DS02 Night of the Dragonstar

by David Bischoff

  Phineas sat in the front row of the grandstands, which had been built in the center of Hakarrh’s largest botanical garden. A massive crowd encircled the stands, which had been reserved for dignitaries, officers, diplomats, and members of the elite classes of the Saurians. The throng, mainly comprised of Saurians, also held perhaps a hundred of the IASA staff permanently assigned to the Dragonstar on the various research teams. There was a festive atmosphere to the occasion as the time ticked away, bringing them all that much closer to the moment of the live broadcast.

  “This is all so exciting,” Kate Ennis said, impulsively reaching out and taking Phineas’s hand.

  He was surprised by her action, and relieved that Mikaela had not yet joined him. She was aboard the ornithopter that would land in the center of the grandstand and bring Neville to his historic meeting with the Saurians. Phineas had arranged it so that Mikaela would perform the formal introductions. She had been so pleased and honored; Phineas was glad to have made her so happy. He did love her—it was just that he had a difficult time letting her know often enough. Oh well, there were lots of people like that. At least he wasn’t alone with his problem.

  He looked over at Kate, who looked stunning in a clinging gown, and patted her hand. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” he said, wondering if this beautiful woman was making a pass at him. He was terrible at noticing such things.

  After all, he hadn’t realized that Mikaela Lindstrom was attracted to him until she had almost been forced to spell things out. Some men were very attuned to women and some were not. Phineas simply belonged to the latter group. Taking the time to think things out, he decided to test the possibilities-so he took Kate’s hand firmly in his own, waiting to see if she would withdraw it.

  She did not.

  Over the grandstand and the platform hung a large screen that displayed a two-dimensional image of the World Media broadcast to the assembled crowd. The massive screen afforded all the Saurians an excellent view of the whole story of their discovery and involvement with the humans. Phineas found it amusing to watch the reactions of the Saurians during various parts of the broadcast. They hissed loudly and harshly whenever a carnivorous dinosaur appeared in the footage; they clapped and roared whenever their own likeness appeared; and they seemed to begin a curious, chantlike humming when they watched outer space scenes.

  “What are they doing?” Kate asked.

  “I couldn’t tell you. I’m no expert on the lizards.”

  “Do you always call them that? It sounds so slangy, so derogatory.”

  Phineas shrugged. “I suppose it does. I never really thought about it.”

  “Don’t you like them? The Saurians, I mean.”

  “I don’t know if ‘like’ is the right word.” He tried to choose his words carefully. “I think ‘trust’ is more accurate.”

  “But they helped you defeat the TWC terrorists.”

  “Well, that could be interpreted to be their defending themselves as much as actually helping us.” Phineas shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Kate. They’re just so different from us. There’s still a lot we don’t understand about them. I just think we should be wary.”

  “And yet you staged this whole thing for the project.” She looked at him with bright eyes. “You can’t be too worried.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” he said quickly. “I didn’t say I thought they were dangerous per se, just that they are so different from us that we really can’t claim to know them all that well. Do you see what I’m trying to say?”

  “I think so,” Kate said, her eyes drifting up to the big screen and then down to her chronometer. “Look, it’s getting down to the last scene. It’s almost time for the live segment.”

  As the preedited footage of “Day of the Dragonstar” wrapped up, Phineas heard the first muted sounds of an ornithopter engine cutting through the moist, humid air of the interior. The orchestral score and production credits were now rolling across the giant screen, and Phineas knew that they would be live as soon as the next raft of commercials had been hurled across electromagnetic heaven.

  “Here they come,” Kate cried, pointing up toward an aircraft that seemed to lope easily across the sky. It was a combination bird and helicopter, incorporating the movements of both. The ornithopter had proved to be the aircraft most easily controlled within the confines of the giant spinning cylinder. Air currents and wind vortices made airfoils unreliable, but the ornithopter handled them with relatively few problems.

