DS02 Night of the Dragonstar

by David Bischoff

  The chemical lab smell was curiously comforting to the paleontologists. Here was where the stuff of scientific study could be performed—safely, in controlled conditions, without their having to worry about being attacked and consumed by the objects of study.

  Mikaela began to make ready the instruments she needed to analyze the specimen procured by Lorkner, switching on the electron microscope and washing and drying a slide.

  “From the pictures,” Dr. Penovich said, “I would judge by the creature’s shape that either it was malformed or it grew from hatchling state at an extremely accelerated rate for a creature of its size. I’m anxious to see what you find at the cellular level.”

  “Signs of radiation poisoning of some kind, perhaps,” Mikaela said, shutting out her grief and fear with cold duty and scientific curiosity. “I wonder if there’s a leak somewhere. There’s been no report of one so far.”

  “With such a large vessel and so few men and equipment, it’s no wonder,” Penovich said. “Something to do with the Illuminator, do you think?”

  “Perhaps,” Mikaela said, taking out the bag that Lorkner had brought in. “Though if it were the Illuminator, I think we’d have picked up on it a lot sooner.”

  She took the hunk of flesh—a terrible mess, but suitable enough—and cut off a sliver with a scalpel, then returned the rest to the freezer. Although the specimen had already been scanned at the entryway for possible harmful viruses, she used plastic gloves and a filter mask. She placed the small sliver of flesh on the slide in a clear solution, then taped on a cover slide and carried it over to the softly humming microscope.

  Just as she put the slide in place and was about to focus the microscope the lab phone rang.

  “Damn,” she said. The phone was closest to her, so she picked it up.

  “Paleo lab,” she said.

  The voice on the other end seemed very distant. “Hello. Mikaela, is that you?” Despite the amount of static, the voice was recognizably that of Colonel Phineas Kemp, beamed via satellite, with a small delay.

  “Yes, Phineas, it’s me. I suppose you’ve heard the bad news.”

  She had to wait some seconds before the voice responded. “Well, thank God you’re okay. I had to hear about it from the President of the United States, and it didn’t help my headache much. We’re not exactly broadcasting Hagermann’s death, but there have been leaks lately, and chances are it will get out, so I want you to prepare a statement—a statement to the effect that this was an abnormal event, and no precursor of things to come. I’m treading a thin line here before I get my presentation special together, and this isn’t the kind of thing I need, so we’re going to play this real low-keyed, nothing special. Hagermann died in a freak accident. Understand? I’m just telling you that in case some media maniac somehow happens to get hold of you and tries to make a big deal of it. “

  “Phineas, it might be a big deal,” Mikaela said. “This was no normal dinosaur that attacked us and killed Hagermann. We’re doing some tests now, and we’ve got pictures. Dr. Penovich can attest to all of this.”

  Penovich looked over at her as she waited for Kemp’s reply. “He can be terribly stubborn sometimes,” she explained.

  Finally, Kemp’s voice erupted through the static. “Mikaela, please. I’m in a delicate situation. I need your support. How can we possibly know a normal dinosaur from an abnormal one? I’m not telling you to cover anything up. I’m just telling you not to make any waves that aren’t necessary. Over and out.”

  Mikaela sighed with aggravation. “Very well, Phineas. But please check back with us later on this. I have uneasy feelings about it. Over and out.”

  She hung up the phone.

  “What’s the trouble?” Penovich wanted to know.

  “Oh, our great leader doesn’t want anything to muck up his special documentary,” Mikaela said with exasperation.

  “I don’t blame him,” Penovich said thoughtfully. “World attitude will be very vital not only in terms of funds provided for proper maintenance and study of the Dragonstar, but to contain the uneasy religious and political questions it poses.”

  “Too true,” Mikaela said. “But a mammoth ego is also on the line, I think.”

  “Ah—you mean Colonel Kemp’s ego. Perhaps. But only those with outsized self-images can dare great things.”

