Tentacles

by Roland Smith

  “I think Luther is a good name,” Luther said.

  “If they’re both girls, we’ll call one Luther and one Grace,” Marty said.

  “You’re hilarious,” Luther said.

  “I guess One and Two are fine for now,” Grace said.

  “Then that’s decided,” Wolfe announced. “We’ll wait to name them later.”

  “They look hungry,” Grace said. “What are you going to feed them?”

  “They’re probably still absorbing nutrients from the egg sac,” Wolfe said. “But yes, I think we should try to feed them. The question is, what? Are they carnivores, herbivores, or omnivores like humans, eating a little bit of both? Another question is, are dinosaurs birds, reptiles, mammals, or a combination? If they’re reptiles, they would forage for food on their own. If they’re more like birds, their mother would feed them regurgitated food.”

  “That woman Ana might be good for that,” Marty said, deciding he’d keep the disposable booties on until he washed his sneakers.

  “Or maybe Luther could help,” Grace suggested. “He’s had a lot of practice on this voyage.”

  “I liked you better when you were Marty’s twin sister,” Luther said.

  Wolfe ignored the banter. “If they’re mammals, their mother would feed them milk, which means we would have to come up with a formula and bottle, or tube feed them. I’ve developed three feeding regimes. We’ll try all of them and see which one they respond to. But before we get to that I need to lay out the husbandry routine, which everyone needs to absolutely adhere to without exception.

  “As I’ve already mentioned, we need to maintain a strict sterile environment. If any of you aren’t feeling well — sore throat, cough, temperature — we’ll take you out of the care rotation until you feel better. We can’t risk cross-contamination. The hatchlings look alert and healthy, but that can change in an instant if they contract a virus. I can’t emphasize this enough. When you’re in here you need to pretend that you’re doing open heart surgery until we determine the cross-contamination factor.”

  There was a different tone to Wolfe’s voice and manner. He was clearly excited, but at the same time, dead serious. Even Luther was paying attention.

  “All of us have risked our lives for these two and I would hate to lose one because someone sneezed without a mask on.”

  He locked his eyes on each of them in turn, then said, “I guess it’s time to crack the incubator open and find out what dinosaurs eat for breakfast.”

  He pushed a button on the front of the incubator and the top slid back. The hatchlings looked up through the opening with eager golden eyes.

  * * *

  Butch McCall sat on his sleeping bag, leaning against the cold metal wall of his container. He scraped the can he was eating from for the last spoonful of pork and beans. He wished his old dog Dirk was with him. It was time to go hunting.

  * * *

  “Ouch!” Luther said, shaking his latex-gloved finger, which One had just bitten. “Why does everything aboard want to bite me?”

  “It might be a good idea not to wave your finger right in front of its mouth,” Wolfe said.

  “Yeah,” Luther said.

  “And Bo hasn’t bitten you,” Marty pointed out. “She just yanked your hair out, which your own father has been trying to do for years.”

  “Strip your gloves off,” Wolfe said. “Disinfect your hands, bandage your finger, then put on fresh gloves.”

  “Look at One,” Laurel said. “It looks like it’s enjoying the taste of Luther’s blood.”

  “I think you’re right,” Wolfe said.

  One was licking its tiny teeth with its purple tongue.

  “Do you think there’s enough of Luther to feed them until we get back to Cryptos?” Marty asked.

  “I think so,” Grace said. “If we feed him to them slowly, a bit at a time.”

  “Oh, you two are really funny,” Luther said from the sink. “You should tour comedy clubs. A Mokélé-mbembé bite might be venomous. Did you ever think of that?”

  “You might be right,” Marty said. “You should probably go to the infirmary.”

  “No, thanks. Dr. Jones has his hands full — or stainless steel bucket full — with that woman who puked all over your shoes, which by the way was funny.”

  “How is Ana?” Laurel asked.

  “Not nearly as seasick as I was, much to Dr. Jones’s disappointment. He asked if she played chess and she said no. Poker’s her game. He lost interest in her immediately, gave her some pills, and sent her to her cabin to rest.”

