Rude Astronauts

by Allen Steele

  “Looks like a little bit of both,” Andy surmised.

  “Did we get that?” Cooper asked Jack. The researcher, his eyes fixed on the viewfinder, gave him the OK sign with his thumb and forefinger. “Well, Freddie, first blood goes to you again,” Cooper added softly. He sounded like a dog owner proudly watching his golden retriever bring down a rabbit. Denny looked around at Tiffany to say something, but the naturalist had turned around and was looking in the other direction, away from the killing ground.

  Steinberg looked back just in time to see Freddie take down the cow. He almost wished he hadn’t …

  As it reached the fleeing cow, Freddie suddenly leaped into the air, vaulting the last few yards with its hindlegs stretched forward. The cow bellowed as Freddie’s sharp, curved talons ripped into the soft hide along its belly and ribs; hot red blood jetted from its side as the disemboweled animal, its stomach muscles sliced open, toppled to the ground. Its death scream, hoarse and terrified, was cut short as Freddie’s jaw closed around its neck and wrenched upwards to rip the cow’s head from its neck. In a swift movement, the dinosaur hurled the head aside, an unwanted bloody morsel which landed near the base of the platform.

  “Oh! It’s a dunk shot for Fred!” Andy yelled.

  “Sign the kid up for the Lakers,” Jack replied, shaking his head. “Damn.”

  “Oh, my God,” Chambliss whispered. He had been watching everything through his field glasses; the binoculars fell from his hand and dangled against his chest. The senator was pale; his hand was covering his mouth. Steinberg himself forced down the urge to puke. Like Nixon, he looked away. Gerhardt continued to watch, but even he seemed to be fighting down revulsion.

  Cooper seemed unmoved. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, that’s a wrap,” he said. As Jason and Michael moved in to wait their turns at the carcass, the researchers began unloading cartridges and discs from the recorders, jotting down notes on their pads, talking quietly among themselves. Steinberg watched Jack pull his wallet from his back pocket and hand a dollar bill to Andy; some sort of continuing wager was being settled for the day. Denny was sure that they had seen this kind of butchery dozens of times in the past several months, yet he doubted that he himself could ever get used to it.

  The project leader turned to Pete Chambliss. “Well, Senator, now you’ve gotten a taste of what we do out here,” he said, once more assuming the aloof demeanor of a professional scientist. “Any questions?”

  “No … no, not right now,” Chambliss said quietly. The senator seemed to be recovering his poise, but Steinberg had never seen his boss more at a loss for words. Chambliss glanced over his shoulder at Steinberg and Gerhardt. “I think we’ll be wanting to return to the base camp now, if you don’t mind,” he added stiffly. “We need to get ready for our trip tomorrow.”

  Cooper nodded. “Certainly. Tiffany will escort you back. I’ll be seeing you around suppertime, all right?”

  The three of them nodded their heads. Tiffany, still not looking at the grisly scene in the prairie, stepped past them to lead the way to the boardwalk steps. Denny fell into step behind Chambliss and Gerhardt—then stopped, feeling an eerie prickly sensation at his neck, as if someone were watching him.

  He gazed back at the researchers. All were busy packing their gear, talking to each other, making notes. But beyond them, on the blood-drenched killing ground a hundred yards away at the edge of the safety zone, one of the dinosaurs was watching them leave. Jason’s opaque black eyes were focused on the platform.

  Denny took another few steps towards the stairway. Jason’s huge head shifted to follow his progress. All at once, Steinberg realized that the deinonychus was watching him …

  Watching him. Wondering how his blood tasted.

  2. Off to See the Lizard

  It was light that awoke him this time, a bright shaft of sunlight which hit his eyes as the passenger door of the Osprey was opened. When he awoke this time, he was lying on a stretcher which rested on the floor between the passenger seats. Someone—an older man with a balding forehead and wire-rim glasses—was holding his head steady between his hands, murmuring for him not to move, that he was suffering from a concussion. But he did move his head, just a little, and when he did he saw Tiffany being helped into the aircraft.

