Day of the Dragonstar (23 page)

The love that Ian Coopersmith gave, when he was able to deal with his guilt, was a natural thing, asking for nothing in return, only giving. That was a new experience to her. It was only natural for her to respond in kind. The actual easy acceptance of the giving by him was surprisingly satisfying.

No, Ian Coopersmith wasn’t like Phineas Kemp at all. She was glad of that.

“What say we climb on up toward the top,” Ian said, looking at the peak of the terraced monument. “Even if we don’t find an enclosure in which to huddle, I don’t believe any of the critters will be able to get at us up there.”

“Right.”

They gathered some firewood. Then they began to pick their way upwards scrambling over eroded fissures in the stone, scrabbling up the mounds of rubble. At one point, they were forced to use some roughly chiseled handholds to get up the short but steep face of one of the levels, tossing their dried wood up first.

Finally, exhausted, Rebecca said, “Hey. There are only two levels left. Isn’t this high enough?” She pointed to a small eroded nook in the face of the structure. “We can even use that. How about it?”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” said Ian, stretching. “As a matter of fact—” Suddenly he froze, staring away in the distance, focusing on something that seemed to engage his astonishment. “Holy Je . . . Well, I do
say!”

“What is it, Ian?” She turned around to see what he was gazing at so intently. “Oh, my goodness!”

It was perhaps only three or four kilometers away.

That it was not a natural formation of rock was obvious by its uniformity, its symmetry from slope to mist-touched slope of the cylinder. Though it was a little too far away to make out precise details, there was no doubt that it was an artificial structure that appeared to
ring
the interior circumference of the
cylinder.

A wall.

And beyond . . .

In the dim distance, everything
ended.

That
was why the illuminator looked so odd as it tapered off. This was the point at which it stopped, the point where it connected with whatever engine or mechanism that powered it.

Everything else was just dimly blank. A great, expanse of grey, non-reflective material, presumably some sort of alloy.

“I do believe that we may have found our intelligent inhabitants of this place,” Ian Coopersmith muttered, almost as though to himself.

“How can you be sure? I mean,
this
structure is here. And I don’t see any intelligent beings, wandering about.” Becky remembered her visor. She pulled off her pack, rummaged around inside, found it, and fitted it around her eyes.

Coopersmith followed her example. “Yes. Much better.” He pointed, making a sweeping motion with his arm. “Assuming it is a wall . . . or at least some kind of barrier, evidently its purpose was, and hopefully still is, to keep the carnivores of this world out.”

“Granted.”

“Fine. Now, what do you immediately notice.”

“It’s
long.”

“Yes, it must be. Actually, what I meant is that there don’t seem to be any breaks in it. Any wall that is not maintained will wear away, especially in this kind of climate.”

“You’re saying that it follows that there must be somebody behind it to make repairs?”

“Absolutely.” Ian smiled as he commenced gathering the wood and readying it for the campfire. “And we’re going to meet them tomorrow.”

* * *

Had the Tyrannosaurus Rex been lying on a plain, there would have been no problem, Thalberg and Coopersmith would have given it a wide berth. However because it lay quite still amongst a scatter of rocks and boulders, its thick grey hide camouflaging it perfectly with the surroundings, Becky almost stepped on its tail.

“Oh, God.” She managed to stifle a yelp.

Coopersmith fought to control his instinctive panic. This pile of muscular, baleful death was the stuff of nightmares. Only it was
real.

The behemoth stirred. Two tiny lizards, evidently feeding on parasitic mites and insects that covered the beast’s thick, almost corrugated hide, scampered away into the shadows. The great mouth opened with a yawn, revealing a mouthful of ragged, sword-like teeth. It slammed closed with almost a pneumatic hiss. Ian Coopersmith got a whiff of rotting meat nestled uncomfortably amongst the lizardy musk the monster exuded.

Fortunately, the Tyrannosaurus seemed torpid, probably having fed recently; its underside protruded beneath it.

Its proportionally tiny forelimbs were stretched forward and its head laid down so that the jaws rested on the ground. Its eyes were closed. Its great body heaved regularly with bellows-like breathing.