  Wolfe — intense as always — didn’t appear to be listening to their conversation. He was totally focused on the hatchlings, scribbling something on a clipboard. He handed the clipboard to Grace.

  “I’ve made up a temporary feeding chart. I’ll make up an official chart and make copies when I get back to my quarters. We’ll need to mark down everything we feed them to the very last gram. When they’re not eating I need all of you to write down exactly what they are doing, every five minutes.”

  “I thought that’s why we had the video camera,” Luther said. “Can’t you just review the tape?”

  Wolfe shook his head. “We need to learn everything we can about these animals, and the only way to do that is through direct observation.” He smiled. “And jotting down what you see will also keep you awake. Right now the hatchlings are curiosities. We’re all excited about them. After a couple of days of watching them 24/7, they’ll be about as interesting as chickens in a barnyard. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve spent most of my life observing animals. In no time you’ll start taking them for granted. And we aren’t saving the video on tape. It will be stored on a hard drive. When you note something unusual, we’ll be able to find the video instantly by searching the time log.” He pointed to a digital clock above the incubator. “The clock is tied into the computer. Note the exact time whenever you record an observation.”

  Grace and Laurel understood the scientific necessity of what Wolfe was saying perfectly.

  Luther and Marty glanced at each other and stifled groans. Raising dinosaur babies didn’t sound half as fun as it had five seconds earlier.

  Wolfe took a container out of a refrigerator and dumped its gooey red contents on the stainless steel counter.

  “What’s that?” Marty asked.

  “Pulverized organic chicken livers mixed with fish.”

  Wolfe pinched the red goo with a pair of forceps and put it on a digital scale, carefully removing stringy bits and pieces until the scale read exactly sixty grams, or a little over two ounces.

  “Note the time and the amount of food,” he said to Grace. “We’ll try feeding One first.”

  He dangled the slimy red hunk over the opening and both One and Two lunged violently for the morsel. One beat Two, nearly pulling the forceps out of Wolfe’s hand. The group watched in shock as the lump worked its way down One’s throat. Both hatchlings began mewing and jumping.

  “They like meat,” Wolfe said, stating the obvious.

  “Carnivores,” Grace said. “I thought sauropods were vegetarians.”

  “I guess they’re not sauropods,” Wolfe said. “I suspected as much when Rose and I were …” He looked at Grace uncomfortably.

  Grace finished the sentence for him. “Attacked.”

  “Right. When you were in the nest, did you see any bones?”

  “There could have been bones,” Marty answered. “But I didn’t notice any. We were a little distracted by the rotting Mokélé-mbembé carcass, the eggs, the vultures —”

  “And the explosion when Marty blew up the Mokélé-mbembé, the resulting fire, and Butch McCall waiting outside the entrance to the nest,” Grace interrupted.

  “I didn’t mean to blow it up,” Marty said defensively. “And the fire was minor. But you’re right about Butch. I was a little worried about him.”

  “I saw a few bones in the nest,” Laurel said. She had stayed behind at Lake Télé
to monitor the nest’s environmental conditions. The data she gathered had been transmitted to the incubator’s controls to help duplicate the conditions of the real nest. “Perhaps Mokélé-mbembé ate the animal’s meat and bones.”

  “We’ll stick with meat for now,” Wolfe said. “We can sprinkle it with calcium powder in case that’s an essential part of their diet. Their teeth are sharp, but not big enough at this point to masticate bone.”

  He handed two pairs of forceps to Luther and Grace. “Try to feed them at the exact same time at opposite ends of the incubator,” Wolfe said. “That way there’s less of a chance they’ll bite each other. Their skin looks thin. I don’t want to have to treat them for lacerations.”

  An hour later, with everyone having taken turns feeding them, the hatchlings were finally satiated. They lay down with bulging bellies and fell asleep with their long necks entwined around each other.

  Wolfe looked at the chart and did some calculations. “They each ate nearly a pound of meat. That’s incredible for their first meal. Who knows how much they’ll be eating in a couple of weeks.”

