by Adam Carter
If he had not been caught stealing so much money, Zebadiah would never have been afforded the opportunity to study such an animal, and every day he woke to thank Jupiter that he had made such a bad criminal.
The erythrosuchus roared at him, its meal finished since the meat was swallowed whole. Whether the animal was still hungry, whether it was angry at Zebadiah for something, or whether it was just laying down its territory hardly mattered. Zebadiah was the one standing free in the corridor and the creature which predated the dinosaurs was behind bars.
It was a wonderful use for the former cells. While most of the cells had been retained as sleeping chambers, those located in the lower levels were larger and designed to contain numerous prisoners at once. They proved to be the perfect areas in which to hold the various animals Valentine intended for pit fights, and it was Zebadiah’s job to make sure the animals were kept in a fit and healthy condition so they would be ready to fight should Valentine call upon a specific one.
It was a job Zebadiah took extremely seriously. He did not believe Valentine was an especially cruel man, but he knew some of the inmates here would gladly feed him to the animals if they did not get their promised dose of blood sports.
Besides which, Zebadiah did not see this as a task, but a reward for something he had clearly done right in a former life.
Zebadiah moved between the various cells, feeding the animals and checking their health. He was an old man now, he supposed: somewhere in his seventies probably but he had never really kept count. He walked slowly, with the aid of a gnarled cane whenever he remembered to use it. His wrinkled skin was patchy with brown and white splotches which he didn’t think were likely very healthy but had never bothered to get checked out. There were doctors in the prison, but very little in the way of medicines. If someone was dying all the doctors could really do was tell them they were dying, and that was something Zebadiah could have done without. He sported a short, wispy white beard and very little hair; what he did have he had not bothered to run a comb through since the break-out five years earlier. He had most of his teeth left, but an adult human did not need all their teeth in order to eat so he wasn’t bothered about those either. In fact, very little bothered Zebadiah. He lived by the philosophy that there was precious little in this world a person could change, so there was no sense in worrying about any of it.
He heard voices then and scowled to himself. Usually he was left to his own devices, but occasionally people would come and bother him. Usually it was a pit fighter trying to bribe him into cutting the legs of the animal they were about to fight, as though he was breeding racehorses or something. Zebadiah had no interests in the fights himself, had never seen a single one of them, but he knew he was kept in work only by their continuing success. That meant sometimes he would have to speak with the various people who came down to visit him.
The voice he recognised belonged to Dexter Valentine and Zebadiah sighed. Of all the people to visit him, Valentine was the worst because he was in charge. Zebadiah found he had to be reasonably polite to the man, always had to answer whatever questions he proposed, and was sometimes told to change the way he did things. Why Valentine was bothering him today Zebadiah could not say, but he hoped to be able to get rid of the man as quickly as possible.
Then he heard a woman’s voice and decided Valentine had brought a girl down here in order to impress her. Men had done similar things before, and while it did not seem like Valentine’s style he could think of no other reason for Valentine bringing someone with him. Unless of course it was his secretary Aubrey Whitsmith and they had come to do an audit or something.
Zebadiah cringed at the very thought of ever having to do an audit or file reports of any nature.
When the two appeared before him, stepping slowly down the stairs into the dimly lit underground passages surrounding the cells, Zebadiah immediately noted the woman’s armour. It probably meant someone upstairs had developed some new metal and wanted to test it out in the arena.
“Mr Valentine,” Zebadiah said with a wide grin. “What a wonderful surprise. You bring me a live meal for the erythrosuchus?”
Valentine looked horrified, while the woman just gazed into the cells curiously.
“You’ve managed to catch quite a few of these things,” she said. “Be careful, Dexter, you may start impressing me soon.”
Zebadiah wondered whether she believed Valentine had gone out to capture any of them himself. Or whether he even left the prison at all.
The woman wandered over to one of the cages, taking hold of the bars to peer through at a thick, bulbous creature Whitsmith had brought in only recently. “What’s this one?”
