Day of the Dragonstar (28 page)

Several times the ornithopter would buck or dip as it passed through a thermal bank, or the residual wash of an atmospheric vortex. Kemp wondered if the heat-energy of the illuminating rod in the center of the cylinder was heated to varying temperatures so that gradients would be produced to create artificial weather. If that were so, it would help explain the turbulence experienced by Zabriski.

“Everything all right, Captain?” Kemp leaned forward with his most serious expression setting his features.

“Yeah, Colonel, but I’ll tell you . . . this is the damndest ride I ever took. I’ve flown everything there is to fly, just about, but this is one hell of a ride! I don’t recommend airspeed much above a hundred klicks per hour.”

“That’ll be fine, Captain. Just take it as it comes . . .”

The craft continued to pitch and dip occasionally, but Zabriski seemed to be learning some of the interior atmosphere’s tricks, and she was having less difficulty as the flight progressed. Phineas hardly noticed any of this.

At least he was
doing
something now. He had never been the kind of person who could sit still, letting somebody else get all the action while he directed things from an armchair. He had considered staying back at the base camp, now that the sabotage was known, and it was a good bet that the TWC would be trying something else . . . But he doubted if he could have withstood the
waiting.
The sheer tedium of simply sitting around, waiting for something to happen would have brought him that much closer to the Iittle green monsters in his desk drawer.

They flew on for another two hours, passing over three areas which had Lindstrom so excited she almost fell out of her seat. The discovery of stone-block ruins, their peaks above the green carpet of the forests, was a surprise to everyone. Lindstrom insisted that they land and investigate. Kemp agreed, thinking that it was possible that the survivors might be there, or that some sign of their presence might at least be found.

The first set of ruins, simple post-and-lintel constructions, yielded little except the ideas from Mikaela that there was intelligent life in the cylinders. Kemp countered with the idea that the building might be the work of survivors from the original alien crew, or perhaps their descendants, who had worked their way out into the cylinder once all the supplies within the crew section had been exhausted.

Later on, they landed at a group of three pyramids, where Kemp and his men found evidence of a campsite. Once again, he felt hope rekindled in his heart. The feeling that Becky and probably Coopersmith were still alive was growing stronger. Mikaela Lindstrom wanted to stay long enough to make some sketches of the pyramids, but Kemp was getting impatient, so much so that he did not want to land at all when they passed over the remains of an ancient city. Mikaela was upset with the decision, but something else had just become visible in the distance ahead of them. The flat end of the giant cylinder was now becoming clearer, even though parts of the sky at the distant end were obscured by patches of water vapor.

Mikaela had been talking about how many of the dinosaurs so far observed exhibited discrete changes in their somatotypes when compared with the fossil records. She said that it was most obviously due to genetic mutation and the continuing evolutionary process, despite the constant, controlled environment of the
Dragonstar.
She felt that over the hundred and fifty million years or so, it was possible that evolution had produced some intelligent species, although it would be difficult to predict whether there would be representatives from the saurian or mammalian families in existence.

“ . . . and you’ll have plenty of
time to test out your theories,” Kemp was saying in response, when Zabriski cried out excitedly.

“Colonel! I’ve got something coming up down there. Looks like a mountain range or something . . . see it?”

Kemp looked down and ahead of them to see a long low ridge stretching across the landmass, extending through the thick forests, and curving upwards as though endless. As the ornithopter dropped down to a lower altitude, and drew closer, the definition of the ridge became more clear.

It was not a mountain range. Nor was it any kind of natural rock formation.

“I don’t believe it,” said Zabriski.

“Phineas,” said Mikaela. “Do you know. what that
is?”

Kemp did not reply for a moment, but continued to stare in amazement at the structure looming ahead of them. It was undeniable now. It was a gigantic
wall,
perhaps ten or fifteen meters tall, which made the great wall of China look like something made from a child’s block set. A barrier, with buttresses, and towers spaced at even intervals.

The ornithopter slowed and hovered over the incredible wall, as everyone looked down upon it, and what lay beyond it.

A city.

A living city.

“HELLO, PHINEAS,”
Rebecca Thalberg said. “We’ve been expecting you. That’s why we suggested that the saurians bring you here.”

She was sitting on the floor opposite Ian Coopersmith. All about them, the floor was littered with charts and pictographs: alien symbols. Coopersmith gazed up casually and grinned at the newly arrived party. “Afternoon, Colonel. Have we got an alien culture for
you.”

“
Shit on alien cultures,” Kemp said, striding forward, and hauling Becky up from her crouch. “I’m just glad to see you two
alive.”
He embraced Becky fervently. She responded only as a sister might to a long-lost brother. There was no passion in the hug, no ardor.

Puzzled, he embraced her and looked down to Coopersmith.

