Behind the deathbeast, Nusa raised her rifle, but Ethab laid his hand across her aim, “No, don’t,” he said. He pointed with a nod. “He’s attracted to the blazer fire. Watch.” Perhaps he also understood that this was Dorik’s moment—
Closing now on Dorik the deathbeast came, a pounding engine of the night’s black hell; Dorik’s bolts illuminated it like scarlet lightning, brilliant strokes across a hollow landscape. The deathbeast snapped and bit at every flash, it roared and screamed with every bolt that struck. The stench of burning flesh was as loud as every shriek.
This was Dorik’s final moment—he was a man complete, entranced and charged with ecstasy. He was alive for the first time in his life—
And then his rifle went dead.
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He checked it in consternation, while the pounding and the roaring and the blackened bellowing of the thing from all his nightmares rose before him—
Watching, at a distance, Loevil said—he’d seen the same thing happen twice before—“Go ahead, throw it at him.”
And, as if he’d heard the words, that’s what Dorik did. In fear, in sudden panic, he arched his arm, stiff- elbowed, back behind himself, then arced the rifle forward. The beast was moving in, bending down to snap at Dorik, grabbing with an open mouth—he saw something—’whiteness—in the air and snapped at it, catching it and biting through it. The rifle’s fuel cells were punctured, they exploded into brilliant fire, slapping the monster backward, down and to the ground! The beast was slammed by hardness roaring— Flashing, sputtering with electronic flares, the whole shallow valley was illuminated with bright, multicolored splashes and reflec- •tions. And the beast—this mighty, staggering' agent of horrifying hell—it stumbled, rolled and whirled, agonized—
Dorik was standing now, scrambling out of its way— —as it snapped at its own pain and thrashed across the ground with a boom that felt like thunder, as it rolled across the dust and dirt in a gritty flail of anguish and excruciating/ searing rage—while Dorik danced a jig of joy. ^
And, watching, from a distance, Loevil—surprised, even a bit delighted—admitted, “Hey, not bad—”
The deathbeast rolled and writhed. It lashed its tail and bent and curled its sinewy body; it savaged itself across the rocks, it roared, it bellowed, it rolled back the air in Waves of its own pain and terror—
Even Ethab stood up to admit, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
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Kalen came out from behind his rocks, he too stood surprised.
Megan shook her head and disbelieved, while beside her Nusa snapped off a long exposure.
—-and still the deathbeast raged and rolled while Dorik danced in glee. “Hey, hey, hey,” he called and sang, “How about that—I did it, I did it—” And he bounced along and pointed at the rolling beast of night, the humbled Tyrant King.
It rolled over once, away from Dorik, thrashing, crashing, smashing scenery. And then it rolled back again—toward Dorik—and purely by accident, it never even noticed, it rolled right over Dorik, crushing him and pulping him to jelly. The beast continued rolling in its pain, turning agony to action, then at last, began to right itself.
And watching, from a distance, Loevil only said, “Jesus, that was dumb.”
The beast lay on its stomach now, breathing hard and rasping like the scrape of death. It anchored its foreclaws in the softened earth and dug them in. Then, as if trying to walk forward, it brought its long and powerful legs up under itself, raising its haunches off the ground first. Its foreclaws grasped the ground to keep itself from sliding forward-—its tail came up high and forward, then, as it lowered it for balance, the forward bulk began to rise, unsteadily at first, and then with sureness—one more thrust, one more graceful lashing of its tail, and the beast was upright once again. It pawed its hurting mouth, its blackened jaw, and turned to face the dawning sun. The baleful eye of morning already limned the horizon of the east. There was a bloody smudge across the ground beneath the monster’s feet, all of what remained of Dorik; he’d died a hero’s foolish death.