  “And squash other people on the way. No, wait, I’m being unfair, Dr. Penovich. I’m sure he’s preoccupied and just doesn’t have the time to spare for seemingly small matters. God knows, he’s seen enough deaths on this ship. He’s probably inured to them. Our duty is to see if indeed this represents something to be concerned about in our general attitude toward the Dragonstar.”

  “I sincerely hope not,” Dr. Penovich said. “I should like to absorb myself in quiet study. This was my hope for my visit here. Yet already I find myself yearning to return to Prague. This is ironic, no?”

  Mikaela sighed, then went back to the electron microscope and adjusted it, fitting her eyes to the viewer.

  The image quickly swam into focus, and she adjusted the controls for the clearest presentation possible. It didn’t take long to note that at least half the cells seemed of an aberrant nature. She focused on the nucleus of one and increased the magnification. With this baby, you could get down to the chromosomal level. She gazed for a while at what she saw, disbelievingly, then tried the nucleus of another aberrant cell. The anomaly was consistent in both.

  “Dr. Penovich,” she said after taking a deep breath. “Could you come here and look at this, please?”

  IN THE BACKYARD of his home in East Acton, London, Ian Coopersmith was trying to teach cricket to his two sons, Geoffrey, ten, and Brian, eight. They seemed less than overwhelmed by the sport.

  “You see ...” he said. “You see, Geoff, you hold the bat and guard the wicket. I try to bowl the stick off, and Brian can field, and—”

  “Father, I’ve seen this game on telly,” Brian complained, “and it’s ever so boring. Geoff and I like football. Let’s play that.”

  “But boys, cricket is my favorite,” said the tall, muscular man, disappointedly gazing at the football by the garden. “And I’d really like to teach it to you. I used to play it at school. Don’t you remember the pictures I showed you?”

  “Oh yes,” said Geoffrey, a slim and sturdy lad who seldom smiled. “Star batsman and all that, you’ve told us. But really, Father, cricket is just old hat, and besides, it’s much too English for me. If I told my friends at school you were teaching us cricket, they’d just laugh themselves silly. I mean, cricket is the sort of game Prime Minister O’Dowd plays, and who wants to be like the old boy, with all his funny clothes?”

  Coopersmith tossed the cricket ball away. He let go of his anger. After all, he was trying to get closer to his children, not alienate them. They’d grown up so much in the time that he’d been away. And many times during his absence he’d thought he’d never see Brian and Geoff—or their mother, Leticia—again. That’s why he was back here at home now, why he’d made preparations to resign from the IASA and was looking for a job in London. To make up for the time he’d lost, to try to find his life back on Earth again.

  He clapped his hands with an air of exasperated gaiety. “Right, then. Football it is. I suppose we can get Brian to exercise a little more—he’s getting rather roly-poly of late. Eh, Brian?”

  “He eats far too many sweets, Father,” said Geoff.

  “Oh, shut up, Geoff. I’ll tell him about your little dolly girl.”

  They began kicking the ball around, and Geoffrey managed to plant an accidental-on-purpose kick in Brian’s shin. Brian collapsed in exaggerated tears.

  “Now what the devil was that all about, Geoff?” Ian demanded after making sure his youngest wasn’t maimed.

  “God, you look at the little wimp cross-eyed and he breaks into tears. It was just an accident anyway, F
ather, you needn’t beat me.” He looked down at Ian’s tight grip on his forearm. “Mother strongly disapproves of that sort of discipline, you know.”

  “Well, I don’t, and the next time I catch you doing anything like that, I’m going to ...”

  Suddenly he was aware of his wife’s presence at the back door. Leticia was watching him expressionlessly, as though waiting to see what he was going to do next.

  “Phone call, Ian,” she said, her arms crossed.

  “If it’s another from the media, tell them simply no comment,” Ian said, letting go of his oldest son’s arm.

  “It’s Winston Arnold, Ian,” she said.