  When the last commercial had faded into gray oblivion, the screen phosphored and flashed, reforming with the image of Alistair Williamson. Phineas looked at the narrator as he appeared on the screen, then down to the platform directly in front of the reviewing stand to observe him live.

  “And thus concludes Part One of our broadcast of ‘The Day of the Dragonstar,’” Williamson said. “We are now speaking to you live from the city of Hakarrh in the Saurian preserve inside the Dragonstar. I am surrounded by citizens of the city and a majority of the IASA staff permanently assigned to this great vessel.

  “The sound you hear in the background is the approach of an IASA ornithopter, which will momentarily touch down before me. On board the aircraft is Dr. Mikaela Lindstrom and the most famous living science fiction writer in the world, Dr. John T. Neville. The ornithopter is bringing Dr. Neville to the city of the Saurians for a special live event, a veritable piece of history in the making, which World Media Corporation and the International Aeronautics and Space Agency invite you, the audience of the world, to witness.”

  The sound of the approaching ornithopter became louder, and Alistair Williamson moved to the side of the landing area while the camera panned across the large crowd and the colors and textures of the Saurian city and finally zoomed in on the aircraft that hovered easily above the panorama. As Williamson took a new position to the left of the grandstand, the cameras again picked him up.

  “Having spent much of his life speculating on the adventures and discoveries of humankind’s future, Dr. John T. Neville will soon become part of his own future history. The ‘first contact’ story—that which examines the experience of humankind meeting with an alien race—is one of the true classics of science fiction literature, and Dr. Neville penned one of the best back in 1940 when he wrote ‘Down Among the Ynglings.’

  “Who would have imagined that someday he would find himself in a situation very similar to that of his space-faring heroes in pulp magazine fantasy? And yet it brings to mind the classic question of art imitating life versus life imitating art.”

  The ornithopter was now directly overhead the platform, and a hush settled over the crowd as it began to make its final landing approach. There was only the whispering whoomp-whoomp of the engines and the rotor wings beating against the heavy tropical air. Even Alistair Williamson had paused in his monologue to admire the graceful landing of the ornithopter.

  As the engines wheezed into silence, Williamson moved back into the camera’s range, with the aircraft in the background. “And now, the historic meeting is about to occur. To my right, in the first row of the reviewing stands, is a delegation of Saurians, who are now preparing to greet the occupants of the ornithopter, Dr. Neville in particular.”

  The camera pulled back to reveal several things happening simultaneously. The crew hatch of the ornithopter popped open and a set of steps was lowered to the platform. First off was an IASA staff member in the familiar powder-blue coveralls, then Dr. Mikaela Lindstrom stepped down. She looked back and held out her hand to offer assistance to a wizened, white-haired old man, Dr. Neville, who descended the steps with a seemingly cavalier attitude. In the grandstands, a small group of Saurians stood up and assembled in formation. All of the creatures wore the robes and regalia of their particular caste within the biologically structured society.

  Alistair Williamson continued his narration, admirably filling in the moments leading
up the climactic event with ever increasing hyperbole and false drama.

  “Well, Phineas, your dream is about to come true,” Kate said, watching as Dr. Neville walked forward along. a red carpet to a halfway point where he would meet the advancing Saurian delegation.

  “Yes, it certainly is. I can’t believe it.”

  Phineas Kemp smiled broadly. It was an especially satisfying feeling to see something that had previously existed only in your mind take form and substance and become reality, assisted by the efforts of many others who have paid heed to your dreaming. It was a feeling of accomplishment, a sensation of power being subtly wielded.

  He watched as the Saurians approached, each one wearing the translating devices that would allow them to communicate with Dr. Neville. There were several IASA aides-de-camp accompanying the entourage as they moved forward in their multicolored robes. There was a quality to the event almost like a pageant or other formalized ceremony, which pleased Phineas very much. It was almost exactly as he had imagined it.