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In the light now, the hunters caught their first true sight of the size and horror of the thing they’d challenged. It was immense. Its mouth was charred and smoking, the flesh was still smoldering from the explosion of Dorik’s weapon. There were smoking craters from the blazer beams all over its whole body, its flanks were pitted like a lunar battlefield. Its eyes were red and fiery. They seemed to glow as if afire within. The creature grunted with a deeper anguish, a despairing, thoughtful sound that made the morning tremble. Then the deathbeast turned and staggered slowly off—
Uncaring, it stumbled through the fence around the camp. Sparks flashed and flared as the field was overloaded, shorting out with fires feebled by the morning’s rays. The camp was between the beast and the place where it wanted to be—
In pain, unseeing, the monster passed just meters from a shocked and nearly catatonic Tril. She sat stunned and horrified inside herself, arms around her knees, knees clutched to her chest, a frightened fetal posture. Things crunched around her, and ground bumped and shook and she didn’t even notice—nor did it notice her—
There were morej explosions and some flares, and then everything was/ still again. The deathbeast passed beyond the camp^oeyond the rocks, beyond the nearby hills, there was a distant sound, perhaps a roar, and then silence fell upon the camp like a smothering curtain of asbestos.
Somewhere, something large was saying a lot of very bad words in dinosaur.
The hunters moved forward, toward their camp. They moved slowly, and in shock.
And Loevil opened his mouth and said, “Well, I guess 'that’s one way to wake up in the morning.”
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Ethab turned slowly and gave him a darkening look. Loevil looked right back at Ethab. “I guess you’re right. It doesn't beat orange juice.”
Megan hit him first. With her rifle butt, hard and at the base of the spine. Not hard enough to cripple, but hard enough to make him watch his joking for a while.
Six
THE MORNING OF THE FIRST DAY
Kalen slowly unfolded a plastic body bag. The others came up slowly as he bent to his unpleasant task. Nusa started to raise her holo-fax, then thought better and lowered it again, unexposed. And yet... there were long, blue shadows across the valley and the orange- highlighted hills. The sky was crisp and unreal; die sun wasa molten ball of white. It looked swollen, brighter and larger than it would be a hundred million years from now; perhaps it was—or perhaps it was just a psychological illusion; but the picture was too good to waste. She raised her holo-fax and began buzzing off exposures as softly as she could. It helped to take her mind off ... other things. Dorik and Eese ... they weren’t supposed to be dead. No one was. This was supposed to be for fun, a lark, an adventure—not a test of survival, with each person’s life as the ante. She aimed and pressed and turned and aimed again, mechanically, methodically recording every moment so she wouldn’t have to feel it now. Once it was in the memory, she
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could wait and feel it later... when she felt better about it.
All the way back to the camp, she kept taking pictures. She would run ahead and find a view and focus, then as the others crossed through it, she’d click away, one angle after another. Then she’d run ahead again, looking for a different point of view. The pictures would show only Ethab and Kalen alert; Megan and Loevil were going through the motions, but they looked shocked and haggard—it wasn’t good for business for the guides to lose two clients on the first night out.
The camp was a shambles. Tril was sitting in the middle of it, the morning sun glinting highlights off her hair, and cooing softly to herself. She was entranced by the feel of the silky shirt she wore and she sat there stroking its smoothness and humming tunelessly about it. Megan
tossed her rifle aside and crossed immediately to Tril; Ethab shouldered his and followed after. Tril glanced up momentarily, then returned her attention to her mindless murmurings; the two were unimportant to her.
Kalen stepped through the debris of the camp and deposited Dorik’s body bag next to the smaller one for Eese. Loevil watched him bitterly. He looked to Ethab with a question on his face.
Ethab followed his glance. The two plastic lumps looked oily in the morning sun.
“No, it’ll only Waste time,” Ethab answered Loevil’s unspoken thought. “We’ll cremate them instead. Take care of it, will you, Kalen?”
Kalen nodded and picked up Eese’s rifle, checking its settings as he did so. Then he let off three quick bolts; the beams snapped out and quickly charred the bodies into nothingness. Loevil stepped back, startled. Nusa looked up sharply. Megan turned, annoyed. Kalen was expressionless. Tril... blinked slowly. The electronic
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zeeep-whoooop! of the rifle had only minimally touched her. The others turned away, avoiding each other’s eyes and trying to find something to do with their hands. They were trying too hard to be nonchalant.
Ethab turned back to look at Tril, thoughtfully. From a distance, Loevil surveyed him warily. Nearby, Megan sat down slowly with her scanner, wondering: Why didn’t it beep? Nusa, lowering her holo-fax—and seeing now for the first time—said, “This place is a mess.”
