Day of the Dragonstar Page 11

  His reasoning was not unsound, because it was only logical to assume that Copernicus Base would eventually send another exploration team into the ship, and that if he and Rebecca could survive until the next team arrived, then they would be saved. Ian further reasoned that the best way to remain alive would be to do those things that would keep them as far from the predators as possible.

  And so on the fourth day, they had begun, at Ian’s suggestion, following the topography as it sloped gradually upwards to a highland of sorts in the direction of the ship’s engines. The higher ground seemed safer, since the rivers ran down to the lakes and marshes below and drew the dinosaurs with them. It had been Coopersmith’s vague plan to work their way toward the rear end of the ship in the hope of finding some sign of entrance into engine rooms or perhaps the alien crew section of the ship. If they could gain entrance to the business end of the ship, they might be able to use the communications equipment to contact Copernicus. If that proved impossible, they would at least have a haven from the predators of the interior.

  They had traveled in a “southerly” direction, using the illuminator as their rough guide, for three days, and with each passing cycle they learned more about the magnificent world within the ship. The world-shaping aliens had been meticulous in their reconstruction of an early-Earth environment. Ian and Rebecca passed gorges, mudflats, raging white-water rivers, placid streams, impenetrable forests, jagged peaks in the highlands, and even volcanoes in various stages of eruption. The interior was a miniature Earth in every respect save the land mass, which curved and flung above their head some sixty-five kilometers distant. It was, in one sense, a primitive paradise. Ian found that he had mixed feelings about a world so untouched by the hands of man.

  He stirred slowly as he came to full consciousness, feeling the tightness of the vine-harness he had fixed the previous evening. For the first few hours of the day-cycle, his muscles would be screaming at him, in defiance at being shackled to the limbs of the trees. Looking up several branches, he saw Rebecca sprawled and tied upon the broad fronds of her own limb. She was still sleeping and he hesitated in waking her, though it was important that they use all the daylight hours wisely.

  “Becky . . . “ he said softly. “It’s time for breakfast.”

  The dark-haired woman jumped fitfully and was instantly awake. She looked down at Ian with large brown eyes. He was surprised at how attractive she looked after a week without a proper bath, hair conditioners, and the other things which women put to such good use.

  “Ooh, God . . . I can’t believe I’m still alive,” she said lazily.

  * * *

  Ian chuckled as he began unfastening his harness, “Are you fully expecting to wake up one morning and discover that you’re dead?”

  Becky laughed. “No. I want to wake up and find that this has all been the proverbial bad dream, and that I am back home in Copernicus.”

  “Why Copernicus? Why not go the whole hog, as they used to say, and be back in Kansas?”

  “Ian Coopersmith . . . I do believe you’re setting me up for the old ‘Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore’ line . . .”

  He smiled impishly. “Well, maybe I was . . . Sorry about that. Do you need some help getting untied?”

  “No, I’ve got it. What did you say about breakfast?”

  “I just said it was time for it. Never said a word about what it was going to be.”

  “As usual. When are they going to start providing menus around here?” Becky pulled the last vine away from her, and held on tightly to the thick limbs which supported her, slowly inching towards the trunk of the giant fern.

  “I think they’ve been serving the same menu here for a long, long time,” he said. “Come on, let’s get down and see what we can find. Some scrambled Pterosaur eggs, perhaps. Or maybe some nice fresh leftovers . . .”

  Ian worked his way down the tree’s trunk, then waited for Becky to follow. She was quite agile and plenty strong for someone her size. As far as taking care of herself, Ian felt that she was doing a more than adequate job. She rarely had trouble doing any of the tasks that needed to be done. In the week they had been thrown together, Ian had come to respect and admire her. On the few social occasions he had met her when she was dating Phineas Kemp, Ian had to admit not being too impressed by Rebecca Thalberg. She had seemed somewhat pushy in social situations, and had the annoying habit of constantly reminding people that she was a top-flight surgeon and Biomed specialist. Ian now wondered if being under the penumbra of Kemp’s many accomplishments made Becky feel impelled to assert her own individuality in any way she could.

  As she reached the loamy, sponge-like soil, Ian was already glancing about warily, listening for the sounds of heavy footfalls and thrashing foliage. The forest seemed quiet for the moment and he suggested that they shoulder their few supplies and move out. For the last day they had. been heading across a rise in the land that was now beginning to slope downward toward what appeared to be a very lush, green valley. From the heights of the treetops Ian had seen a large river cutting through the center of a depression. He would have preferred to avoid the valley because of the higher dinosaur population that would be found near the waters, but the valley seemed so vast that it would take them several extra days to circumvent it.

  They gathered primitive fruit-blossoms and large seed as they traveled “south” until they chanced upon the lower half of a small bipedal dinosaur’s carcass. It was hanging in the tangled branches of a thicket, and was untouched except for the teeth-marks which had separated it from its head and shoulders. Ian assumed that the little fellow had been bounding along the night before and had unfortunately hopped into the jaws of one of the big boys. Having dined on the upper half the predator must have lost the rest of its meal in the undergrowth, and rather than root it out, had moved on for larger, more satisfying prey.