  As Alistair Williamson continued to describe the events, much like a sports commentator might whisper over a golfer lining up his tournament-winning putt, the Saurians came face to face with Neville. Dr. Mikaela Lindstrom and the IASA aides stepped back so that the cameras would have a full view of the action.

  The first of the Saurian group, a member of the priest class who wore a lemon-yellow robe, approached the old science fiction writer and extended a forelimb in greeting. Dr. Neville grasped the reptilian hand/claw with a certain reluctance, and the smile on his face seemed somewhat wooden, but things appeared to be going well in general.

  Several of the other Saurians, dressed as agrarians, merchants, and warriors, all crowded about Neville. There was much hand/claw grasping, pats on the shoulder, and even pecks on cheeks. At the climactic moment, the sounds of a triumphant symphonic march boomed from the loudspeakers and a barrage of fireworks went whistling into the air above the platform.

  Kemp thought everything was going beautifully. It was a perfect crowning effort to the enormously successful documentary broadcast. As the first volley of fireworks burst over the reviewing stand, however, something happened.

  As Neville confronted the group of Saurians, he thought to himself, My God, what an ugly bunch. Am I really going to have to touch one of those things?

  The trip had been absolutely nothing like he had envisioned it—this would be his sole moment of glory. Ah, but what a moment! Pictures of this would be in every history book from here to doomsday. Billions of people were watching even now, most never having heard of John T. Neville.

  Goddamn, would he ever sell some books now! Maybe it was time for Neville Base Gamma.

  Oh, well, might as well get this over with.

  It was with these thoughts that the famous science fiction writer hobbled toward the reptiles to shake their leaders’ hands.

  They smelled funny, and he sure as hell didn’t trust them, but by God it was a privilege and a duty after writing so many books about aliens to actually meet some real live ones. Of course, never in a million years had he ever envisioned this kind of contact being so brazenly ceremonial. Now, Long Jack Neville was as proud as any man to wave his entire flag—but this all seemed so traditional.

  The Saurian in the yellow robe seemed to be having about as much fun as he was, Neville noted as the beast walked over to shake hands. No doubt it had been Kemp who had instructed the creature in hand shaking. These things probably twined tails or something.

  With his best PR smile Neville extended his own hand, took the Saurian’s leathery hand, and pumped.

  “Hey. Name’s Neville. Long Jack Neville, and I know you don’t know me but I’m quite famous among my people and I’ve been writing about this kind of thing for a long time and it’s a real privilege to finally put my hand where my words have been, if you know what I mean.”

  The Saurian extending the greeting did not respond. Its face betrayed no emotion. But the creatures about it seemed quite nervous and agitated, and Neville could not tell why.

  “Well, aren’t you going to say anything, friend?” Neville said. “I mean, you might as well make use of these boxes they’ve got strapped on to translate. We could have a real fine conversation. I must say, you all are a sight friendlier than some of the fellows I’ve conjured up from this old bean.”

  The first fireworks went off. Normally, Neville loved fireworks. He would set a bunch off in his backyard every time he published a book—he made a party of it, inviting friends. But now, in the middle of all this, they somehow seemed, well, crass.

  Besides, they seemed to unnerve the natives, too.

  The group of Saurians surrounding Neville tensed visibly as the sounds of the explosions ripped through the air, punctuating the boisterous phrases of the orchestral music. The warrior lizard standing closest to the old man suddenly swung about violently and rapped the agrarian class member up against the side of his large serpentlike head.

  The Saurian shaking Neville’s hand dropped his hold.

  “Hey, wait a minute friend!” Neville said. He stepped forward and raised his hand. “Here, let’s finish this properly.”

  The Saurian swung his attention back to Neville.

  The writer shuddered at the look in the thing’s eye. Certainly not human, and certainly not civilized.

  The Saurian opened its mouth, stepped forward a pace, and bit off Dr. John T. Neville’s hand.