Loevil grinned at her. “Well, we never promised it would be neat.”
Ethab turned and said, “Clean it up.” Then he crossed to Kalen and spoke softly to him. “See what you can salvage.”
Kalen nodded and slung the rife over his shoulder; his own had been destroyed; he would use this one now. Gaudy and foolish as it looked, it was still a powerful device. He began to move through the debris, collecting items still identifiable, picking through the rubble with a dour expression. Ethab stepped through the wreckage thoughtfully, searching—he bent to pick up a plastic- wrapped something and examined it carefully; then, satisfied it was undamaged, he laid it to one side. He turned and looked toward Tril again. He pursed his lips in thought.
Around him, the others were sorting through their own gear, dividing it into usable and junk. One by one they grew aware of his attention turned on Tril, and one by one they turned away, each not wanting to become involved. They moved self-consciously about their tasks while Tril continued murmuring and babbling to herself. She was hiding somewhere deep inside, leaving only something simpler at the controls of her mind.
Ethab showed no reaction, neither tenderness nor dismay. He was merely analytical—in his own way, he was
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equally detached* as dispassionate as if he were watching the turmoil of an anthill.
He stepped over to her, hunkering down on his knees tQ look her in the eyes.
He took her chin in one hand and turned her face from side to side, all the while studying her dark, blank eyes. After a moment’s gaze, he let go. It looked as if he were starting to turn away, then remembered something and jerked back—he slapped her angrily and hard!
“Stupid bitch,” he said.
She didn’t react—just blinked slowly at him, while the imprint of his hand began to redden on her cheek. She blinked and wondered, as if noticing Ethab for the first time; then she went glassy-eyed again. Ethab stood up slowly.
Loevil stepped up beside him, a shattered widget in' his hand, his expression slightly stunned—as if he had been slapped, not Tril. When Ethab rose up next to him, he recovered quickly; the gleam came back to his eyes and he opened his mouth with intentional irony. “Thaniks,
I—”
“Don’t say it” Ethab cut him off. He turned and stepped away.
Loevil glanced after him. “Some people got no sense of humor.”
Crossing past him, Megan whispered, “So we’ve noticed, but it still doesn’t stop you, does it?” She had a full canteen and bent to offer it to Tril.
Tril didn’t seem to notice and the water dribbled down her chin. Megan had to hold it for her. After a moment, Tril began to drink mechanically. Although she glanced at the canteen, her eyes never changed their distant inward focus.
Ethab was studying her scanner now, looking at it skeptically. “It didn’t beep,” he accused.
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Megan finished mopping Tril’s forehead with a damp cloth. She hesitated, then looked around, embarrassed. She didn’t like what she saw in Ethab’s expression and turned back to Tril. She wanted just a moment more to think of what to say.
Ethab stepped toward her—he wouldn’t let her ignore the question. “Why didn’t it beep?” he accused again. “Why didn’t you hear it?”
It was futile to protest Megan lowered her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. She thought for a moment, then said, “I must have damaged it. That’s the only thing I can think of. At flashdown—when I jumped behind the rocks, when the little one attacked us. The scanner circuits still work. It’s only the beeper that’s broken.”
Loevil spoke up too. “Why didn’t you hear it?” he asked Ethab. “You were right next to her.”
Ethab said quietly, “I couldn’t.”
Both Megan and Loevil looked to him as if to say, “Explain?”
Ethab opened his shirt. He unseamed it to reveal a neatly stitched line of blinking med-alert diodes, traced along the ragged puckering of a long diagonal scar.
Megan and Loevil looked at each other with “I didn’t know that” expressions.
Ethab began buttoning his shirt again. “Implants and prostheses,” he explained. “I was careless. Once. It cured me—of being careless.” He added, “There’s a logic chip implanted to monitor specific metabolic processes, including sleep. Once activated, I can’t be awakened for at least two hours, or until a minimum of REM activity has been logged. It’s a weakness,” he said. “But I can live with it—if the people around me do their jobs.”
