Day of the Dragonstar (14 page)

“Well, that’s one more burning question laid to rest,” said Ian. “Of course, that was only one species . . . We’ve got thousands yet to record.”

Becky laughed. “I think you
are
a pervert . . .”

“I never thought I’d
ever
be accused of being kinky with dinosaurs!”

They laughed for a moment as they watched the female finally gain her feet and walk off lazily to search for a soft spot to lay her eggs.

“I don’t suppose we have to worry about waking up that predator back there, not if all that racket didn’t do it,” said Ian. “But I think we should keep moving nonetheless. What do you say, my dear?”

“I’m just visiting here. I follow you.”

“This way, then,” said Ian. He was beginning to feel more and more comfortable around Rebecca Thalberg, and he knew on another level that an easy, cooperative relationship between them would be a plus in terms of their survival. It was possible that he could become physically attracted to the small, raven-haired woman, but he tried to keep such thoughts from his mind. It was when you started letting your mind drift away from priorities that you got yourself into trouble . . .

They walked farther into the river-valley, pausing only to have a light “lunch” of seeds and fruit. Finally Ian estimated that they had traveled far enough to get a closer look at the white objects seen from the highlands. He selected a tall cycad, and nimbly scaled it, getting as close to the top as possible so that he might peer down into the deep green carpet below them. As he scanned the lowlands, he was shocked at what he saw.

Just breaking the line of treetops about ten kilometers distant were the unmistakable signs of intelligent life—the tips of three large pyramids, glistening brightly under the light of the illuminator. Ian’s pulse jumped as he strained to make out some detail in the structures. His first impression that he had seen some kind of buildings had been correct. It was somehow more unbelievable than the rest of the crazy world they had discovered.

“Becky,” he called down. “You’re not going to believe this . . . but I think we’ve got some company in here.”

She looked up and watched him as he worked his way down from the tree, waiting until he jumped to the soft earth before speaking. “What’re you talking about?”

“There’s some kind of buildings ahead. I saw the tops of them-look like pyramids to me. It might be a city or a temple or something . . .”

“But how? Who built it?”

“I don’t know, as is the usual state of affairs. But I suggest that we find out what we can before it gets dark. I’ve taken a new fix on the position, and it looks like we have about ten klicks walking ahead of us. You feel up to it? I’d like to get there before the night-cycle.”

“Do you think there’s any . . .
people
there? Would it be dangerous?”

“I’m asking myself the same questions, but somehow, I don’t think it would be any less safe than where we are now. Let’s get moving, what say?”

* * *

It was not a city.

Three limestone-block pyramids—three-sided configurations—were arranged to form the points of a large isosceles triangle, all bounded by the remains of a two-meter block wall. The jungle had done its best to completely overwhelm the ruins and had done so quite efficiently. All that remained of the wall were a few bare patches which Ian cleared by cutting away the thick mat of vines and creepers that covered it. The pyramidal structures had, at one time, been built with step-configurations like the South American temples or the Mid-Eastern ziggurats, but now they were crumbling down, under the constant pressure of gravity and the creeping growth of the forest.

It was impossible to determine how old the structures might be, but Ian estimated that they were very old indeed. He found it curious that there were no remains of statues or any friezes, reliefs, or any other stone-work that would give some clue as to the identity of the builders. From an engineering standpoint, the pyramids were not works of inspiration or architectural finesse, and seemed to be only a few orders above the primitive constructions of Stonehenge.

Rebecca sat upon the lower steps of one of the structures watching Ian poke about in the thick undergrowth, still searching for any clues to the mystery.

“Could there possibly be
people
here?”

“We can’t assume that from what we have here, Becky. This only tells us that at one time, probably a long time ago, there
were
people here. It doesn’t look like they’ve used this place for a hundred thousand years, if you want to know the truth.”

“Could they have been neanderthals or . . . australopithecines?”

“You mean those fellows Leakey found? I doubt it . . . The latest data puts humankind on the map around ten million years ago. That’s still a hundred and sixty million years after the dinosaurs. No, that’s not too likely.”

