DS02 Night of the Dragonstar (14 page)

“Vile beast!” Neville was beginning to exhibit flecks of foam at the corners of his mouth.

“Please, Doctor,” Nurse Wilkins cried. “If you don’t calm down, you’re going to kill yourself.”

“Me kill myself? What about that thirty-ton monster? He looks like he could do a very nice job, thank you.”

In spite of the imminent danger, Phineas could barely keep from smiling at the old man. He tried to nod sternly and directed his attention toward the perimeter. Mikaela had moved alongside him and put her hand on his shoulder.

The marksmen waited until the predator had drawn close enough to be caught in a lethal cross fire. In order to employ this tactic they had allowed the beast to push dangerously close to the line of OTVs that formed a wagon-train barrier around the film crew, several of whom had clambered up on the vehicles to record the advance of the beast.

It moved with a crazed urgency, jaws snapping and slavering in anticipation of its imagined meal. Its large hind claws tore great divots of earth from beneath it, marking its trail toward the human position. Overhead, as though sensing the coming carnage, Pterodactyls wheeled and waited.

When the marksmen opened fire, their hollow-point and jellied-nitro-filled rounds ripped into the bright flesh of the dinosaur, rippling the folds of scaly skin like water in the wind. The first volley of shells staggered the creature, stopping it in mid-stride and causing it to stumble off to the left. Only an instinctive slash of its heavy tail kept it from falling to the earth. Reeling and weaving like a wounded prizefighter, the animal struggled to regain its balance.

Finally, as both splayed, three-toed claws gained equal purchase in the hard earth, it threw back its head and let loose a high-pitched cry of pain and unrestrained fury. Opening its yellow eyes even wider, it selected the closest OTV as its prey and forced itself forward, lumbering ahead on drunken legs.

The marksmen unleashed a second volley, more violent than the first. A locust-swarm of slugs assaulted the beast, shredding its neck into ribbons, exploding its skull, turning its primitive nervous system into useless jelly. The beast recoiled from this vicious attack, standing perfectly upright, rigid as though at attention, overwhelmed by the systematic, death-dealing shock of the attack.

It opened its mouth to cry one final time, but only a feeble squeaking sound emerged as the great bellow-lungs collapsed. It hung motionless for a moment before toppling, with unbelievable slowness, to the hard-packed dirt of the plateau. Great clouds of dust and dirt rose up around the carcass, and almost immediately insects materialized out of the air to begin their ritual buzzing about the bleeding hulk of meat.

“Good Christ!” whispered Neville in a soft, hoarse voice. He looked at the corpse of the beast, which convulsed one more time. The old writer appeared ready to vomit. He moved several feet from the group and retched.

Kemp fingered his helmet mike and cleared his throat. “Good shooting, Martino. Nice work.”

Mikaela looked up at him with an expression of urgency creasing her sensuously angled face. “Phineas, I hate to spoil your fun, but we’d better get out of here right away.”

He knew she was referring to the instant response of the environment to the smell of blood and death. Within minutes scavengers of all shapes and sizes would be flocking to their position
—
all whipped into a feeding frenzy.

“You’re right. Quietly inform Lasky and his crew. I’ll
get my men moving right away.” Phineas barked orders into his helmet mike, and everyone started scrambling back into the safety of the OTVs. Even as they moved, clouds of dust could be seen across the plateau—creatures running quickly across the hard, dry earth.

Mikaela helped Nurse Wilkins with Dr. Neville, whose LM porta-pak was playing a veritable symphony of warning bells and alarm beepers. The old man was walking with a pronounced wobble as he headed back to his vehicle.

“Shoot that bastard,” he cried out. “Watch out, you bugger!”

Mikaela helped him into his vehicle and rushed back to where Phineas stood watching the rest of the crew. Coopersmith, standing several vehicles down the line, was supervising the rapid evacuation, and Phineas knew that everything was well in hand. “Let’s move out,” he said grimly, and helped her aboard.

As the caravan scurried away, the hordes of scavengers descended on the still warm flesh of the dead dinosaur. Mikaela watched the action from the viewing port until it dwindled from view.

“It’s a hell of a way to live, isn’t it?” Phineas joked.

“That’s not funny,” Mikaela said.

“I was just trying to relieve some tension. Sorry.”

“That was another one of the mutants, Phineas. I don’t know if anyone else noticed, but I saw the sores. If we’d been able to cut him open, we would have found him laced through with tumors.”

“As soon as we finish this project, we’ll get onto the problem with a full-scale program,” Phineas said.

“I just hope you’re not too late.”

“I’ve already had this conversation with Bob Jakes,” Phineas said. “I am quite aware of the consequences.”

“Well, that’s pretty interesting, because I don’t think any of the rest of us are.”

“Hey, take it easy. You know what I mean?”

Mikaela looked at him warily. “No, I’m not sure I do, Phineas. I know that you usually do what you want, that you normally get your own way, but I’m not sure you realize what your way might mean this time around.”

“The documentary will be finished tomorrow,” he said. “That is, assuming that you can find us a suitable replacement location for today’s shots instead of trying to pick an argument with me.”