  “Or how big they’ll be,” Luther added.

  “Good point,” Wolfe said. “They could outgrow the incubator in a few days. We’ll put a floor pen in the lab, but they might outgrow that, too, before we get back to Cryptos. We may have to move them out of the lab. The question is, where? And how, without anyone seeing them?”

  “How about the cargo hold?” Marty said.

  “That might work. All we have down there are a few shipping containers. I’ll get in touch with Ted and have him come up with a design.” He looked at Laurel. “I’m going to be a little busy trying to catch a giant squid. You’ve spent more time in the nest than anyone. Do you want to head up the dinosaur nursery construction?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  “I’ll get Phil to help, along with a couple of the crew members I know we can trust. Grace and Luther can help, too, when they’re not taking care of the hatchlings.”

  “What about me?” Marty asked.

  “You’re going to be busy,” Wolfe answered.

  “Doing what?”

  “Bertha needs your help in the galley.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Marty said. “While you’re catching a giant squid, and Laurel and Phil are building dinoland, and Grace and Luther are taking care of the two rarest animals on earth, I have kitchen patrol?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Wolfe answered. “We’ve all got to do our part.”

  Marty had no problem doing his part, but he didn’t expect to have such a small part. He wasn’t happy about it.

  “I’m sorry, Marty, but Bertha needs you down there. If we don’t improve the grub, we’ll have a revolt on our hands.”

  Marty thought, It’s a miracle we don’t have one already from the revolting food. Wolfe had made a mistake putting Theo in charge of the galley, even temporarily. Al Ikes was probably a better cook than Theo.

  “Are you all right with that?” Wolfe asked.

  “Fine,” Marty answered curtly.

  “Good.” Wolfe looked at his watch. “Grace and Luther will take the next shift in here. If the hatchlings wake up and look hungry, feed them, and record the amount. Dip the meat in water before you offer it to them. We need to keep them hydrated.”

  “What about the calcium powder?” Grace asked.

  “I think we’ll skip it for the first couple of feedings. I don’t want them getting constipated. I need to examine their stools and see where we’re at before we go overboard with supplements. When they poop, scoop it up and put it in one of these specimen containers with the time and which one the stool belongs to.

  “I need to check on some things, then I’ll call Ted and get him started on the nursery design.” He looked at Laurel. “Can you track Phil down? He’s probably on the bridge swapping war stories with Cap. Fill him in on what’s going on. Maybe you and he can look around the cargo hold and figure out where to put the nursery.”

  Wolfe and Laurel walked out, with Marty trailing behind dejectedly.

  “Have fun on KP,” Luther said.

  Marty turned around before the air lock door slid closed. “Have fun scooping dinosaur doo-doo,” he said.

  * * *

  Bertha Bishop stood in the middle of the galley with her hands on her wide hips, looking like a grizzly bear wearing a tent. Standing next to her was Theo Sonborn, looking like her pugnacious cub.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” Bertha said to Marty as he walked up. “This might be the most inept group of people that I have ever seen gathered in one room.”

  “Tell me about it,” Theo said.

  Oh, please, Marty thought. Theo’s the one who’s inept … and on top of that, he’s a spy. Marty still didn’t understand why Wolfe wasn’t concerned about Theo.

  “We need to come up with a system to keep the crew fed and healthy,” Bertha continued. “Having hungry troops is a recipe for disaster. Any ideas?”

  “Yeah,” Marty said, glaring at Theo. “Actually cooking the food before feeding it to the troops would be helpful.”

  “Good idea,” Theo said, completely undisturbed by the direct insult.

  Something beeped inside Theo’s pocket and Marty was shocked to see him pull out a Gizmo.

  “How’d you get a Gizmo?”

  “The same way you did,” Theo said. “Wolfe gave it to me.”

  “Wolfe didn’t give me my Gizmo,” Marty said. “Ted Bronson did.”