“But maybe they
evolved!
Right here in this ship, the way they did on Earth.”

“You mean the little protomammal and tree shrew bit? Hmm, I suppose that could have happened, but isn’t all that predicated on the demise of the lizards? I haven’t kept up with that sort of thing, but I seem to have the idea that most scientists feel that the Earth passed through some kind of planetary disaster period that caused the demise of the dinosaurs, and that was the only way a new order of creature—the mammals—ever had a chance to get started.
After
the dinosaurs had been eradicated.”

“And . . . ?”

“Well,” said Ian, looking off into the darkening shades of green beyond the walls, “that obviously didn’t happen here. I mean, the dinosaurs dominated the Earth for a
hundred million years
or so. That’s being a success under anybody’s terms. Whatever wiped them out on Earth never had a chance to do it up here, and as you can see, they are still going strong. If there
are
any tree shrews or protomammals, or whatever you want to call them, crawling around up here, I haven’t seen any. And even if they’re nocturnal, it seems obvious to me that all the big fellows with the scales and the nasty dispositions have been doing a good job of keeping them in check.”

“That still doesn’t tell us who built these ruins.”

“No, it doesn’t. But it only leaves us two possibilities: either the alien crew, having experienced some kind of technological problem in the control section—famine, mutiny, etc., all following naturally afterwards—had struck out inside their giant terrarium simply to survive. Maybe they lasted for a few thousand years, or whatever, but with the loss of their technology through the generations, until their descendants were a bunch of primitives who eventually died out . . . or, the second possibility, which is that during all this time, in this controlled biosphere, some species of dinosaurs evolved to sentient levels . . .”

“My god, Ian, is it possible?”

“Is anything
not
possible? That’s the question, isn’t it? But there’s a problem with that theory, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, where are they? These intelligent dinosaurs, I mean, if they survived as a species. I mean, they have had lots of time to evolve, and they should have been able to dominate this whole little world after all the
millions
of years.”

“They could be
anywhere,
Ian. We haven’t even begun to cover the territory inside this ship. For all we know, we might be wandering around in one of their game preserves or ‘national parks’.”

“By God, that’s a sobering thought, isn’t it?” He smiled and sat down beside her. “It’s getting dark. The cycles are about eleven hours and forty minutes each. Days and nights used to be shorter on Earth.”

He watched her as she gazed up at the dimming illuminator. She really was a fascinating woman. She’d been opening up a lot to .him, telling him about her life. She’d taken the intense academic and professional course in life, and now, in the face of the possibility of death, she wondered if she had made proper choices. Parts of her seemed, in this alien hot-house, to be blooming.

“Maybe they’re up there,” she said, pointing past the halo of the rod, beyond the sky, at the landmass sixty kilometers above them. A thick haze kept everything there indistinct. “Maybe we’re just in the wrong part of town.” She turned to him. “Well, what do we do now besides survive?”

“I was thinking that maybe we should stay here tonight. Maybe linger for a few days.”

“Ian. I can’t believe how scared I am.”

“Well, that’s an emotion we’re both sharing. Look, my dear, I’ve told you. We’ve just got to make the best of it, that’s all. I’m frightened of dying . . . especially in the manner that most creatures die in a place like this. But I’m also frightened of finding some of the answers to our questions. I mean, I’m not sure I
want
to know what all this bloody nonsense
means.”

“You mean that there
are
some things that man was not meant to know?” Becky smiled half-heartedly.

“No. Not
that
rubbish. I mean I’m not sure l can mentally or physically deal with the underlying truths about this ship and everything that’s in it. At least not
now,
while I’m trying to stay alive. There’s such a thing as
too much,
you know. Too many mysteries. Too many questions. After a while, you just don’t care anymore . . .”

“Now you’re starting to sound like me.”

