DS02 Night of the Dragonstar

by David Bischoff

  “The report I saw mentioned possible radiation poisoning, mutation, and accelerated tissue growth. But so far that’s just a bunch of speculation. There’s no telling what’s going on yet.”

  “Colonel, I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but this sounds like it could be very serious.”

  “Nothing’s been confirmed, I’m telling you. Dr. Jakes has been apprised of the situation, and I’m sure he’s checking things out. If there were any danger, I’d be notified immediately.”

  “It looks like I decided to get involved at exactly the right time,” Ian said softly.

  Phineas Kemp smiled and stood up from the desk. “You know what’s wrong with you, Coopersmith? You have a real hero complex.”

  “How so?”

  Kemp chuckled. “If you don’t know, then I couldn’t possibly explain it to you. Are you sure you never wanted to be a movie star?”

  Ian smiled. “No, not really.”

  “All right, forget it.” Kemp checked the time and picked up his attaché case from the desktop. “I’ve got to get to that briefing, and you’ve got to get outfitted for the next shuttle. Are you ready to ship out now?”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  “Very well. Get downstairs and see Lieutenant Myers. Tell him to book you onto the next shuttle. I’ll meet you on Copernicus tomorrow, and we’ll ship over to the Dragonstar together.”

  Kemp moved to the door, then paused to look back at Ian. “You know, Coopersmith, I guess l owe you an apology, but it’s very hard for me to give those things out. I guess it’s just in my nature to be this way. Sorry. I really mean that.”

  The colonel extended his hand in friendship, and Ian grasped it firmly. He shook his hand and said something innocuous like “Thank you, sir,” and suddenly Kemp was gone down the hallway, walking at a brisk, stiff-legged pace. He looked like some kind of goony bird.

  Ian shook his head slowly. This guy was one complex of complexes, that was for sure. But despite all his problems with Kemp, Ian had to admit a grudging respect and even admiration for the Chief of Deep Space Operations.

  Looking out the window of the small office, he could see a shuttle being prepared for launch, and he knew he’d have to hustle to get on board the next flight.

  Time to get on with the next mission, he thought. It’s about bloody time, too.

  MISHIMA had always felt very comfortable around the Saurians.

  As he walked slowly from the entrance of the crew quarters toward the residence of Thesaurus, he took the time to absorb the sights and sounds and smells of their primitive culture. Having lived and worked within the confines of the Saurian preserve for so many months now, Mishima tended to take his surroundings for granted. When an environment becomes so familiar that one doesn’t even notice its existence, he thought reflectively, it is a very sad occasion.

  It had been agreed that “north” inside the cylindrical world would be pointing toward the Saurian/alien end of the ship, and that “south” would be the end that contained the Mesozoic preserve. “East” and “west” would then be to the right and left of that longitudinal axis. Mishima knew it was merely a convention, but he had accepted the terms, and his sense of direction now seemed perfectly natural as he headed south down the steps of the Saurian temple, turning east at the base of the stairs and walking toward a large group of dwellings that had been carved into a rocky promontory—the highest geographic point in the Saurian preserve.

  Carved into this rocky jut of land were the residences of the Saurian priest class—the select group of the race, who held the keys of power in the reptilian society. The keys unlocked the vault of knowledge, as was typical in primitive cultures, and they were retained by ensuring that the masses did not learn too much.

  It was with members of the priest class that the IASA staff had been able to communicate most effectively and one of the first had been a gentle old Saurian whom Ian Coopersmith had ironically named Thesaurus.

  Mishima remembered the first time he had met the old philosopher-priest, soon after he had arrived on board the Dragonstar as a member of Dr. Jakes’s handpicked team of experts. It would be the mission of the research team to discover as much about the physical makeup and operation of the alien vessel as possible. Mishima recalled walking into sick bay one afternoon for some antihistamines and was surprised to see the supine body of a Saurian in one of the hospital beds.