“A moschops,” Zebadiah explained. “Bite ya fingers off, that one.”
The woman’s hands immediately released the bars and Zebadiah grinned at how easy it was to control people.
Valentine only looked annoyed, which meant he really was trying to impress this woman. All the more reason, Zebadiah thought, to wind her up as much as he possibly could.
“Private Torrance here,” Valentine told him, “is part of an expedition into the swamp.”
Which meant she wasn’t even from the prison, which was odd. “Oh,” Zebadiah said. “If her expedition’s in the swamp, what’s she doing here? The swamp’s out there.”
“That’s a good question.”
Torrance seemed to realise the two men were looking at her, waiting for an answer. She did not take her eyes off the moschops while she answered, as though she fully expected the thing to be able to slink its way through the bars. “That’s for the sergeant to tell you, I’m afraid. Like I said, I don’t have the authority to ... Is that a T. rex?”
Zebadiah watched her move across to the cell holding the erythrosuchus. The animal had calmed somewhat and was presently dozing in the corner. “No,” he said, wondering how anyone could be so dense. “Does it look like a T. rex? It’s not even a dinosaur, you stupid girl.”
Valentine shot him a glower which told him to shut the hell up, but Zebadiah could not maintain his good nature indefinitely.
Torrance, however, was more concerned with the animal than the gaoler’s attitude. “What if it got out?” she asked.
“Well I’d be sacked for one thing,” Zebadiah laughed. “Kidding. I’d be eaten.”
“The animals can’t get out,” Valentine put in quickly. “They’re only ever removed from their cages when they’re taken to the pits.”
“Pits?” She looked directly at Valentine now and Zebadiah found a great deal of pleasure in the other man’s sudden anxiety.
“Where they fight,” Zebadiah said before Valentine could spin her some lie or other. “The prisoners fight ‘em for fun. Sometimes they lose and another prisoner gets a new pair a boots.”
“What prisoners?” Torrance asked.
Valentine laughed hollowly, glowering at Zebadiah once more to be silent. “Zeb likes the irony of our being trapped here in this prison while we do our research. He calls us prisoners.”
“Oh.”
Zebadiah considered telling her the truth, but figured that if she was too stupid to see through the obvious lie she deserved everything that was coming to her. Up to and including Valentine getting his leg over, if that was what he intended. Strangely, the man seemed more afraid of her than anything, and Zebadiah wondered whether he should have found out all the facts before plunging ahead into his warped sense of humour over the whole thing.
“When’s the next fight?” Torrance asked.
“There’s one scheduled for tomorrow night,” Zebadiah said. “Some idiot’s chosen to fight the erythrosuchus.”
“Do you mind if I watch, Dex?” Torrance asked, her entire face lighting up at the prospect. She clutched her hands before her in supplication and Valentine did not know how to react. He clearly wanted to refuse, for he did not want this soldier to see the rowdy, boisterous, bloodthirsty truth of life in the prison. But Zebadiah could also see he was still trying to get into h
er pants so was more than liable to accept.
“Sure,” Valentine therefore said. “If your sergeant lets you stay that long.”
Torrance squealed with joy and hugged him before moving back towards the stairs. Valentine pointedly ignored any reaction Zebadiah may have made as he followed her. But Zebadiah, for once, was not thinking about how to make fun of or inconvenience someone. He had seen things in the young woman that perhaps Valentine had not. She was a clever one, throwing off Valentine’s senses with all her girly act. As she had departed, however, Zebadiah had caught her steal one final glance at the caged erythrosuchus. It was not a look of fear, of keeping the animal in her sight. Zebadiah could be certain of nothing, but there was something going on in her mind; something he knew he wasn’t going to like. Something Valentine would ordinarily have been able to see.