  She was muddy and soaked; below her shorts her legs were torn with cuts, and her hair was matted with dirt. She looked at him with astonishment as she was guided into a seat just in front of him. “Denny,” she breathed. “You got out … thank God, you got out of there …”

  He wanted to say something of the same kind, but instead his eyes drifted from her face to her waist. She was still wearing a gronker on her belt, a yellow plastic box just like his own …

  His right hand moved, almost involuntarily, to his own belt, and there it was, the inhibitor which should have protected him, yet didn’t. A vague memory stirred in his mind; he bent his neck a little to look down at the unit clasped within his hand. The red status light was still on. He wasn’t looking for that. Something on the edge of his memory …

  He turned the little box over in his hand. There, on the side of the case: a strip of white tape, marked with a name: NIXON.

  “Don’t move your head,” the man sitting above him said soothingly. “Just take it easy. We’ll get you back in a few minutes.”

  Someone shut the passenger door and told the police to take it up again. The Osprey’s engines picked up speed; there was a weightless bobbing sensation as the VTOL began to ascend. He laid his head back down, feeling the darkness beginning to come once again—but an unformed thought nagged at him through the fog and the pain. His eyes wandered to Tiffany Nixon.

  Someone else was peering at the cuts on her legs, but he could see over his shoulder the gronker on her belt. “Here, move a little to your left,” she was told. She put her weight on her left thigh and moved so that a deep cut above her knee could be examined, and when she did, Denny saw the white strip of tape on her unit.

  STEINBERG. Isn’t that weird? She’s got my gronker. I’ve got hers. STEINBERG … NIXON … STEINBERG … NIXON …

  “Don’t worry,” he croaked. “They all work the same.”

  Tiffany looked down at him then. Her eyes moved first to his gronker, then to her own. Their eyes met and in that briefest of instants just before he passed out again, he realized what had happened down there. …

  From the testimony of Marie Weir; President, WTE Cybernetics Corp.:

  SEN. ANTHONY HOFFMANN, D-CA: As you’re aware, the Commission would like to know of the details of the reflex inhibitors WTE designed for the project … that is, the so-called gronkers …

  WEIR: Yes, Senator, I understand the importance of this Commission knowing these things. But on advice of our legal counsel, however, I need to inform you that this is proprietary information which, if made public, could be of great benefit to our competitors, so WTE’s stance is that we’re reluctant to divulge the …

  KAPLAN: Ms. Weir, I appreciate your reluctance, but you have to remember that you’re under federal subpoena to testify to this Commission. Failure to relinquish information which the Commission deems as useful for its investigation could be punishable by you and your company being cited for contempt.

  WEIR: My attorney informs me that we can give you general information about our product in this hearing and divulge further information in executive session. I believe this is a fair compromise.

  KAPLAN: The chair recognizes Senator Hoffmann.

  SEN. HOFFMANN: Ma’am, the only compromise I’m interested in hearing about is whether the inhibitors you built could have compromised the lives of my late colleague and his party. If we have to put you under arrest to get that information, I’ll gladly second the motion.

  WEIR: Senator, I resent what you’re implying. The inhibitors we built for the project were designed according to the University of Colorado research team’s own specifications, no more and no less. They were subjected to rigorous field-testing before they were
put into actual use, and once they were in operation we monitored their progress. Up until the incident of question, no failures were reported of our equipment. Not one. If you’re searching for a smoking gun, I suggest you look elsewhere.

  SEN. HOFFMANN: I’ve studied the report which WTE submitted to the Committee and on the face of it, at least, I have to agree. Under normal circumstances the inhibitors did perform according to the desired standard. I have no wish to start a fight with you on this point. The main question which I have, if your attorney doesn’t mind, is whether the gronkers could have been tampered with in such a way to cause their failure.

  WEIR: My attorney advises me …

  SEN. HOFFMANN: The heck with your attorney, Ms. Weir. Just answer a simple damn question for me. Could the inhibitors have been sabotaged in advance? Yes or no?

  WEIR: Yes. It’s feasible that tampering could have occurred. The inhibitors can be opened with a set of precision screwdrivers.