“All right,” Coopersmith whispered, cursing their luck. Only about a short distance from that wall, and they had to run into Mr. T. Rex. Still, if they could skirt it, they’d be okay. “Steady, dear girl. Back off slowly, with as little noise as possible.”

She obeyed as soundlessly as she could, keeping calmer than he felt. As they moved, Coopersmith unsnapped the-holster of his gun.

Suddenly, the great, ugly , veined nostrils flared wide on an inhale of breath. The greedy eyes fluttered open, immediately catching sight of the two backing away from it.

“Oh, shit,” said Coopersmith.

Rebecca stopped, paralyzed. “Ian. We can’t kill
that . . .”

The Tyrannosaurus recovered awareness with astonishing speed. Its vast bulk moved to rise, faltering.

A ray of hope broke into Coopersmith’s mind. Of course. There were maybe eight tons worth of dinosaur lying there, prone. Most of its muscle was devoted to its thick neck and haunches. As it moved to get up, though, it was obvious that the forelimbs—about the width of human thighs, tapering down to two clawed fingers—had their definite and very important purpose.

As the massive hindlegs pushed hard, the flexed claws were digging into the rocky soil. If not for those small forelimbs.

Even before the final thought entered his mind, Coopersmith raced forward toward the beast, the pain in his ankle awakening.

“Ian!” cried Becky, startled. “Ian! No!”

He stopped about five meters away from the struggling beast. It roared with fury as it saw its intended prey approach and increased its effort to rise, flinging its great tail out to help it balance.

Coolly, Ian Coopersmith brought the Magnum up, switched off the safety, and carefully aimed.

He squeezed off three rounds.

Crack!

The bullet exploded into the nearer forelimb, tearing away a huge section of flesh. Blood pulsed and sprayed.

CaaRack!

Just below the other wound, a larger wound opened, revealing the white of bone.

Caaaa RACK!

The snap of bone was audible, even though mixed with the loud scream of the Tyrannosaurus.

Just as Ian hoped, it instinctively redoubled its plodding efforts to rise. In doing so, it put its eight tons on a shattered limb, throwing it entirely off balance.

With a roar of outrage and pain, it fell to its side.

Ian about-faced and began to run in the direction they’d been heading, wobbling from the raging pain in his leg, but going full speed nonetheless.

“I don’t know how long we’ve got!” he cried to Rebecca Thalberg. “Get the hell out!”

Thalberg needed no further encouragement. They ran as they’d never run before.

* * *

The Tyrannosaurus’ screams followed them for a long time. Whether it had finally been able to right itself was hard to say. Becky suspected it had, but by that time they were far enough away for it to have lost scent of them. Just the same, although they slowed their run to a jog, they wanted to get as far away from the giant thing as possible.

“Huge!” was all that Becky could gasp. “Huge!”

“Shut up and
move
it,” Ian said, slowing to match her pace. A wave of indignation passed through Becky, but she repressed it. Ian could be as much the macho authoritarian as Kemp, if the time was right. Still, the essence of the advice was sound. She sped up.

After a while they had to slow to a quick walk to catch up on their breathing. Becky often darted furtive looks behind her without catching any sign of the Tyrannosaurus. They struggled on through the land, which had grown a bit marshy with the beginnings of a jungle-like portion nearby. The high trees had long since obscured all sight of the wall they’d glimpsed.

“Wait a minute, Ian. I’ve got to stop. I can’t go on anymore.”

“Right,” Ian said without objection. He promptly flopped to the ground, chest heaving. “Talked me into it. Just keep your eyes” —he paused for an intake of breath— “focused back the way we came. Should you happen to see a pair of nasty reptilian eyes” —breath— “attached to a body with a mangled forearm, notify me immediately.”

Very
deep breath.

“Ian.” She sat down hard, propping her head up with her hands. Difficult, she immediately realized, because her face was drenched with sweat. “Ian, you saved our lives!”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” —breath, wheeze. “Entirely automatic. I just
did
it, shot the thing’s leg, I mean. No use going for anything else at that point, you know. Thank God I can shoot as well as you can.”

“Better
than I can!”

The two lay there exhausted. Black spots swirled in Becky’s vision, swarming up from her dizziness. She was carried off in some reverie of pain, each breath growing less desperate. Shock numbed her thinking; for a moment she asked herself, “Where am I? Why am I here?” as though she had just groped her way from a particularly grim nightmare she could not recall.