Coopersmith cleared his throat as he rose and went over to speak with the five saurians sitting nearby, dressed in flowing, colorful robes. Or he made an approximation of speech, anyway, filled with gestures.

Kemp didn’t pay too much attention. Emotions twisted and roiled inside him. Joy soured to jealousy, relief to anxiety. He turned to Becky. She confronted his searching gaze with an honest, open expression that said,
Yes, Phineas. Things have changed between us.

He stepped back a moment and gazed about the hall as Mikaela Lindstrom stepped over to Ian Coopersmith and began babbling excited questions. A dozen armed saurians stood guard in various places. They spoke their high-pitched chitter to one another, occasionally turning toward the party and simply staring with reptilian astonishment.

Coopersmith excused himself from Mikaela’s questions and guided one of the saurians over to meet Kemp.

“Colonel Kemp, I should like you to meet Thesaurus, who has been seeing to our needs and communicating with us. Thesaurus is sort of a scientist-ruler.”

“Uhm, hello Thesaurus,” Kemp muttered. He was shocked that Coopersmith’s nearness didn’t produce a strong urge to throttle him. Only a
mild urge. “Your friend doesn’t look so good, Coopersmith.”

“No. A little too full of scientific curiosity for his own good. There’s some kind of hole in the wall at the end of the cylinder. Full of interesting things, from what I can gather:”

“You’ve been there.”

“Yes. Didn’t go in, though. Apparently, it’s got a high radiation level.”

“That would explain the shape the poor fellow’s in.”

“Yes. The price of knowledge is steep.”

“We’ll have to get radiation suits and explore.”

“The request was on the tip of my tongue,” said Coopersmith.

Phineas Kemp breathed deeply twice and let all his emotions go with his final exhalation. He carefully fitted on his professional veneer, and he turned to Nordman. “Raise Michaels and Zabriski on the com. Make sure they’re still okay.”

“Check, Colonel.”

Kemp and his crew had landed near the city, and immediately been surrounded by the saurians. Lindstrom had almost burst with ecstasy. “These must be
Sauronithoides,
Phineas,” she cried. “We’re looking at intelligent creatures who might very well have been the big wheels on Earth, if they’d had the chance. Intelligent dinosaurs, Phineas. Imagine!” After a period of extreme caution on the humans’ part, as the saurians executed various odd dances and capers which appeared to be some kind of proclamation of peaceful intentions, Kemp had allowed the saurians to lead them away, leaving Michaels and the pilot to guard the ornithopter and serve as relay for communications between them and the base.

The com unit squawked, and a voice said, “Roger. Zabriski here. We’ve got about a hundred of the things milling about, forty-five meters away. Tamed and astonished, I’d say. Treating us a though we’re gods.”

“Get that, Colonel?”

“Got it,” he turned back to face Becky. “The question is, will they let us go?”

“I don’t think there will be any problem with that, Phineas, as long as we make our intentions clear, and promise to come back. At first they didn’t know what to make of us. But once their priest-class got ahold of us . . . well, we started getting treated like royalty. I’ve managed to figure out a few words and gestures in the days we’ve been here. Ian’s done a lot better than I have, haven’t you, Ian?”

Because he’s a reptile, too, a snake in the grass,
Kemp thought, but as soon as he realized the irrational nature of that thought, that feeling, he suppressed it. “So. We’ve much to talk about, then.” Not a quiver or a shake to his voice. But Phineas Kemp found no pleasure, no self-righteousness in his display of pride.

“Yes,” Ian Coopersmith said. He rose. He was wearing a robe similar to the ones that the lizard-priests wore.

“Nice outfits, huh?” Becky said, spreading her own and performing a mock curtsy. The robe was like a piece of a rainbow. “Needless to say, our suits were a trifle dirty and ragged after our expedition here.” Her hair was newly washed. Soft and smooth, shining in the light from the window. On a very deep level, Kemp knew that he would never be able to touch it the way he would like to again.

Even though he hadn’t lost her to the dinosaurs, he’d lost her.

He glanced over at Mikaela, and took some comfort in her presence. He could hear his father’s voice say:
You’ve become an old softy, Phineas. The women have finally got you right where they want you, one hand on the gonads, one gripped on your heart. Say goodbye to your dignity.

And Phineas thought,
Yeah. You’re right, Dad. Now shut up.

Ian Coopersmith stood, brushing off his hands, “So, we’ve got lots of time. What do you want to hear first? How we got here, or what we’ve found?”

“In any order you care to give it,” Kemp said. “Only we really don’t have that much time, Ian.” He looked at him sternly. “Our problems aren’t over yet, Looks like the TWC is going to make a military play for this vessel. When, we don’t know, but we have to be prepared. There’s no one between them and us. We’re on our own.” He told them about the sabotage.

“Damn,” Ian said. “And I thought we were home free.”

“Home’s a long way away, Ian,” Kemp said resignedly. “And there are some big obstacles in our path.”