“Am I? Good God, we can’t have that, can we?” He put his arm around her, surprised that she felt so tiny and frail. She responded to his touch by leaning into him. He felt the soft warmth of her body against his chest. Ian had almost forgotten how good it was to hold someone, the reassurance it gave. He thought immediately of his wife Leticia. Would he ever see her again? He thought of all the intimate moments they’d shared, the way, sometimes, they’d almost
think
the same way, finish sentences for one another. A pang swept through him . . .

What the hell was the use of anything? Scientific inquiry. Status. Achievement. Fidelity. All the things he’d worked for all his life. Under the glare of the illuminator, amidst the smells and the sounds and terrible beauty of this savage paradise, all his civilized values seemed . . . distant.

What was happening? What was he thinking about, really?

He switched his attention toward thoughts of the timetables they were dealing with. It had been seven days since they’d been stranded inside the ship. Even if Copernicus had mobilized another ship within that week’s time, considering the increasing velocity of the alien vessel, the tricky navigational maneuvers, the speeds necessary of the IASA ship, and the additional difficulties of finding him and Becky, it was going to be another thirty to forty days before they could hope to be found.

A
long
time to simply survive. A
long
time to live with someone like Becky, becoming close, sharing . . .

Becky stirred lightly. She seemed to nestle closer against his chest. “That’s nice,” she said.

“What’s that?” he asked softly.

“Feeling you holding me, that’s all. I’m so glad you’re the one that made it, Ian. I don’t know if I could have held everything together without you.”

“Yes. You would have. We can do amazing things when we have to.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But you’ve made it a lot easier. It occurs to me that I’ve never thanked you.”

“Thanked
me? What for?”

“For being so
competent.
I guess that’s the right word. And . . . for being such a—God, I sound so old-fashioned, but—for being such a gentleman.”

“Oh, I think I know what you mean. Somehow I don’t think being a gentleman will ever go out of style. Not with the right people, anyway.”

“Are we the
right people,
Ian?” Becky looked up at him. He found himself falling into the depths of her brown eyes. Odd feelings stirred in him. He knew what was happening. Should he resist, or not?

“I don’t know, Becky. But I think so.”

She put her arms around him, pulling him even closer. “I do too,” was all she said.

Ian looked up to see the illuminator growing dimmer, now only a dully glowing amber. Shadows fell across the landscape like dark pools, the green of the forest became more intense. The sounds of life scurrying for survival hummed in the air about them. Something woke up screaming and hungry in the distance, but Ian barely noticed.

* * *

In that first moment of intimate contact, Becky asked herself, over and over, the same questions. They flashed through her mind in a heated rush, mingling with the initial stirrings of passion.
Why are you doing this? Do you really want this? What is he going to think of you?

She quickly decided that it did not matter. That
nothing
really mattered except staying alive, and that anything else was just some icing on the cake. She and Ian had been forced to be so close in all other ways since being marooned inside the strange ship, so close that a sexual intimacy seemed to be the most natural thing to happen. She knew that he had been entertaining fantasies. Becky was no naive child; she knew men’s basic needs and drives.

All these thoughts, she knew, were her super-ego’s final flashes of restraint or rationalization for what was happening. But the thoughts were growing fainter now, becoming gauzy and insubstantial as she allowed her senses to override everything else. She could feel her hands, her fingertips, digging into the firmly muscled flesh of Ian’s back, pulling him close to her. At first, she detected a moment of hesitation on his part, as though it occurred to him to resist her. But then there was the sag of relaxing muscles and the embrace of his arms around her waist.

His jumpsuit was damp with perspiration and humidity, and as he slowly nuzzled his cheek against her neck, she could feel the prickles of his beard, the smell of his sweat. She closed her eyes, perhaps out of fear of gazing boldly into his, and turned her face upwards to meet his lips. She was surprised to feel the gentleness of his kiss, the tentative touch before pressing closer. Becky parted her lips slightly, and felt his tongue slip into her—and a shot of fire burned through her body, slowly at first, then curling and snaking its way, tingling, out to her extremities.