  SEN. HOFFMANN: Fine. I’m glad we’re making progress here. Your attorney seems to be fidgeting, Ms. Weir. If he needs to visit the men’s room, I think you can let him go now. I believe we can get some straight answers without his advice …

  There had been three of them: a small pack although maybe much larger once, since the others had been killed by larger predators or simply died from disease or old age. They had been hunting together in a deep valley in a place which, one day, would be known almost mythically as Asiamerica. It was twilight when the rainstorm had begun, but they were still hungry and there was still plenty of prey to be caught before the light vanished from the world. Perhaps they were in pursuit of a larger dinosaur like a lumbering tenontosaurus. Perhaps they had simply become lost on the way back to their den.

  Whatever the reason, they had been caught unaware by the flash flood which had suddenly ripped down the valley. The rushing wall of water was on them before they could escape; the walls of the valley were too steep for them to climb, the current too fast for them to swim. Howling their anger at the dark sky, they were torn by branches and battered by stones. In their dying panic, they had clawed and bitten at each other. Finally, one by one, their heads went under the surface for the last time. Their lungs filled with cold water, the fire perished from their eyes, and they died.

  Died, and were reborn almost seventy million years later, recalled to life in a sterile white lab by the descendents of the little rodent-like creatures they had once hunted …

  Pete Chambliss’s chair scooted back from the folding table where he had been working, interrupting Denny’s reverie. He looked up as the senator picked up his empty beer can. “I’m going in for another one,” Chambliss said. “Ready for another round?”

  “Umm … no thanks, Pete. Still working on this one.” He nodded toward the laptop computer on the folding table. “Did you remember to save?”

  Chambliss glanced back at his temporary desk, made a self-disgusted grunt, and stepped back across the porch to type a command on the Toshiba’s keyboard. Chambliss took the minicomputer with him on all his trips—tonight he was working on a speech for a National Press Club luncheon next week—but he was forever forgetting to save files in memory when he was working on computers. It was one of the little jobs of his aides to foresee this absentminded quirk. “Thanks,” Chambliss said.

  He walked across the porch and opened the screen door, then quickly stepped aside as Gerhardt came out. “’Scuse me,” the senator said as the two men sidestepped each other, then Gerhardt let the door slam shut behind Chambliss. Steinberg fixed his eyes on the darkness beyond the porch as he listened to Gerhardt walk onto the porch, pause, then slowly walk behind him. He heard the rocking chair beside him creak as the Secret Service man settled into it. Then, suddenly, a cold can of Budweiser was dropped in his lap.

  Gerhardt laughed as Steinberg started, then popped the top on his own can. “Might as well enjoy yourself,” he said. “Tomorrow night we’re down to noodles and instant coffee.” He took a long tug from his beer and indulged in a resonant belch. “God, I just love the great outdoors,” he added sourly, propping his feet up on the rail.

  Steinberg picked the can out of his lap and set it down on the floor next to his warm, half-empty beer. “I thought you guys were trained to endure hardship.”

  “Yeah,” Gerhardt replied indifferently. “But I spent two years in the Marines lugging a gun across Central America. Every night down there I sacked out in some rainstorm promising myself that, if I survived this shit, the nearest I would get to wilderness would be mowing the back yard on Sunday.” He toasted the night with his beer. “And so what do I do? I join the Secret Service so I can escort some senator on a canoe trip through the Okefenokee. Same job, different swamp. Talk about justice, huh?”

  “Maybe you should have been a lawn mower salesman.”

  “Maybe.” Gerhardt took another long sip from his beer. “What’s your problem, kid? Still upset because I made you carry the luggage this afternoon?”

  “No.” He took a deep breath. “I’m just upset because I’m stuck for a weekend with a raving asshole like you.”

  Gerhardt sighed and shook his head. “Jeez. Try to be nice, and look where it gets you.” He looked straight at Steinberg. “Well, if it’s any consolation,” he said in a lowered voice, “I’d rather be somewhere else than with a brown-nosing little yuppie. I’m here because it’s my work and you’re here because you want to score points with the boss. Okay?”