“You okay, old girl?”

Reality seemed to coalesce around her annoyance. She managed, to prop herself up on a hand and wipe away the sweat dripping into her eyes.

“I told you not to call me that, Ian!”

She was confronted with a grin. “Just checking.”

“You!” She rolled over to hit him. He sprang away in time to avoid the weak blow.

“You stay here if you like,” he said after a quick kiss to the top of her sopping head. “There’s something I want to check on yonder.”

He hopped up and limped away.

“Hey! No you don’t.” She pushed herself up to a stand. “I want to see it, too!”

She followed him, struggling out her canteen. The water was tepid and bitter—but to her hurting throat it was a balm. Ian marched to the muddy side of a marsh, studded with strands of reeds, weeds, and trees.

He stopped and stared at something out of the range of Becky’s sight.

“What is it, Ian?” she said, offering him the canteen. Ian ignored the gesture, staring down into a leaf-shaded bower. Becky screwed the top back on and followed Ian’s gaze.

“I thought as much!” Ian said, reaching down and picking up what appeared to be two segments of eggshell. “But I must say, I didn’t quite expect this!” Becky followed his gaze into the barrow, her eyes not yet accustomed to the gloom.

“A nest of dinosaur eggs, Ian?”

“Yes, but
look
at it, Becky!” Ian slid down the incline. Snug in the ground was a large mound of what appeared to be cement. Cement with a hole in it. Half an empty eggshell lay by the entrance. “This is a structure made by some sort of intelligent life! To house eggs, yet!” he peered carefully into the dim opening. “A few fragments. No whole eggs or younglings. The hatching seems recent enough, though. Fascinating. One would presume that this is the work of the same civilization behind those walls . . .”

“And if the shells are fresh, then so is the civilization!”

“Thank you, Ms. Holmes,” Ian said, examining the igloo-shaped mound. From its right side jutted a chimney-like device which reached up past the surrounding vegetation. “And my word, unless I miss my guess, this is some sort of temperature-control device, using mirrors! Wish I could knock this apart and see how they solved the problem of thermal-coupling and—”

“Always the engineer, Ian. We haven’t got time. We have to meet the people who made this!”

“Quite right. Let’s be on our way then. Let’s have a hand there, old—” He smiled. “Sorry. My lovely Rebecca. And could I have a sip from your canteen? I’m parched!”

Becky sighed and got the canteen back out.

* * *

“Look at that little guy
go!”
Ian said with admiration. “I wonder if he’ll make it.”

Becky had nothing of her companion’s calm concerning the matter. “Ian, don’t just stand
there!
Shoot the goddamn thing before it catches him.”

They had stepped into a clearing and witnessed a scene quite a few yards distant—so that they could not make out details. Some sort of carnivore was chasing something half its size through the underbrush, snapping and snorting. A miniature, stripped-down version of a Carnosaur, its aspect was fearsome, its speed considerable. The creature it pursued was mostly obscured by weeds.

“What? Waste ammunition on something quite natural? If the prey is to escape, Becky, let it do so on—hey!”

She pulled the gun from his holster, took a few steps away, and fired.

“Stop, Becky!” But Ian Coopersmith wisely did not step forward and attempt to stop her from firing. Why she was doing this, even Becky wasn’t entirely sure. The creature being pursued looked vaguely humanoid—or so she imagined—and her move was almost instinctive.

Mother instinct? A flicker of species preservation? It did not occur to her to analyze her actions.

She pushed off the safety, tracked the Carnosaur, fired. The first round missed entirely.

“Becky, that’s
not
a long-range weapon. You’re as likely to hit the pursued as—”

“Shut up, Ian.” She fired again. The Carnosaur was suddenly relieved of its forelimbs and half its chest. It tumbled to a dead halt in a spume of blood and dust. The smaller creature did not stop to discover the fate of its pursuer. It didn’t even turn around to look, but rather made a beeline for dense forest. In a trice, it was swallowed into mystery.

“I say! Lucky shot,” Ian said sternly, arms folded. “Still you wasted two of our bullets we might be in sore need of at some later time.”