  “Well, in that case I’d better talk to him.” Arnold was actually a friend. Coopersmith had known him a long time. They even had the same school tie, though that had just been a joke. He was with the BBC, and he seldom used his friendship with Ian to get any kind of information. Maybe this was about something other than the Dragonstar.

  “You should invite Winnie over for dinner sometime,” Leticia suggested, a smile coming naturally to her attractive oval face.

  “Excellent idea,” Coopersmith said, striding past her into their model kitchen, done in shades of blue and green. He picked up the receiver. “Hello there, Winnie. Thanks so much for the nice letter. You did a wonderful job on that story. The only decent one I’ve seen.”

  “Oh, super, Ian, because I rather have a favor to ask,” came the less than cheerful voice over the phone.

  “Something wrong, old boy?”

  “Well, normally I wouldn’t do this with you—you changing your phone number for privacy and everything—but Ian, I’ve been put under a bit of pressure to at least approach you on the subject.”

  “Subject? You mean the Dragonstar? Winnie, I told you all that I’m ever going to tell anyone.”

  “Yes, yes, Ian, I know. But there’s been a leak concerning some incident of violence on the ship. IASA hasn’t released anything official yet, and I thought you might know something specific.”

  “Violence? What sort of violence?”

  “Then you’ve heard nothing about it?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, good. Well then, I feel much relieved. I can just tell the top boys that and they’ll get off my back. Believe me, it was hard to touch you up again on the subject.”

  Ian’s voice tensed. “What kind of violence, Winston?”

  “Oh, I believe some dinosaur killed some IASA member.”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t know yet ... some lieutenant was about all that leaked.”

  Lieutenant Coopersmith felt relieved. Thank God it wasn’t Becky.

  Winston continued, “I guess you heard about Phineas Kemp’s news conference last night.”

  “Who could avoid it?”

  “And you’re still not going to become involved in the IASA’s documentary?”

  “Because it’s my duty? I’ve told you, Winnie, I feel that my duty has been done. All my statements have been made. They can just read them. Get an actor to do a dramatic recreation. I just don’t care. I don’t want—”

  “Message received, Ian. As I say, I’m really sorry to bother you like this.”

  “I know, I know. Pressure. You’re just doing your job. That’s okay, Winnie, you saved me from a bit of a row with my boys. Just a moment. As long as I’ve got you, maybe I could give you my truly final statement—sort of an addenda to your article.”

  “Oh, super! The tabloids will pee their pants. Fire away, old boy.”

  “As you know, Winnie, it was Dr. Thalberg and I who first made contact with the Saurians. No one else has had such ... intimate experience with them.”

  “Yes, yes. So what?”

  “So that makes me, I think, the authority on the subject. Correct?”

  “I would say so, yes.”

  “Well, I’ve been viewing with great dismay this whole phenomenon of exploitation surrounding the creatures. It’s demeaning and condescending—all these T-shirts, toys, costumes, kiddie cartoon shows. Now, I’m sure the Saurians don’t really care much, even if they did know about this ruckus. But I care about it, and this is just part of the reason why I’m having nothing to do with Phineas Kemp’s sideshow.”

  “May I quote you?”

  “Maybe tone down that last bit, Winnie. I’m just not a Saurie Friend. Put this down for the record, though. I found the Saurians to be a fascinating, worthwhile race, from whom we have much to learn, and to whom we can teach much. But they are by no stretch of the imagination cute anthropomorphic beasts. They’re sentient reptiles. Nothing more and certainly nothing less. Period.”

  “Oh bravo, Ian. I can see the headline now. ‘The Black Sheep of the Dragonstar Team Speaks Up.’”

  Coopersmith cheerfully extended Leticia’s suggested dinner invitation, then rang off. His wife was preparing tea at the stove.

  “Those two aren’t at each other again, are they?” he asked as he noticed she was gazing out the window into the backyard.

  “Oh, no. They’re playing nicely,” she said, turning her usual pleasant smile his way. She was so damned nice all the time. But how could you complain about someone being continually pleasant? That was one of the reasons he had married her—-her genuine benevolence.

