For his chest, exposed by the torn shirt, was just as hard and shiny and scaly.
And growing from under his right arm was the beginning of an extra arm!
DR. DANA LOMBARDY looked up from the patient to Mishima Takamura with pure bafflement in his expression.
“I gotta tell you, Doc, I’ve never seen anything like this in all my born days,” the doctor said, holding an examination light between three fingers, his stethoscope dangling from his short neck.
“I think it’s safe to say that no one here has, Dr. Lombardy,” said Takamura. “Now please proceed with the examination.”
They were in the sick bay. Lieutenant Timothy Linden lay on a table before Dr. Lombardy, securely strapped and thoroughly knocked out by drugs. His shirt and his pants had been removed, revealing the scaly, shiny epithermal covering that had set in over all his body. Takamura found it difficult to take his eyes off the beginning of an arm—a vestigial hand and wrist, rather like that of a thalidomide baby—protruding from the side of Linden’s chest. Wrapped around the man’s arms and legs were sensors, leading to a central diagnostic machine, quivering with readings.
They’d brought both men in last night after the fracas—Linden and Darlington—but they’d released the sentry with a couple of aspirins tucked into his palm.
Linden, of course, was going to take more work. This morning, they’d made a cursory examination and Dr. Lindstrom had taken a subcutaneous cell sample for examination in her makeshift lab. Kemp and the others had taken a quick look at Linden, scratched their heads, shrugged their shoulders, and allowed that they just hoped it didn’t spread. Dr. Jakes was the most interested—so interested, in fact, that he lingered now, watching the proceedings.
Takamura eyed the silent man, then decided to ask the question he’d put off for a while.
“Well, Dr. Jakes, do you think it’s the radiation that did it to him?”
“Hmm?” Jakes roused up from his reverie.
“The radiation. Do you think it was the radiation that’s making Linden like this?”
“Hard to say,” said Jakes. “I’m no medical doctor.”
Dr. Lombardy looked up from the examination. “Well, I am, and I must say, this doesn’t look at all like radiation sickness to me—and I’ve seen the effects of radiation!”
“Yes, but only certain kinds of radiation, correct, Doctor?”
Lombardy blinked. “Well, yes, I suppose you could say that.”
“What are you saying, Jakes?”
“This radiation was quite peculiar—that’s why I wanted Linden and Marshall to go out and make a quick check of it up-close. All kinds of wacky wavelengths. I can’t even begin to tell you—”
“Perhaps, when you make the analysis, you can give me the exact spectography.”
“Yes, of course. In any event,” said Jakes, “it’s pretty weird, and it’s quite similar to some of the readings we got about the same time the Saurians went wild—only that was not localized, like this case.”
“But there’s no sign of activity of concern among the Saurians?”
“Nothing. They’re very cooperative now, as you know, And why wouldn’t they be? They’ve not been torn away from their home system. This is their home. Always has been and probably always will be!”
“Gentlemen, if you please,” said Dr. Lombardy, “I believe I’m finished.”
“What’s the verdict, then, Doctor?” Jakes requested eagerly, He turned to Takamura, “This could key us in to exactly what this radiation is.”
“Well, I admit I’m still baffled. To begin with we’ve got a temperature of a hundred ten degrees. Blood pressure at 310 over 170, and from all signs there are unusual activities going on in this man’s endocrine system, to say the least. What I want to do is to get some X rays, with your permission.”
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“A different form of radiation, sir. Might influence the patient.”
“Ah, Jakes?”
“I think we ought to know what’s going on inside this guy.”
“What’s going on, Doctor,” said Lombardy, “is that basically Timothy Linden should have died several hours back.”
Takamura and Jakes exchanged glances of disbelief.
“A normal human body cannot tolerate this kind of internal strain,” continued Lombardy. “I’ve never seen anything like it ... and I wish l knew exactly what was happening here. All I can say for sure is that there is a great deal of change going on in the musculature, the epidermis, the skeleton, the organs ... and, God help us, even the brain.”