  “Ted Bronson’s an idiot, then, giving a kid a Gizmo like it’s a toy.”

  “Ten Bronson is not an —”

  “Save it,” Theo said. He looked at Bertha. “Looks like I have another assignment. The galley’s all yours.”

  They watched Theo strut out through the swinging doors.

  “About ninety percent of your problem is solved,” Marty said.

  “How so?” Bertha asked.

  “Theo is gone.” He told her everything that had happened between them.

  “Theo is not a spy,” Bertha said when he finished. “He’s been on Cryptos from the start. He’s just been messing with you.”

  “That’s what Wolfe said, more or less, but I don’t believe it. There’s something not right about Theo. How did he know about the eggs?”

  “Scuttlebutt,” Bertha said. “There are virtually no secrets on an island, and even fewer on a ship. Subordinates watch their bosses very carefully. They’re like a dog watching its owner. The dog knows more about its owner than the owner knows about the dog.”

  “Well, Wolfe better start watching that dog or he’s going to get bitten in the butt.”

  Bertha laughed. “Don’t count on it. Theo Sonborn’s bark is bigger than his bite. Now, let’s whip this galley into shape.”

  * * *

  Butch McCall, ever alert, heard the cargo hold door creak open before the lights came on. He put down his third can of pork and beans, turned off his flashlight, closed the container door, and locked it from the inside before whoever was coming took their first step down the companionway.

  He’d chosen his doghouse well. It was one of the few containers with small holes cut into it. He could hear and see everything.

  When he first saw Laurel and Phil, he could hardly contain his excitement. Even if they screamed, no one would hear them this deep in the ship. Then cold, quick logic took over.

  Butch checked the Gizmo. Pros and cons fired through his brain like bullets: Unlike the others on his “to do away with” list, Phil’s and Laurel’s tracking tags were still active. This meant Al Ikes and Wolfe knew exactly where they were, and it would be the first place they’d search. It would be hard to make their deaths look like an accident in the cargo hold. Plus he’d have to kill both of them at the same time in the same place, then loosen one of the straps on one of the containers, setting it up to look like it had shifted at the exact moment they walked past it. Stranger accidents had happened at sea, but Al and Wolfe would investigate t
he deaths thoroughly. They would certainly open the other containers and discover evidence of a stowaway. Where would Butch go? Killing Laurel and Phil, then throwing them overboard, was out of the question. He would have to wait for night to haul their bodies up to the deck. They’d be missed long before then. But what if he killed them, threw their tags overboard, and got rid of their bodies at his leisure? With both tags in Butch’s hands it would look as if Laurel and Phil had gone up to the deck together. But at the moment the sea was dead calm. It would be hard for anyone to believe that two people had fallen overboard in a flat sea.

  All of this flashed through Butch’s mind in the time it took for Laurel and Phil to reach the bottom of the companionway.

  “Wolfe missed you while you were gone,” Phil said.

  “I missed him, too,” Laurel said. “And Grace and Marty.”

  “But you missed Wolfe in a different way.”

  “You’re fishing, Phil.”

  “No, I’m not. I’ve known Wolfe for more than twenty years and this is the happiest he’s been since he was with Rose.”

  “And that wouldn’t have anything to do with Grace being back in his life and two freshly hatched dinosaurs up in the lab.”

  “Of course he’s happy about that, but when he saw you step off that sailboat he lit up like a Roman candle and so did you. All I’m saying is that you and he make a good couple … a good team. Those kids need a mom in their lives.”

  “Good grief, Phil. Now I’m a wife and a mom? Let’s just concentrate on where to build this dinosaur nursery.”

  “Okay, I’ll drop the subject — for now. But you know I’m right. How big is this nursery supposed to be?”

  “I don’t know. Ted Bronson is coming up with the parameters. I guess it has to be big enough to house two juvenile dinosaurs, lab equipment, a clean room, a couple of cots…. It’s noisy down here.”

  “We can make the room soundproof. We’ll have to rearrange these containers. The calmest place will be right in the center of the hold where this container is …”