Mikaela sighed audibly. “All right, but I’m not finished with you yet.” Mikaela called up a map on the console screen and scrolled through some coordinates in a quick search for locations.

“My dear,” Phineas said, running his hand down the small of her back to fondle her buttocks, “I hope you’re never finished with me.”

GREGOR KOLENKHOV,
a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff at Copernicus Base, was seated in the communications bridge of the IASA lunar installation. Banks of monitors and screens displayed information of every conceivable type, but the screen that the portly Russian watched was a simple, portable holovision. The HV was tuned to World Media’s sat-channel 80 and the last round of preliminary commercials before the initial segment of the grossly hyped documentary on the Dragonstar began.

“Just about ready?” asked Kolenkhov’s staff communications officer, Major Peter Altermann.

“Yes,” Gregor said. “After a veritable barrage of advertisements, however.”

The two men watched as the projection dimmed to gray, then burst forth with colorful computer-generated three-dimensional images. Letters from the swirling chaos of a spiral galaxy, spelling out the program title:

THE DAY OF THE DRAGONSTAR

A great orchestral sound track enhanced the majesty and importance of the event everyone was about to see. Over this, the familiar voice of World Media’s most popular narrator, Alistair Williamson, boomed the introduction:

“Humankind, having taken the first precarious steps away from the safety of its home world, has encountered what may arguably be called the most important discovery in the history of the human race
—
the alien vessel known as the Dragonstar.

Tonight you will discover for yourselves the wonder and the awe of what has been called “the largest artificially constructed device in the known universe.” Its dimensions are ...”

Major Altermann turned and winced at his superior.

“Geez, Dr. Kolenkhov, looks like they’re going to milk this for all it’s worth.”

“Yes, well, it is a fantastic event in our history, but I sincerely hope that the crass, insensitive minds of free enterprise do not cheapen its glory too much.” Gregor laughed heartily and fumbled one of his dark, rich Turkish cigarettes from his pack.

“Well, this is really Colonel Kemp’s baby, from what I hear,” the major said, his East Texas accent curling and twanging every word.

“Most certainly,” Gregor said, lighting his cigarette with his customary flourish. “It was a labor of love, as I understand it. We didn’t see much of him around here while they were filming it, that was for sure.”

“Yeah,” the major said. “Well, they’ve been promising one hell of a show. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, huh?”

* * *

“Aren’t you coming down to watch the live segment?” A voice intruded upon the thoughts of Mishima Takamura, and he turned to find the round, wrinkled face and gray eyes of Dr. Robert Jakes looking at him.

Mishima shook his head slowly as he looked up from his desk. A portable HV blared out the World Media documentary from a shelf behind him. He had been watching it with only half his attention while he continued to work over some calculations on a terminal.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said wearily. “I’m just too tired, Bob.”

“You work too hard, Mishima. What’s the hurry?”

“I don’t know. Just a funny feeling I have. I didn’t like the projections we were getting on that last batch of tests.”

“Well, they’ll wait till morning for me,” Jakes said. “I think I’ll go down to the live set and watch the broadcast. Then I’m calling it a night.”

“See you later, Bob.” Mishima smiled and waved at his superior as he disappeared out the door and down the long corridor. He liked Dr. Jakes immensely, and respected the man’s ability to see all the facets of a problem before offering a solution. But he knew that Jakes’s age and poor health were catching up with him. Sooner or later he was going to have to retire, and that would be a real loss to the agency.

Mishima allowed his attention to drift back to “The Day of the Dragonstar,” conceding that the production was indeed a first-class job. World Media had spared no expense to present comprehensive coverage of the entire story. The documentary was full of drama, tension, information, and style. It was everything they had promised it would be, and despite his ill feelings toward Phineas Kemp, he was forced to admit that the man had done a very good job.

But none of it was going to matter very much if the radiation levels continued to rise.

* * *

Hakarrh, the capital city of the Saurian preserve: wide avenues and colorful tents; minarets and towers looming above the rows of tiny shops and stalls; large botanical gardens and parks, breaking up the patterned monotony of civilization. It was a strange kind of city. Its dirt roads and mud-brick and stone architecture appeared both primitive and alien, but its heart beat with a recognizable vitality. To be honest, though, Phineas had never actually liked being in the Saurian preserve.

He had always felt the place to be besieged by the most noisome odors
—
a melange of smells that conjured up images of strangely cooked foods, alien exhalations and excrements, and rampant disease. Even though he had been assured by the microbiologists on Jakes’s team that the bacterial makeup of the Dragonstar’s interior was an exact match of the Earth’s, and that there was no cause for alarm, he still had odd feelings about remaining too long in close quarters with the Saurians and their environment.

On this particular evening
—
the evening of the World Media broadcast
—
the Saurian city was ablaze with the lights, sounds, and music of a grand celebration. A platform had been built, and the Saurians had prepared a program of entertainment for the cameras to be presented after the historic meeting of John T. Neville and a band of selected Saurians who represented the various class levels of their society. Neville had met one or two Saurians already, but the World Media people were staging things to look like a first-time event.

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.