CAPTAIN FRANCIS WELSH
sat in his quarters of the
Andromache,
drinking his fourth beer of the morning, when the TWC expeditionary leader entered.

“’Lo, Jashad,” Welsh called cheerily, holding up an unopened bulb of beer. “Have yourself a cocktail.”

“I am sorry, my friend. My religion forbids the consumption of alcoholic beverages.” White teeth showed through a dark beard.

“Oh yeah. Well, smoke a joint, then.” Blearily Welsh leaned over and procured a recently rolled marijuana cigarette for his captor. The man called Jashad accepted it graciously and lit it with his own lighter.

“’Everyone has his weaknesses,” the handsome, fortyish man explained, blowing out his words with an exhalation of smoke.

“Everybody’s got his drug, you mean,” Welsh said, laughing. He took a gulp of his beer. “Even if they only manufacture it for themselves in their brains.” He coughed. “Yeah, I can see the shelf of the stuff in the average TWC peon brain. A gallon of the elixir of stupidity. A vial of arrogance. A beaker of misinformation. And a whole crock of the bullshit you fling for propaganda!”

Jashad laughed heartily. “You misunderstand us, Captain Welsh.”

“Really?” He crumpled his beer bulb container, tossed it into the trash receptacle, and reached for another full one. “I understand you killed a lot of people to get my ship. A lot of my friends. I understand that you would have killed
me
too, if you didn’t think I might be useful in your mission . . . whatever the shit that
might
be.” Welsh snorted. “What are you here for? Another game of chess? Never thought you’d find an infidel who could actually beat you once in a while, did you, Jashad?”

“I admit, I do enjoy our games.” He took another casual draw from the cigarette, holding it in his lungs for only a second or two. “But I have not come here to engage in that activity.”

“Yeah, well, like I told you, I’m not going to help you navigate, or anything. I swear to God.”

“That’s not necessary, Captain Welsh. Our own men have proved most effective in that capacity. And we have nearly reached our destination.”

“So now you’re going to kill me, huh? Can I finish my beer first?”

“Please, Captain Welsh. You are too bitter. Your company has been most welcome on this trip. I have grown most fond of you. No, you may yet be of service. And besides, even if you had no potential for service, I would still not have you killed. You have proved yourself harmless enough, if provided with”—he pointed to the trash can full of empty beer bulbs—“enough cocktails.”

“I have
that
to thank you for, anyway,” Welsh admitted grudgingly.

“You were the one with sufficient supplies,” said Jashad. “We merely allowed you . . . access.” He sat down in a chair, which was bolted to the floor. “No, I am here, Captain Welsh, neither to play chess with you nor to kill you.”

“Cheers then.”

“I’m here to try to explain.”

Welsh almost spit out his beer. “Explain! What good is that going to do you, Jashad! Explain
what,
anyway?”

“Exactly why the drastic measures we’ve taken have been necessary. Captain Welsh, you may not be aware of this, but the fate of the world lies in the balance now.”

Welsh listened to the story of Artifact One with something approaching disbelief. “Holy shit,” he said, finally. “No wonder you folks want it. You want to know about its stardrive, so that all the star colonists will be good little Moslems.”

“You are being simplistic, Captain. We are mostly concerned with the present balance of power on Earth. Already, the other forces of the world have outstripped our collective nations not only in outer space accomplishments, but in affairs terrestrial. We do not wish to become the leaders of the world, Captain. We merely wish a balance of power. We wish for our various cultures, beliefs, and world-views to have an influence on the destiny of mankind. We wish for the children we bring into the world to have a
place
in that world. We wish, in short, for an identity, As holders of the keys to the universe, perhaps we might find that identity, Captain. We regret our tactics. They are all we know. Besides, what
other
tactics might we use to obtain that which we
need
not only to survive, but to maintain our self-esteem, our integrity? Too long have we suffered. We have to take these measures, can’t you see?”

“And so, to maintain all that shit, you’ve murdered the crew of this ship and are about to slaughter our people who’ve taken over what you call Artifact One.”

“Only if that is necessary, Captain.”

“In other words, if they don’t surrender upon demand. Which you bloody well know isn’t very likely.”

“We don’t want to kill them, Captain,” said Jashad. “And we doubt that we can persuade them to give up. Ah—perhaps, if you explained the situation to them, they might better understand.”

“Up yours, Jashad. I told you, no go. Kill me first.”

Jashad sighed heavily. He stood and thumbed the door control.

Welsh stiffened, expecting his death to enter.

“Gentlemen, if you will!” Jashad called.

Two men entered, holding more bulbs of beer. They set them down beside Welsh, then departed.

Jashad made a mock-Islam bow to Welsh. “Drink up, friend Welsh. I want to beat you in this afternoon’s game of chess.”

He left.

Mumbling to himself, Captain Francis Welsh popped another top.