  It was Thesaurus, being treated for the radiation burns he had received during the battle with the TWC terrorists. Mishima approached the bed slowly. The Saurian, who wore a digital translator around his neck, eyed him warily. Mishima offered a gentle greeting, and the Saurian responded. A halting, awkward conversation began—the two of them had embarked upon the road to friendship.

  The close relationship Mishima enjoyed with Thesaurus was the exception rather than the rule throughout the various camps and research facilities inside the Dragonstar. Mishima and Thesaurus were two of the loudest supporters of more cooperation and work between the two species, but so far little had been done to accomplish this. Mishima suspected that Colonel Kemp was the major stumbling block to this movement but had no concrete proof.

  Mishima had become friendly with Thesaurus, and they often took walks together among the many gardens and botanical parks that were spread throughout the Saurian city of Hakarrh. This morning Mishima had received a message from Thesaurus that he would like to meet with him.

  There was a large set of steps cut into the face of the promontory, filled with switchbacks and landings, which led to the Saurian priest’s homes. Naturally, since Thesaurus was one of the older members of the ruling class, his residence was close to the top. Mishima began the long climb up, looking out over the landscape and renewing his sense of wonder about the place.

  You could get a good view of things from this height. Due north was the impossible height and expanse of the flat end of the cylinder. A sheer perpendicular plain of infinite size, it rose up into the mist and clouds that gathered up near the Illuminator. Behind the flat end of the cylinder lay the alien control sections—the dioramas, life factories, command quarters, and the small areas the IASA teams had staked out as research centers and laboratories. To the south, Mishima looked down upon the Saurian city. It was a collection of random architecture—minarets, domes, cubes, and large mall-like areas. The streets were all wide boulevards, and there were many parks and gardens. One could also see domesticated dinosaurs serving as beasts of burden and workers throughout the countryside. Outdoor bazaars were a major force in the economy, and their multicolored tents made the landscape look like a country quilt. Beyond the city to the east and west lay the huge stretches of agricultural land where the agrarian class Saurians raised simple crops.

  All this activity was hemmed in by the Barrier, a wall fifteen meters high and ten meters thick made of earth, stone, and wood. A rampart ran along its top edge, punctuated everyone hundred meters or so by a watchtower. The world of the Saurian race consisted of a thirty-kilometer-wide strip of land curved about the interior of a gigantic spinning cylinder—not much of a world, thought Mishima, yet the Saurians had done pretty well for themselves.

  Technologically they appeared to be comparable with European civilization at the end of the eighteenth century. They hadn’t yet invented many mechanical devices, and steam and electricity were not even a dream among them. Mishima found it interesting that the Saurians used biology and botany as their primary sciences, having learned, albeit primitively, ways to control some of the herbivorous dinosaurs and to attain to fairly efficient agricultural techniques.

  Finally Mishima reached the level near the top of the promontory where Thesaurus lived. A device like a wind chime, carved from the hollow bones of a Pteranodon, hung over the door. Takamura sounded it gently.

  Presently the door opened to reveal a tall, almost skinny Saurian with parched-looking skin. He had a long
neck and a snub-nosed snout. It was a reptilian face, but with stereoscopic vision and a large cranium. He wore a lemon yellow robe that resembled silk, and he looked very old. Around the Saurian’s neck hung a small electronic device which encoded and decoded both the Saurian and human languages—a translator that Mishima had helped design based on the early experience of Ian Coopersmith.

  “Takamura,” said the old Saurian. “Welcome.” The Saurian spoke in his own language, and the translator immediately mimicked the words in English. Their entire conversation would be carried out like this.

  “I got your message. You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, Takamura. I have noticed trouble among our people.”

  A warning bell sounded in Mishima’s head. Everybody was smelling problems lately, and he didn’t like it. “What kind of trouble, Thesaurus?”

  “I do not know. Many of the agrarian class have been having spells of madness. It is like a sickness, and there are signs that it is becoming widespread.”