  At any rate, Ian quickly skinned and dressed the muscular thighs of the creature and prepared a fire. They would have to eat quickly since the scent of the cooking meat might attract some meat-eater who had not yet collapsed into the torpid, digestive state of the day-cycle, or perhaps one of the beasts who were getting smart enough to realize that there was ample opportunity to feed well during the times of light.

  After finishing their “protein supplement,” as Becky sardonically referred to their carrion meals, they kept moving into the thicker foliage of the downward-sloping terrain, until they reached a rocky outcropping, a ragged ledge which looked down into the river-valley.

  Ian suggested that they rest for a moment among the rocks, since it was a fairly secure position. He sat peeling the rough, prickly skin off a gingko blossom, preparing to suck up some of its pulpy juices, when he spotted something down in the carpet greenery below their position.

  “Now what in bloody hell is that?” Ian pointed to a spot far below them.

  “What is it? Where?” Becky moved down beside him and followed the line of his index finger.

  “See those white things? Way down and to the left of those yellowish tree-blossoms, or whatever they are. Those white patches they almost look like they could be geometric shapes . . . like buildings.”

  “Buildings? Are you sure?”

  “I don’t know. We’re too far away at this point, but I think we should investigate, don’t you? It’s in the same general direction we’re headed.”

  “All right.” Becky drew in her breath slowly. “I guess it doesn’t matter what we do . . . We’re trapped here anyway.”

  “Oh, come on now? It’s only temporary, I assure you. They’re probably sending out another ship already. If I know Kemp, he probably has every man in Deep-Space Operations in on this one. We’ll be rescued . . . all we have to do is keep ourselves alive, that’s all.”

  * * *

  As he dozed in the shade, Rebecca watched Coopersmith.

  His well-shaped, muscula
r chest rose with steady regularity, his finely sculpted nostrils flaring as he exhaled the rich air. Some kind of insect buzzed by. Becky swatted it away. The man deserved a rest. She would see that he had it.

  Surprising how much she’d come to like the guy.

  Helping to keep her alive in this dreadful place was certainly a factor. But she’d come to admire him for more than his capabilities for survival. Despite the grimness of their situation, -he’d managed to maintain his sense of humor. He could be a charming, engaging conversationalist when he cared to be, and, seeing their ordeal weighing on her mind as well as body, he used that talent often to cheer her up during meals, or when they strapped themselves into high branches and chatted while waiting for the sleep of exhaustion to overtake them. He seemed to brim over with an optimistic view of every situation. Obviously Coopersmith was not a man used to failing. His confidence had helped her no end. She’d come to depend on him emotionally, despite herself.

  She used to resent people like Coopersmith—always cheery, always finding silver linings in the darkest of clouds—but when she found that his personality and world-view was infectious, it helped lend her strength and hope.

  And he was damned attractive physically, too. Sometimes when she looked at him she felt . . . unusual. It was pleasant but troubling . . . and she tried to concentrate on other things.

  In their conversations, she’d learned that Ian’s mother had been a West Indian Black and his father white and British. That explained his rich dark complexion and somewhat angular Caucasian features. He spoke his English with a curious-blend of accents—Island, London, and Houston—which she found increasingly charming. Coopersmith was big, strong, competent. His love for perfectly running machines and weapons systems seemed to be shared with his respect for the human body, which he believed was a perfect biological mechanism. A disciple of stringent diet, he’d told her of his practice of always getting plenty of exercise. He practiced meditation as well, which seemed to instill in him a pleasant, almost Zenlike acceptance of the relationships between man, machine, and nature.

  No, she’d never met a man quite like Ian Coopersmith.

  He opened his eyes suddenly.

  “You’re staring at me,” he said.

  “Sorry. I like looking at people, and you’re the only other human being around.”

  “I suggest that you keep your eyes elsewhere,” he said good-humoredly. “Or some creature might decrease the human population of this place by two.”

  “Okay, smarty. But it’s my turn for a little shut-eye.”

  “And my turn to watch you.”

  “Now, now. Practice what you preach.”

  She lay back on the soft ground. The thought of his eyes on her was intriguing.

  * * *

  When their rest-period was over, they continued on across the highlands and slowly descended toward the river-valley. Ian paused every so often to get his bearings in relation to the illuminator and the relative position of the white objects he had seen from the heights. As they dropped lower into the dense foliage of the forests, the white things that might be buildings were often lost from view and Becky depended totally on Coopersmith’s sense of direction. It was easy to see how they had lost their way in the first place and had been unable to find the entrance hatch. Even after Ian had claimed to have worked out a simple orientation method, and had attempted to explain it to her, Becky continued to feel hopelessly lost.

  They continued downward for the better half of the day-cycle without incident until they stepped into a small clearing bisected by a small, shallow brook. There was a wide expanse of mudflat which flowed down to the water, covered with it variety of sizes of saurian footprints. Most of them were no larger than a man’s, although there were several sets of deep, taloned prints, which suggested that predators favored this spot as a good feeding ground.