Loevil shook his head admiringly and looked at Megan. “Gosh, what won’t they think of next?”
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Ethab looked at Loevil sharply—then bent to pick up the other scanner. He flicked a switch on it and watched its meter-screen as it emitted a steady series of cuing beeps. He switched it off. “Your scanner worked,” he said. “Why didn’t you hear it?”
“Uh—” Loevil blurted, remembering. “I did. I think.”
“You think?”
“But it stopped. So I went back to sleep.” He grinned, boyishly embarrassed—anger-deflecting smile number four. It didn’t work. Ethab was immune to boyish good looks and embarrassed smiles. Realizing quickly, Loevil went serious; he said, “It must have been switched off. Dorik must have done it.”
"Ethab considered it. It was possible—but he looked annoyed anyway. “He isn’t here to answer for it though, is he?”
Loevil was clinically blank. “He’s already answered for it.” He hadn’t specifically liked Dorik, but he hadn’t specifically tfcliked him either. He did think it wasn’t fair that Dorik should have died for such a stupid little thing—
Ethab was looming angrily—he looked a hundred meters tall, unclimbable—and so tightly controlled he seemed to be a bomb, ready to explode; Loevil couldn’t tell. Ethab said, in precise, clipped tones, “Megan didn’t hear hers, it was broken—yours was switched off—” He stepped toward Loevil, then past him as Loevil ducked reflexively aside, continuing, “Eese and Dorik are dead. Tril might as well be—” He turned toward Megan and Loevil both. “Some guides you two turned out to be. From now on, we’ll do this my way.”
“Anyone can make a mistake—” Loevil started to protest.
“You’re right,” admitted Ethab. “None of us is perfect, are we?” His fierce expression belied the softness of his
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voice. “But if you open your mouth aroun
d me again, I’m going to break off some of your arms. And stuff them up, in and down every available aperture, orifice, and opening in your body.” He turned and strode away.
White-faced and suddenly shamed, Loevil sank to a sitting position and buried his face in his hands, as if he were about to cry. Megan looked away, embarrassed. Nusa snapped off one picture, then realized what she was doing, and she too turned away. Kalen, disdainful, went back to checking the alignment of a parastatic reflexor.
Loevil sat apart, discouraged. He was doubting now, and stunned—he had failed a client. His face was streaked with sweat and dirt. Nearby was vacant Tril, turning catatonic, while silent Megan sorted through what was left of their supplies. Nusa stood off at a distance, unable to stop snapping pictures of the camp—as if by freezing time, she might somehow stop it till she could find a way to turn it back. Kalen was swearing softly at a twisted linear quansistor, while Ethab moved off separately, twitching softly to himself. It was not the most auspicious of beginnings for their first full day in the Cretaceous.
Ethab was sitting on the rocky outcrop overlooking what was left of the camp. He held Loevil’s scanner. On the screen before him was a map of the terrain. The hills were indicated in stark-shadowed relief, an approximation of a holographic image—the 20-centimeter screen was too small for true stereo.
The scanner added information to its memory as they moved and it now held an accurate map of all the terrain within two kilometers of their traveled route, as well as a computer-projected simulation of the shortest and easiest path back to the Nexus from their present position,
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with a notation of approximate travel time and estimated time of arrival included.
There were no red blinking lights on the map, indicating that there were no other major heat- or life-sources within two kilometers, except themselves. Nothing larger than a human being. Nothing large enough to make a scanner beep.
Ethab punched for a wider scan and the screen flickered to project a simulation of what the device expected to find beyond the limits of its electronic eyes. There was a shallow river feeding into a wide area of marshland— they wouldn’t have to cross it though; if they stuck close to the hills that divided it from the barren flats, they could skirt its edges. The location of the marsh made sense to Ethab. The Tyrant King spent his daytime in the barren hills, then came down at night to hunt the herbivores who fed within the marsh. A full-grown brontosaur, for example, had to eat a half ton of foliage every day just to survive—it would have to stay near the thickest vegetation. Ethab had seen pictures of the giant Thunder Lizards—although he’d yet to see one in the flesh—but he didn’t consider them worth hunting; they were only herbivores. Herbivores were food for fiercer creatures. ...
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