Perhaps when Whitsmith returned, he reflected, they would have someone with sense enough to look into this properly. Whatever the young soldier was up to, Zebadiah knew it would be bad for them all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sergeant Zara Cartello cast her eyes about the hall derisively, wrinkling her nose and clearly wishing she was somewhere a little more upmarket. She was a short woman in her mid-to-late thirties, filled out by the bulk of her armour but somehow oddly at ease within it. Across her shoulder, the word ZARA was prominently displayed. Her face was rounded, her short dark hair could have done with a wash several months back, but she did not appear to be someone who cared for such things. Her eyes were too small, too thin and too close together, lending her a perpetually suspicious air. She was also far from smiling and as Valentine came down the main staircase to greet her he wondered whether she was even capable of such an expression.
“Welcome, Sergeant Cartello,” he said, beaming as brightly as he possibly could. He held his arms wide as though he intended to hug her, but as he reached the bottom of the stairs and caught her dark expression he decided he would prefer to have embraced that red crocodile downstairs. Clapping his hands for want of something to do with his outstretched arms, Valentine noted the dark-haired woman from the roof earlier had accompanied the sergeant back here. Torrance had told him the woman’s name was Tana Hunter, which was apt considering only the hunters ever seemed to survive around here.
“Welcome to what?” Cartello asked flatly. “I’ve camped in homelier tents than this.”
“Ah yes,” Valentine enthused, “but here you have a roof over your head, and guards at the doors.”
“I’ll give you that. So,” she said, looking at him properly at last, “you must be Valentine.”
“Dexter Valentine,” he said with a flourish. “At your service.”
“And what kind of a name is Dexter Valentine? You sound like something out of a god-awful rom-com.”
Valentine forced a laugh, but suddenly wanted to kick the woman back into the swamp and see how she fared the night. That she was carrying an array of weapons and had an unknown amount of reinforcements out there stayed his hand.
“Private Torrance,” Valentine said, “is an asset to your unit, Sergeant. You should feel proud to have her.”
“Private Torrance,” Cartello snorted, “is a young fool who talks too much. She’s tried to bed you already hasn’t she? Tries to do that with every man she meets. Has self-esteem issues that one. No idea why, useless waste of space.”
Valentine bit back the obvious retort about just why Torrance might have self-esteem issues. He also did not know how he felt about the sergeant’s assessment of her. He did not know whether to be elated or annoyed that Torrance handed herself out like a booby prize; then suddenly stopped and asked himself why he was behaving like a schoolboy. While it was true that Aura Torrance was without doubt a stunningly attractive girl, the very presence of these soldiers could spell the end to his entire society. At the very least the soldiers would make it common knowledge around the prison that there were parts of this world that were not swamp, and then the prisoners would demand why Valentine had been lying to them all this time. At worst of course they could be here because they wanted to get the prisoners back in their cells.
In short, it was not a time to be thinking with anything other than his brain.
“Sergeant,” Torrance said, falling into step behind Valentine. He had half hoped she had wandered off somewhere and not heard Cartello’s description of her, but the tension in her body attested otherwise. It was not simply a straightening of the back in order to stand at attention: Torrance was part embarrassed, part angry, and Valentine felt a rush of chivalry in his sudden desire to stand up for her. But antagonising an armed woman with troops at her back was never a good idea and he hoped Torrance would understand she was not worth it.
“You have a report to make,” Cartello barked, “or have you found a mirror to do your hair in front of?”
“Mr Valentine runs a dinosaur research centre,” Torrance said without any indication that the sergeant’s words had bothered her. “They have some creatures locked away downstairs and other equipment set up to study them. I have no doubt Mr Valentine has been nothing but genuine with me.”
Valentine winced, but it was too late to come clean now.
“Fine, fine, whatever,” Cartello mumbled. “Valentine. We’ll need a place to hole up for a couple of days while we run some routine scans of the area. I’ll take your room: it’s going to be the most decent one here. Don’t get in our way.”