“And that extra limb, Doctor?” said Takamura.
“Just the tip of the iceberg,” said Lombardy. “Give it a day, Doctors, and I think we’ll see much more than that. This hardening of the epidermis, for example—I’ve observed a spread across the whole body just in the period that I’ve been examining the patient. And also, it seems to have hardened ... become thicker.”
“It’s as though some kind of hide were forming over him,” said Dr. Jakes.
“Or some kind of cocoon,” murmured Takamura.
“Exactly my thought, though it’s a very unmedical thing to say,” said Lombardy.
“Doctor, we’re in a very unmedical atmosphere,” said Mishima,
“Too true. Ah, but wouldn’t I like to have him back on a decent lab on Earth.”
“Take us along with you, please!” said Mishima, and they all chuckled, breaking the tension considerably.
At that moment, Mikaela Lindstrom came in.
“Well, I’m glad to see that levity is not a forgotten commodity aboard the Dragonstar,” she said.
“What have you found?” Jakes said eagerly, speaking for them all.
“Plenty,” she said. “And nothing.”
“Care to explain that?”
She took out several lab photos. “I did a mounting of the cell sample I took. I checked it out under the electron microscope in the portable lab we so fortunately had installed on the base before our departure. I immediately saw the resemblance.”
“Resemblance? Resemblance to what?” demanded Jakes.
“Do you recall that incident with the iguanodon a few weeks before chaos struck?”
“Sure,” said Jakes. “The patrol you took with Dr. Penovich where Lieutenant Hagerman was killed.”
“That’s right,” said Mikaela grimly. “Well, afterward we took a sample of what we could find left on the dead iguanodon.”
“The one that was all distorted,” said Jakes. “Like Linden here.”
“He didn’t have any extra limbs ... But also you may recall that iguanodons are herbivorous and seldom attack. This one was deranged ... quite crazy. Much perhaps as Linden was deranged when he attacked Darlington.”
“You think they were both exposed to the same sort of radiation—both the iguanodon and Linden?”
“It’s a possibility ... a strong one. Take a look at these photos.” She handed them over, “Both show highly abnormal cellular activity—and there are similarities.”
“Yes, I see,” said Lombardy,
“But what does it mean?” asked Mishima.
“That’s something we’re going to have to wait and see,” said Jakes. “But in the meantime we’ve got Linden here to watch.”
Suddenly, as though he heard his name being called, Timothy Linden groaned, low and long. They turned to him. His face was a mass of discolored scabs, cracking at the lips as he opened his mouth.
“By God,” said Lombardy. “I think he’s trying to speak.”
The moans slowly became more articulate.
“Don’t get too close,” said Mishima,
“What’s he trying to say?” Mikaela said, craning curiously.
“Hungry,” said Linden roughly. “Hungry.”
They looked
at one another, “I thought we’d have to feed him intravenously, Looks like that won’t be necessary,” said Lombardy.
“Can you tell us what’s happening to you?” Dr. Jakes said lamely to the strapped-down Linden.
“Hungry,” repeated Linden. He opened his eyes, and they shone red. But there was a dullness to them, an unawareness. “Hungry.” He made no effort to try to escape from his bonds.
“Maybe after he eats,” suggested Lombardy.
“Yes,” said Mishima. “Perhaps after he eats.”
“But then what?”
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” said Mishima. “Just like everything else.”
IT WAS A surprisingly small contingent of humans and Saurians which gathered outside the main gate in the Mesozoic Preserve. Besides himself, Phineas counted Mishima Takamura, his old friend Becky Thalberg, Greg Krolczyk and Frank Cavoli from Tactical Engineering, and “the green-eyed monster” (one of Mikaela’s more endearing monikers), Kate Ennis. The Saurians were headed up by his co-worker in Salvage, Visigoth, and four slope-browed members of his warrior-caste—none of whom Phineas could recognize.