  “I guess you heard my conversation with Winston,” he said.

  “Most of it. Of course, I’d heard your opinion about the Saurie Fan Clubs before. For someone who’s cut all ties with the Dragonstar affair, you certainly retain strong emotions on the subject. Would you care for some tea, dear? And we’ve got some nice biscuits, so could you put them out? They’re Brian’s particular favorites.”

  This frigid tone to her voice was about as nasty as she ever got, so Ian called her on it. “Right, Letty. What’s troubling you?”

  “I thought we’d talked all that out, Ian,” she said as he rummaged through the bread box. “And I told you that I thoroughly understood what was past and what was present in regard to your commitments.”

  He found the biscuits—cream-filled chocolate—and began putting them out on a plate. “I can tell by your tone, Letty.”

  She paused for a moment in setting cups on saucers and then said, “I suppose it was your tone as well. You were worried about Rebecca Thalberg, weren’t you? Being involved in that violent incident.”

  “You eavesdrop well.”

  “You were loud enough for the children to eavesdrop. Besides, that’s not the point. I suppose, Ian, I’m still wondering if you really are through with the Dragonstar.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ian asked, crinkling the cellophane up and tossing it in the garbage bin.

  “It’s all very well to say that you’re trying to get away from it, Ian, redeem your life at home—but perhaps what Colonel Kemp says is right. It’s not over, and by trying to hide from your duty, and your feelings toward those you worked with, you are ultimately tearing up the good person you are inside.”

  “But, Letty, you know what happened on that alien ship. I ... I ...”

  “You fell into another woman’s arms. I know, and don’t think it doesn’t hurt. But I really didn’t care who you’d slept with when you got back—just as long as you were back. If it will help any, I should tell you that I allowed myself to be comforted once or twice while you were away.”

  Ian had been eating one of the biscuits, and he found himself suddenly bereft of appetite in mid-bite. “Oh. Who ...” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Letty smiled at him. “No, maybe not. And not sexually at any rate. Though I know that’s always possible. No, Ian, I’ve thought about this, and even though I would like you to stay far away from that Thalberg woman, and though I’d like to scratch her eyes out, reserve be damned, I know that until you are complete about all of this you’ll just never be all here.”

 
Ian thought for a moment. “You want me to stay with the IASA?”

  “If that’s what you want. But don’t you think that a better idea would be to speak with Colonel Kemp, see what he wants? A brief return to the Dragonstar ... a few lines spoken ... just finish things up ... and then you can really, I think, make up your mind as to where you really stand on your efforts to get things right at home. This will probably be your only chance, Ian, and God knows it’s part selfishness that has me saying these things, because if you’re here, l’d like all of you here.”

  “If that’s the way you feel, Letty,” Ian said, nonplussed.

  “Ninny, it’s not the way I feel that counts right now—it’s the way you feel.” She shook her head and began pouring the tea.

  He thought for a moment, and then he said, “I guess you’re right.”

  COLONEL PHINEAS Kemp drove through the open countryside of Northern California. He had keyed in the coordinates for the home of John T. Neville, and the on-board CPU was controlling his automobile as it negotiated the electronic highways north of San Francisco. He was currently passing through the legislated Agricultural Preserves of Mendocino County, and he enjoyed watching the endless sky above him and the gently rolling hills of lettuce and corn and other vegetables. Sometimes he enjoyed doing the driving himself, if the road represented any kind of a challenge, but on a straight-line highway like El-State 101, driving was just plain boring.

  His thoughts drifted back to the Dragonstar and the international affair that had sprung up around the great ship. Sometimes Phineas felt that the whole affair had become a genuine, royal pain—exciting, challenging, but a disruption in his life nonetheless. The Dragonstar was an intruder, and it had threatened to disrupt his grand design for success and fame. Thankfully, Phineas had played a great part in working things out, wresting what could have been a career-ruining fiasco from the clichéd jaws of defeat.