Valentine bit his lower lip. “Certainly, Sergeant. Please treat this facility as you would your own home.”
“My home’s a whole lot nicer than this. Hunter, take a proper look around since Torrance is a damn screw-up. I’m getting some shut-eye.”
Valentine got someone to show her the way since he wanted to be out of her presence as soon as possible. Hunter also looked him up and down derisively before moving off to her own errands. Valentine could not understand how he had assessed the situation so badly. Back on the roof it had been Torrance asking all the questions, and now neither of her colleagues seemed to care much for her at all. He supposed since she had been the one with the gun she had simply taken out her frustrations upon Valentine when she had the opportunity.
“How do you put up with that woman?” he asked.
Torrance seemed tense, and he could tell she was embarrassed at his having witnessed the scene. “Sergeant Cartello is just thorough. There are a lot of dangers on this world and it’s always best to get a second opinion.”
It would have only made her more uncomfortable for him to push further so he said instead, “Well, if your sergeant’s resting her weary old bones and Hunter’s skulking around to dig up the dirty on me, what do you intend doing to make my life miserable?”
“They’re not bad people, Dex. We’ve just been through a lot lately. We’ve come a long way and you’re the first people we’ve met in ages. Cartello’s probably just forgotten how to talk to people, that’s all.”
“So once she’s had her rest she might be offering to lay the breakfast table?”
Torrance smiled wryly. “No, she’ll still be pig-headed and arrogant, but I didn’t tell you that.”
“Dex!”
Valentine felt an immense wave of relief wash over him as he heard the familiar voice of Aubrey Whitsmith. Suddenly he knew all his problems would be solved.
Whitsmith slowed her approach when she realised he had company, her eyes narrowing in a curious frown. She had come to him with a large, violent woman named Katie Hudson, which was unusual since the two women were far from friends. Hudson was a notable pit fighter with only a minimal amount of defeats and was the perfect choice for a bodyguard out in the swamps; but once they returned to the prison he had expected the two women to part company as soon as humanly possible. He also noticed Whitsmith’s leg was bandaged, but, since she was still walking, the injury could not have been that bad so he didn’t bother asking about it.
He realised then he should probably make some introductions. “Private Aura Torrance, I�
�d like you to meet my lifeline. Aubrey Whitsmith: my secretary and foremost knowledge on everything.”
“That’s quite a claim,” Torrance said, extending her hand. Whitsmith seemed to regard the hand as though it was laced with poison, and barely brushed her fingers across it in greeting.
“Who is she?” Whitsmith all but demanded. “Where’d she come from?”
“Private Torrance and her unit are staying with us for a while, so please don’t upset them. They have big guns, unknown numbers and a commanding officer with a not-too-sunny disposition.”
He knew from experience that Whitsmith could assess a situation in moments, and that was more than enough information to bring her up to speed. She seemed incredibly wary, however, and Valentine knew there was something she needed to say.
Torrance wrinkled her nose. “You stink really bad.”
“Eau de moschops,” Whitsmith said tartly. “Do you have anything to do with that thing out there?”
“What thing would that be?”
“The theropod that stood upright.”
“Theropods couldn’t stand upright,” Torrance said.
“No one told this one.”
“What did you do with it?”
Whitsmith hesitated. “It’s dead.”
“And it was alone?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Hudson and I checked the area carefully. There were only tracks from one creature, and we shot that one. Threw its body in the swamp.”
“An odd move,” Torrance said, “for people studying the wildlife.”
“That thing wasn’t natural. What was it?”
“I have no idea. Now it looks as though no one will. Excuse me, Dex, I’m going to go give Hunter a hand.”
Valentine noticed Whitsmith staring darkly after her as she left and neither of them spoke until Torrance was out of the hall entirely. Whitsmith grabbed his arm and dragged him away from earshot of everyone else, although he noted Hudson had sauntered over to join them. “What?” he asked, shaking his arm free.