A wispy, ground-hugging mist swirled about them as they inventoried their gear. An early-dawn fog leaked from the edge of the jungle, sending finger-like streamers across the clearing, which formed a DMZ between the Barrier and the Mesozoic Preserve. The air hung damp and humid, and it would soon be oppressively warm—business as usual inside the Dragonstar. Phineas had never grown accustomed to the climate but he had long ago refused to let it bother him.
“All right, everyone,” said Dr. Takamura. He spoke slowly, pausing between each phrase or short sentence so that Visigoth’s digital translator could provide him with the gist of all conversation. “I do not expect trouble, but we should be prepared for anything. Colonel Kemp, Krolczyk and Cavoli, and of course the Saurians will handle any emergency encounters. The rest of us will fill in if necessary. Any questions?”
There were none. The briefing the previous evening had been extensive and god-awful boring. Phineas hoped that Takamura was a better physicist than he was a leader of men. The man lacked the character-dynamic, that ineluctable quality that made others look up to you and be willing to follow you into hell’s mouth. Takamura was too soft-spoken, too polite, simply too nice a fellow for any of that.
Phineas liked him, but he knew it might be difficult taking orders from him. Well, they’d be seeing what transpired along those lines soon enough.
As Dr. Takamura headed up the group and started leading them off into the jungle, Phineas waited until everyone had filed past so that he could take up his prearranged position as the rear-flanker. Using the opportunity, he studied each member of the group as they filed past him. All the humans wore standard-issue, khaki jump-fatigues with survival-paks on their backs. The doctor, Becky, and Kate carried additional bags of tools and instruments, and everyone carried a 9mm side arm with C-4 explosive hollow-points. Cavoli, Krolczyk, and Phineas also carried HK heavy assault rifles, plus plenty of spare clips in their utility bags. Phineas hadn’t seen anything in the Preserve that could stand up to a volley from an HK.
The Saurian Warriors were dressed in their usual scant attire: dull red tunics which ended at hip level, a bandolier-type belt across their broad chests, several dangling pouches of dried strips of meat, and a sheathed hunting blade. The Warriors wore no pants or leggings of any kind, probably because of their still-prominent, though vestigial, tails. Their sexual organs were kind of folded up and protected by scaled plates. Modesty wasn’t a word in their vocabulary, anyway. The Warriors’ weapons were simple, but surprisingly effective: each carried a heavy, pike-like spear and a devastatingly accurate crossbow, The bows could be loaded with either barbed shafts or squaves—tiny sleek-bodied reptiles which the caste had trained centuries ago as “organic weapons.” The squaves sported pointy, hard-bone snouts and shark-like jaws full of tiny, razor-edged teeth. Phineas had seen the squaves impact their victims and then burrow into the flesh like ore drills. The lowest-ranking member of the Warrior contingent carried a large pack on his back filled with dormant squaves. It looked like a lousy job, but, as Phineas knew well, somebody had to do it.
The rest of the team was now moving single file through a copse of young redwoods and protofirs; Phineas fell in behind them. The Mesozoic forest thrummed and vibrated with the sounds of insect life. The low-level din was occasionally punctuated by the cries of beasts either eating or being eaten.
Directly in front of Phineas strode Visigoth, the large, very tall “General” of the warrior-caste. The leader was distinct from the others because of his bright yellow eyes, his immense size, and a helmet covered with the orange-and-yellow-striped hide of an allosaurus. Visigoth presented a rather fearsome image to all, and Phineas would not like to get the fellow upset.
They tramped through the green-shadowed world for more than an hour without incident, although Phineas was careful to keep a trained eye behind them. Most of the carnosaurs spent the morning and midday propped up against the bases of big trees, sleeping off the effects of a nocturnal kill and meal. Sometimes, the really big bastards would gorge themselves and remain torpid for days on end. But then there was always the chance that one of them hadn’t scored the night before and might be rampaging through the Preserve ready to eat anything that moved.