  As Ian and Becky broke through the brush at the edge of the clearing, intending to use the brook as an opportunity to refill their water rations, Coopersmith stopped suddenly, putting his hand to his mouth in a pantomime of silence. “Goddamn!” he whispered. “I didn’t see that bugger until we stepped clear. Be quiet and don’t move!”

  “Where?” asked Becky, looking beyond Ian, but seeing nothing.

  “There. By those trees. He’s almost the same color as the brush . . .”

  Becky saw it now, and her breath caught for a moment in fear.

  Concentrating on picking out the beast’s natural camouflage from the flora, she could now see the bipedal dinosaur. It was a theropod of the Gorgosaurus family, although she was not certain of its exact species. From where they stood it appeared to be about twice a man’s height and many times his weight. Sprawled upon its back, it half-reclined against the bole of a large conifer. Its small forelimbs stuck up and away from its grossly distended belly and its head was tilted back at an odd angle, mouth slightly parted while clouds of insects buzzed about its meat-flecked teeth to steal some scraps.

  “Is it dead?” whispered Becky.

  “No, I don’t think so. Sleeping off a big meal, I’d say. Big torpid bastard . . .” Ian shook his head, and slowly drew his sidearm from his holster. So far, he had been careful not to waste ammunition, and still had more than thirty rounds in his jumpsuit pockets. His Magnum pistol handled .44 calibre exploding slugs, which he assumed would do lots of bone-damage to anything struck at close range. But considering the thickness of the carnivores’ skulls, Ian had figured that the best place to fire at an attacker would be in the vital area just below their small forelimbs but above their bellies.

  Holding the Magnum ahead of him, he motioned Becky to follow him slowly and quietly along the edge of the mudflat, and away from the sleeping hunter. Gradually, they added distance between themselves and the beast until they reached the other side of the clearing. Ian paused to check their position against the illuminator and then entered the forest again.

  “Just walk slowly and steadily. We’ll be all right if we keep quiet and don’t wake him up.”

  Becky nodded and kept moving. They threaded their way through the ranks of proto-firs and giant ferns as the thrumming sounds of the never-silent forest enveloped them. It was difficult to imagine that one could grow accustomed to the steamy, redolent forest and its machine-like buzz of life, but as Becky followed Ian, she realized that she was getting used to the thick, damp greenery of the Jurassic world. Even though one could stumble upon a walking nightmare at any time, even though the millions of species of insects, leeches, and slugs were waiting to have a bite of your warm flesh, you learned how to live with it. The old adage about humans being the most adaptable of creatures seemed true.

  They walked carefully into the valley for another fifteen minutes without speaking. “Are we safe now?” Becky finally asked.

  Coopersmith shrugged. He was still carrying his Magnum in his right hand. “Who knows? The more distance we put between us and him the better, but we might be walking straight toward one of his cousins. You never know in this business. . .”

  Just then, there came a loud bellowing noise which seemed to split apart the heavy, humid atmosphere of the valley. Tracking the source of the sound, Ian stared through the thicket of trees, watching for some sign of movement, some change in color, or the light.

  “What is it?” asked Becky.

  “I don’t know . . . as usual, I guess. Doesn’t sound like one of the meat-eaters, though. Too high-pitched, you know?”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Hope it doesn’t wake up Sleeping Beauty . . .”

  “We’d better keep moving in any case. It sounded like whatever it is is off to the right. Let’s just try and steer clear of it.”

  They moved off again, more wary than before. The bellowing sounds increased, and were soon joined by similar sounds farther away. If lan didn’t know that the beasts were so stupid, he would have considered that the creature
s were communicating in some fashion of hoarse cries.

  He mentioned it to Becky, who smiled but said nothing.

  Ten minutes passed and it seemed to Ian that they were drawing closer to one of the bellowing creatures. He stopped and peered off among the trees. Something large was thrashing about among a group of cycads and ferns. “Look! There he is! See him?”

  “l remember him,” said Becky. “Stegosaurus, right?”

  “That’s the one. What’s the matter with him, do you suppose?”

  The dinosaur was running about in a tight circle like a cat chasing its tail. Its large-humped, plated back swayed to and fro as it moved, pausing only to bellow its singular cry. Each time it would be answered by another beast, presumably another Stegosaurus.

  “You know, Ian, I think you might have been right. I think they are talking to one another . . .”

  “That’s ridiculous! They’re as stupid as turnips!”

  Becky smiled. “And I think we’ve been wrong calling this one a he . . .”

  “You mean it’s a mating call? You know, you might be right, Becky. Maybe we should stay for a moment. This might be interesting.”

  “You want to play voyeur to a coupling of lovestruck Stegosaurus?” Becky laughed.

  “Now, wait a minute! Don’t you know that one of the burning questions of science has always been, ‘How in bloody hell did the dinosaurs do it?’” Coopersmith smiled, his bright teeth in sharp contrast to his dark complexion.