscrewed the cap. “You hear the fight?” he asked, and took a swig.
“Fight?”
“Come on, McClure. You had to hear that.”
“With the wind in these trees? Not hardly. So, what happened?”
They were midway through the incident when Wheajo strolled into camp. “There you are,” Charlie said cheerily, zipping the mosquito netting open. “Come to join the party?”
“No.” Wheajo stepped in and extended the yaltok to Hayden. “You are to secure this over your wounds.”
What little light there was, was dim and flickery, and it took Hayden a moment to see. “Oh right,” he said finally. “Thanks, Wheajo. You got it set already?”
“Of course. You may not feel its effects, but the yaltok is operating at a level I believe is appropriate.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
“My concern is with your capability. Your wounds must not be allowed to hinder your performance.” Having said that, Wheajo turned and headed for the lean-to.
Hayden loosened the bandage. “And here I thought this was all about me.”
“Get real,” Ron said, knitting his fingers behind his head. “That’s Wheajo, remember? Mr. Resources? To him you’re the next thing to a number… just like the rest of us. Have him put together a priority list and I’ll bet none of us makes the top ten.”
Charlie slapped his shirt down. “You’re somethin’ else, McClure. Blamin’ Wheajo whenever somethin’ goes wrong.” He zipped the door closed, then jerked open the flap of his sleeping bag. “It was Hayden who screwed up today, not him. And him who dragged your ass out of the river.”
“You think I don’t remember?” Ron shot back, not at all pleased with Charlie’s tone.
“Sure sounds like you don’t.”
Hayden finished cinching the yaltok to his shoulder. “If you guys get to fighting, try not to roll over on me, okay? I need some shut-eye. And I suggest you get some too, ‘cause I got a feeling tomorrow’s going to be a bitch.”
“Fine,” said Ron, and rolled onto his side. “I’d just like to know where he gets this shit.”
Charlie stared at his tent-mate, then through the mosquito netting to the fire where Wheajo was busy adding wood. “Someday maybe you’ll understand him, McClure. Me, I think I already do.”
Rain splattered the campsite, and, with the storm in its infancy, Wheajo was certain the worst of the deluge was yet to come. Two more logs joined the pile, sparks scurrying in the wind. A thick bed of coals burned fiercely within, but the latest additions were wet, and the fire was struggling under the burden, dimmed and now more smoke than flame. Thunder boomed. Trees rattled in the stiffening wind. Wheajo had done what he could for the fire, and he wondered about its chances of surviving the night.
The thought lingered as he looked to the tent.
His fate and that of the humans were inextricably linked, their chances even less assured than that of the campfire. It could be refueled.
He’d heard them talking, arguing as so often they had in the past. In itself their discussion was of no consequence, rather another inconsequential interplay between members of an inferior species. Yet it played on his mind how seldom they were able to reach a consensus.
Inferior perhaps, and woefully disorganized, the humans were nevertheless proven hunters and practiced in ways the Grotky had long since abandoned. He was learning certainly, and was also a realist, and recognized that his survival was dependent on their skills and primitive weapons. He thought about his shipmates, and knew that given similar circumstances they would never…
But these were not the comrades with whom he had crossed the stellar abyss—not Grotky, nor even Xythanthea—and to compare the humans to either was absurd. For were the humans not representatives of a species so limited in foresight as to be unable to see their own extinction?
Of the multitudinous civilizations encountered by
the Grotky, few had developed the wisdom to control the burgeoning global populations that, while fed by technological innovation, inevitably either overwhelmed their planet’s resources or precipitated global war. Burned or poisoned, biospheres had been disrupted, and billions of species exterminated. Of even greater import was the loss of knowledge upon which those civilizations had grown and thrived: the medical, mathematical, and scientific genius, the enlightenment of millennia squandered for lack of foresight and vision.
For the Grotky there was no greater loss.
It was, therefore, imperative that the humans not be allowed to jeopardize the data he had so far recorded. For the yaltok contained firsthand documentation of creatures so overwhelmingly dominant as to preclude the rise of intelligent life forms, the subsequent evolution of which implied a biological paradigm of unprecedented magnitude. The data residing in the yaltok was unique and of unquestionable value, and Wheajo was duty-bound to protect it. Indeed, its quest was the principal motivation behind Grotky explorations.
Considering the human’s primitive value system, Wheajo had no doubt such concepts were beyond their comprehension. And just as well, for while logic demanded that every attempt be made to ensure their mutual survival, he was under oath “…to return the science log… if possible and at all costs to the flag[ship].” The SO (Science Officer), or his adjunct, further had “…full discretion and authority in determining the action(s) necessary for the successful execution of this directive.” Lives were expendable, and Wheajo had no illusion that his was to be considered of any greater value than those of his comrades, whether Grotky or, as in this case, human. His commitment to the directive was absolute, and, quite aside from dictate, governed by a staunch and unwavering ethos. To this end, Wheajo had already taken measures to ensure that should he not survive, the yaltok might still be recovered to the Iolomho.