  Neville wrenched away, his forearm pulsing blood.

  Immediately, his maintenance equipment began to howl, which set off the Saurians even more.

  “This,” Neville said, “this only happens in ...”

  Before he could finish the sentence, he found himself screaming and trying to stagger away from the place. But a Saurian claw detained him.

  The Saurians converged on him, nostrils quivering at the scent of the blood pumping from Neville’s arm.

  “You’ll hear from my agent!” Neville cried in total panic.

  Several of the delegated Saurians threw back their heads and emitted long, sorrowful cries. The sounds were a mixture of pain and anger, rage and madness.

  Then the group fell upon Long Jack Neville and, in full view of the cameras, tore the old man apart, piece by grisly piece.

  And began to devour him.

  * * *

  Before the stunned Dr. Lindstrom and the two IASA aides, the science fiction writer was dismembered and decapitated by the frenzied attack of the Saurians. There was an explosion of pink mist in their midst, a sudden pooling of blood on the platform, and the collective screams of both Saurians and humans alike.

  “My God!” Phineas yelped as he watched the slaughter take place. He forced himself to his feet and drew out his sidearm, ready to fire into the pack. “Get those people out of there,” he screamed, pushing past Kate Ennis and a cameraman who was suicidally trying to record Dr. Neville’s death.

  The grandstands began to empty as panic overtook the crowd. Humans and Saurians alike swarmed away from the scene of the attack. The IASA aides with Mikaela had grabbed her, pulling her back aboard the ornithopter, and then fired a few rounds into the group of suddenly crazed Saurians. To make matters worse, the Saurians had fallen upon Neville’s remains and begun a feeding frenzy to rival anything to be found in the Mesozoic preserve.

  Kemp stood firmly in the fleeing crowd and fired into the Saurian mob, felling one of the merchants. One of the others looked up from its bloody repast, its snout smeared with bits of flesh, and roared angrily. Phineas placed a magnum slug in the center of its skull, throwing it back into the midst of the others, who fell upon him and began dismembering him also.

  The ornithopter lifted off, hovering above the chaos, spraying the platform with automatic fire. The slugs stitched a pattern of death among the Saurians’ thick hides, and they danced a momentary dance of dying, a reptilian
Grand Guignol, and then fell into a bloody heap.

  The music and the fireworks continued to erupt in the background as the remainder of the IASA staff gathered together in an armed pack, surrounding all of their kind in a protective circle. Beyond them, the massive throng of Saurian spectators milled about aimlessly, barking and hissing, obviously on the edge of total panic and mass hysteria.

  Once Phineas could see that Mikaela had escaped immediate danger and was hovering above the scene in the ’thopter, he tried to arrange his thoughts, to calm down enough to take command. Reaching out for Kate, he pulled her into the center of the circle of IASA staffers. “All right, back to your vehicles! All of you that can, get out of here on the double! Everyone else stay together until we can get some backup.”

  “Oh God, Phineas, what’s happening? Oh my god!” Kate Ennis was on the edge of complete panic herself, and he shook her with one hand to steady her. The last thing he needed was for somebody to go crackers on him right now.

  Looking through the crowd, he signaled at a communications specialist. The man pushed his way through the crowd as quickly as he could.

  “Key up the tactical base HQ. Get us some cargo ’thopters on the fly. We’ve got to get these people out of here ASAP.”

  The comm specialist went to work as Phineas looked up at the ornithopter still hovering above the crowd, offering weapons fire cover if it proved necessary. By chance or by design, the group of one hundred or so humans had migrated to the center of the platform, surrounded by the now bare scaffolding of the grandstands. Below, on ground level, the great crowd of Saurians still flowed and mixed like confluent currents of water. There was obvious confusion and panic in the air as the Saurians continued to surround the area. Phineas could not tell if the reptilian horde would attack or not, but he was determined to get everyone out before there was any more bloodshed.