And Phineas had seen men minced in their steam-shovel jaws, or smeared into jelly beneath their hind claws.
Thoughts like that always reminded him of what a nightmare place the Mesozoic Preserve actually was. And that made him think of the Dragonstar itself, a monster-sized ship full of monsters, which, since its first appearance on the Copernicus Base instruments, had been like a curse on his very soul. When Phineas considered the facts, very little had gone right in his life since the alien artifact became a part of it. Everyone had crosses to bear, but why in hell did his have to be more than three hundred klicks long?
His thoughts idled about his mind as he kept a vigilant watch.
The team moved ahead with a deliberate, slow pace which was unavoidable when passing through the thick flora. Looking up the line, Phineas was somewhat surprised to find Becky waiting for him. She fell into step as he drew even with her, and he found her dark good looks as appealing and riveting as ever.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, but I never got the chance,” she said, followed by a sly, familiar grin.
“Exactly why I would volunteer for this hare-brained little trip, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “Although I wasn’t going to put it just like that.”
“Why not? It’s apt, isn’t it?” Phineas smiled, continued to scan the rear flank as he walked with her. He found himself wondering if she and Takamura were an “item” yet. He’d seen the way they looked at one another during the briefing, and even earlier this morning when they were assembling the group. He’d bet his ass they were getting it on. He also wondered why he was thinking such thoughts. Did he still care for Becky? Could she ever be “just a friend,” as she had once suggested?
Who the hell knew ... ?
“I guess so,” said Becky, “It’s just that, well, knowing you as well as I do, I can’t help but imagine that you might have some trouble doing things Mishima’s way.”
She used his first name. That probably meant something. But he quickly told himself he didn’t really give a damn, and enacted a good “smile for the camera” kind of smile.
“I just had to get away from all that boy-scout crap,” he said firmly. “I wouldn’t make a good pioneer, Becky. And I can’t stand this waiting. Waiting for something to happen.”
“I know what you mean. You’d rather try and make something happen, wouldn’t you?”
The smile had left her face now, and she was analyzing him, as she had always done. Some people could never accept what you said at face value. They always had to search for the “real” meaning
, and Becky belonged to their ranks.
“It’s funny,” he said, “but I have a feeling this little excursion’s going to be a bust.”
“Really?”
He shrugged. “It’s just a feeling ... what can I say?”
“I’d better go back up the line. I’m probably distracting you.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” He chuckled and regarded her with a mock-leer. “All right. Talk to you later.”
She nodded and double-timed it up the line. As Phineas watched her ass bob and weave beneath her jump-fatigues, he noticed another face turned out of the line, looking back at him.
Angular features, dominated by large, sparkling green eyes, and framed by a coif of long curls, it was the face of Kate Ennis. She only glanced back for a moment, but it was long enough for her gaze to lock in with his own.
I’m watching you, said her gaze. I’ll always be watching you.
She turned away just as Phineas thought of flashing her a roguish smile, and it died on his lips. Mikaela had been spot on in her assessment of the NBC journalist. On one level, it made him feel good to be attractive to Kate, but on another, her interest just meant more complications in his life. And his life was complicated enough, and he had no idea how he might deal with this latest twist.
He followed the column as they cleared the heavy foliage of the forest and entered a prairie. It was punctuated by rising blades of rock, which gradually sloped down to a riverbank. The cave mouth, he recalled from the briefing, should be close at hand. Scanning the area, he saw a grazing herd of triceratopes, but they were far away and posed no threat to the group. Still, it would be a good idea to watch them. Any panicky movement from the herd might be an early warning that a predator was about.
Phineas remained alert as the group crossed the prairie and gathered at the edge of the stream. The dark entrance to the cave yawned in front of them.
“The floor slopes downward once you get inside,” said Takamura. “There’s some machinery—probably pumps for the water—and then it’s clear until we reach the catwalk. Are we ready?”
Dragonstar Destiny Page 9