  “You mean a disease? Perhaps our biomedics can look into it?”

  Thesaurus walked to the single window cut into the residence and looked out onto the expanse of Hakarrh. “No, I don’t think it is that kind of sickness. More a sickness of the ... of the thought center.”

  “Anything to do with the R-sleep?” Mishima asked, referring to the cyclic periods of reversion to their more primitive state which all Saurians underwent. It was a strange genetic reminder of their reptilian beginnings, which the Saurians called the Dark Fold.

  Thesaurus shook his head, a mannerism he had learned from the humans. “No, I don’t think so. I have been discussing the whole phenomenon with my elders, my colleagues, and we have questioned some of the victims. This is not connected with the Dark Fold.”

  Mishima took a seat in an uncomfortable chair that had been designed for the Saurian posterior. “Still, perhaps we should run some tests in our laboratories. Could any of the victims be persuaded to come with me?”

  “No. That is impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “It was necessary to kill them.”

  Mishima wondered at such a necessity, but he knew better than to question it. “When was the last incident?”

  The Saurian barked out an ironic chuckle. “Only this morning. Indeed, it may be recurring as we speak.”

  Mishima nodded. “I heard some of my people talking about a riot this morning at one of the bazaars.”

  “That is the incident,” Thesaurus said. “And I must tell you that I am fearful, Mishima.”

  “Why?” He pretended to be totally ignorant of any possible implications.

  It was difficult to read the thoughts (or emotions, if indeed they had them) of the Saurians by looking at their faces. This was not to say that they did not possess a definite range of expressions, but rather that most humans had not yet learned what the various facial registers meant. With this in mind, Mishima attempted to study the facial expression of Thesaurus. It seemed to be conveying true concern. Compassion and intelligence burned brightly in those large reptilian eyes, like lamps to banish the darkness of fear and ignorance.

  “You ask why?” Thesaurus barked out another short laugh. “Because in all my birth cycles I have never seen this kind of mass hysteria. That is why I termed it a disease.”

  “Well, is it possible that I might borrow one of the next victims if there is another outbreak? There’s a chance we might be able to help.”

  Thesaurus walked to Mishima’s side and placed a three-fingered claw/hand on his shoulder. “My friend,” the creature said, “there is talk among my class.”

  “What kind of talk?”

  “Talk that we never had this kind of trouble, this kind of chaos ... till the humans arrived.”

  Mishima allowed the words to settle in. This had a familiar ring to it. The British in India, the colonists in America, Cortez in Mexico, Cook’s ships in Hawaii, the parallels were endless, and it seemed as though humankind was destined to forever repeat history’s ill-learned lessons. He smiled as he looked up at the Saurian. “Did you tell them they are probably correct?”

  “You are making a joke?” Thesaurus seemed confused by the smile.

  “No, I was being sadly ironic. I forget your word for the gesture, the expression. I tend to agree with your philosophers: we humans have brought you a bunch of problems. Before we came, you thought the whole universe began and ended within the confines of this ship. You had never even seen the stars. Talk about innocence. Milton had nothing on you fellows.”

  “Who is Milton?” Thesaurus asked.

  “One of our ancient artists. He wrote about the loss of innocence, and I was thinking that your people are perfect examples of the concept. I mean, look what happened when we arrived: we brought deception and killing and death right away.”

  “But my people understood. It was not your fault. Our own history is touched with times of conflict and bloodshed. We have had our share of war and destruction.”

  “Yes, so I’ve heard,” Mishima said. He got up, walked to the window, and looked down on the Saurian city. “Goddamn it! Why is the road to civilization always such a bitch!”

  Thesaurus shook his head. “Perhaps because it would otherwise be so easy to remain primitive?”

  “Yeah, maybe ... maybe the answer is just that simple.” Mishima returned to his seat. “At any rate, Thesaurus, I’m glad you’ve told me about the problems you’ve been noticing. My people are also seeing some strange things ... which reminds me, have you ever found any of the dinosaurs out there ... have you ever found any of them to be changing?”