  Steinberg said nothing, but he felt his face grow hot. Like it or not, Gerhardt had scored a bull’s-eye with that remark. He was saved from having to formulate a weak comeback by the screen door opening again and Chambliss swaggering out onto the porch. He held a beer in his right hand and his backpack was slung over his left shoulder. Just behind him was Tiffany Nixon, also carrying a backpack. “Let’s go load the canoes, boys,” the senator said heartily. “If we do that now, we can shove off a little earlier in the morning.”

  “Sounds like a right idea.” Gerhardt drained his beer, crushed the empty can in his fist, and dropped his feet to the floor. Chambliss tromped across the porch and hopped down the steps. Tiffany threw Denny a quick smile as he stood up to follow, then Gerhardt grabbed his bicep and tugged him toward the stairs. “What’s the matter, kid?” he murmured. “’Fraid you might get mud on those expensive designer boots of yours?”

  “Fuck off.” Steinberg twisted his arm out of Gerhardt’s hand, then walked in front of him. Now more than ever, he wished he hadn’t volunteered for Pete’s spring vacation trip. But then he glanced at Tiffany Nixon’s backside as she walked alongside the senator down to the dock and reconsidered. Maybe a little sweet seduction in the swamp would make it all worthwhile. After all, somebody had to share a tent with her tomorrow night, and since Gerhardt himself admitted that he had a job to do …

  From far away, somewhere out in the moonless dark of the Okefenokee, there came a sound: a grruuuunngg from a reptilian throat older than time. Denny stopped on the porch steps as it faintly echoed across the wetlands, feeling an unseasonal chill. On the other hand, he thought, tomorrow night I may want to be sleeping with Gerhardt’s MAC-10 instead.

  From the testimony of Harlan Lloyd Castle; superintendent, Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge:

  KAPLAN: Mr. Castle, can you tell us a little about the permanent staff of the wildlife refuge? That is, who works there and what do they do?

  CASTLE: Well, sir, since the refuge was turned over to the University of Colorado team for their research, the staff was necessarily reduced in number, since we didn’t have to maintain the campgrounds and visitors’ center and so forth. In fact, we had to let go of most of our resident staff to make way for the team, so …

  KAPLAN: Pardon me, sir. Your resident staff? What do you mean by that?

  CASTLE: Those employees who stayed in the refuge on a full-time basis … the ones who lived there year-round. I was able to keep my own residence, of course, and our naturalist Ms. Nixon was able to keep her
cabin, but our two full-time rangers and the chief groundskeeper were let go. Fortunately the Interior Department found them other positions within the national park system.

  KAPLAN: So there was only Ms. Nixon and yourself living in the park besides the university team. Then who did the maintenance work? Mopping the floors, scrubbing the toilets, cooking for the research staff and so forth?

  CASTLE: Well, the science team was responsible for its own cooking. When the changeover occurred, I told Mr. Yamato (NOTE: Benjamin Yamato, Secretary of the Interior) that I would be happy to have them in the refuge, but I’d be darned if I’d supply them with a concierge. (Laughter.) Was that funny? Well at any rate, as for the day-to-day maintenance work, we had a number of part-time people who came in each day to do the groundskeeping and cleaning duties. And before you ask, they were brought in each day on the same aircraft which transported the … ah, livestock for the dinosaur herd.

  KAPLAN: I see. And these part-timers … were they official employees of the refuge?

  CASTLE: If you mean to ask if they were on the payroll, yes, but I wouldn’t characterize them as civil service employees. Since it was rather menial work and part-time at that, we hired whoever we could find in the area who was willing to come in for four hours a day. Typically, we had high school kids, housecleaning staff from nearby motels, locals who wanted to moonlight for a few extra dollars a week … that sort of thing. Again, since we were no longer open to the public, we didn’t need to have folks who had passed civil service examinations … just people who knew how to handle a broom or a toilet brush and who didn’t get airsick when they flew in.

  KAPLAN: I see. And was there much turnover for these jobs?

  CASTLE: Typically, yes, sir, there was. People quit on us all the time. It was dirty work and it didn’t pay all that well … in fact the Burger King in Folkston paid better wages than we did … so we hired who we could get. That’s why it wasn’t civil service work. There was so much paperwork involved with getting civil service employees that we managed to get an exemption from the Interior Department for these positions.