  “What do you mean by this?”

  Mishima was not sure how much Thesaurus would understand of mutations and evolution, but he pressed on. “I mean, have any of your people ever found dinosaurs that seemed different from others of their kind? As though they might be hatched from normal mothers but themselves are changed in some strange ways?”

  Thesaurus nodded slowly, a hissing sound building in his throat. “Yes, I understand you now.” The Saurian paused to consider the question. “No, I have not heard of such a thing, but it can be researched through the oral histories and the libraries. Why? Is it important?”

  “It might be. I don’t know yet.” Mishima checked his chronometer and saw that the day was slipping away. There was so much work he wished to get done, and the hours seemed to be against him. Again he stood up, but this time he moved toward the door to the outer landing.

  “You must go?”

  “Yes, but I thank you again for thinking of me, for wanting to tell me about the riots and the sickness.”

  The old Saurian nodded. “As I said, I am fearful.”

  “Then you promise me a victim to study if this happens again?”

  “Yes, I am certain we can arrange such a thing.”

  “Thank you, Thesaurus. Stay in touch with me.” Mishima grasped him by the flesh of his shoulder, the usual form of greeting and parting among the priest class. He felt a closeness to this strange creature.

  “Goodbye, Mishima. We shall speak again.”

  Mishima had begun to descend the carved steps when the Saurian called out to him. Mishima turned and looked back at Thesaurus. “Yes?”

  “It has just occurred to me to ask, my friend—have you heard from Ian Coopersmith?”

  Mishima smiled at the mention of the captain’s name. The tactical engineer had become something of a legend among the IASA staff. Just the mention of his name commanded immediate respect.

  Mishima shook his head. “No. I never knew him personally. He remains on Earth.”

  “He will never come back to us?” Thesaurus asked.

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t answer that.”

  “That is unfortunate. I am thinking that perhaps we could use a human like him to help us now. Perhaps I could even travel to
your Earth someday.”

  “Really?” Mishima said in surprise, instantly imagining what a carnival the media would have with that kind of stunt.

  “Yes. I think that I am missing the company of Captain Coopersmith. He was a very good man.”

  Mishima nodded. “From everything I’ve heard, he would be a good man to have around right about now.”

  “Yes. Captain Coopersmith could help us solve the mystery. There is something very wrong here. Something is happening to all of us.”

  * * *

  The Stegosaurus lumbered away from her nest to fetch a drink. Finding her way to a nearby pool was an amazing feat of memory for the beast, for although she had two brains—one in her skull, the other a more primitive knot of ganglia at the base of her spiked tail—she was an extraordinarily dull creature. Despite the extra hundred-plus million years for biological improvement, her species had reached an evolutionary dead end.

  She dragged her huge body from her nesting place along a worn path through an outcropping of rock. The light from the Illuminator beat down on her camouflaged hide with its usual comforting heat—the heat that warmed the Stegosaurus’s eggs and relieved the beast of the duty of warming them herself. She remained in the area of her eggs out of habit, perhaps to guard her emerging offspring, perhaps merely following deeply etched atavistic instincts.

  And now that she was thirsty, she sought out a familiar pool.

  It was a little more than a widening of a stream into a basin. The pool was a popular watering hole, and many species could often be seen standing cheek to jowl sharing a cool drink. As the Stegosaurus sauntered down to the water’s edge, she ignored a group of Ankylossaurus on the opposite bank. She dipped her bullet-shaped head into the pool.

  The stream was fed by an underground system of pumps and valves and other hidden machinery, and the creatures who used the pool took no notice of what lay beneath the sparkling depths. Nudging some reeds and mosses away from the edge, the Stegosaurus continued to drink. There was a leisurely pace to her actions because, although she was ever alert, her plated back and spiked tail were enough of a defensive system to make most predators wary of trying an attack.