Sapiosaurus | Out Of Time

by Lon McQuillin

  McCollum shook her head. “Simple indeed,” she thought. As Touolok attached the viewer to a stand that would hold it in place for the next half hour, the human doctor prepared a needle and catheter for a lavage to drain the blood from his abdomen. With time for a more complete examination, she found a badly bruised right kneecap, which she bound with tape.

  When the organs were as completely repaired as possible, McCollum gave Northrup a shot of Novocain, and then inserted the catheter needle and began draining the blood. The viewer gave her the ability to place the needle with perfect accuracy.

  Altogether, the work on Northrup lasted more than two hours. McCollum cleaned the hand wound and set the bones. Before applying a cast, the hand also received viewer treatment that stopped the bleeding and helped create a scab. Touolok informed her that the hand would heal at least three times faster than without the treatment.

  By the time they were finished, Northrup could sit up. He’d need a cane or other support to walk for a few days, but aside from some bruises and a headache, he was in remarkably good condition. As the two doctors put away their instruments, Ruggerio came over to the table.

  “How do you feel, Eugene?”

  He hadn’t known that she’d been sitting, out of his field of vision and watching the entire time, and was momentarily flustered.

  “I think I feel better than I have any right to,” he said, somewhat sheepishly.

  “Miss Ruggiero… Sandy… Would you translate for the Sapio doctor for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Touolok.”

  At the sound of her name, she turned to Ruggiero, and then saw that Northrup was looking at her.

  “Dr. Touolok, I just wanted to thank you for saving my life. Along with Dr. McCollum,” he added, glancing at the human doctor. “After what I almost did to you, I’d have understood if you had let me die.”

  When Ruggiero had finished translating, the Sapio turned to Northrup and replied. Ruggiero translated in the other direction.

  “Your doctors, I have learned, take an oath that requires them to treat all who need help. We have a similar tradition.”

  “Well, all the same, thank you again.”

  Lightfoot came through the doorway and saw Northrup sitting on the edge of the table. He went back out and a returned shortly with Reynolds, Behling and Garlmek. The group arranged themselves in a crude semicircle around Northrup, who squirmed uncomfortably under their collective gaze. McCollum and Touolok joined them.

  “Well, Eugene,” said Reynolds, “how are you feeling?”

  Northrup dropped his eyes to the floor for a moment before looking back up to answer. “I feel fine,” he said in a meek voice. “Thanks to Dr. Touolok and Dr. McCollum.”

  “That’s good.” His sarcastic tone was accompanied by an obviously insincere smile.

  “Eugene, we’ve known for quite some time that you were here on a mission to do some sort of damage or even kill the Sapiosaurs.”

  Hummford had moved close to the Sapio couple, and was translating softly for them as Reynolds continued.

  “What we didn’t know specifically was what you had planned, nor why. Perhaps you could enlighten us?”

  Northrup lowered his head and took a moment to decide where to begin. Then he looked up directly at Garlmek and Touolok.

  “First of all, I’d like to say that I’m truly sorry for what I did. When I planted the explosives I thought I was doing the right thing, but I know now I was wrong. I hope that somehow you’ll find a way to forgive me.”

  He waited until Hummford’s translation was complete. Garlmek bowed his head, and then said something in Sapio. Hummford listened, and then turned to Northrup.

  “He said that he’s had trouble with mammals before, but never with any so cunning. He compliments you on your plan, and is grateful that you changed your mind.”

  Garlmek said something further.

  “He would like to know why you considered him and Touolok to be such a threat.”

  “As would we all,” added Mitchell.

  “Reverend Wilder. Billy Joe Wilder. He convinced me that the dinosaurs were beasts that were supposed to have perished in the flood; that their existence here was the work of the Devil.”

  Northrup went on the explain the rationale behind his mission, and described the doubts he had begun to feel. He related the telephone call from that morning, how he’d fallen asleep, and his sudden realization after he awoke that the timer was set 12 hours off.

  “So the revelation that this Wilder jerk was shtupping both his secretary and the choir member was enough to convince you that what he’d told you was wrong?” asked Ruggiero. Northrup wasn’t familiar with the word she’d used, but in context, was able to figure it out.

  “I already had doubts, but I figured that Reverend Wilder was wiser and more holy than I, so I placed my trust in him. I guess when I realized that he wasn’t any holier than I am — probably a lot less so, I suppose — that he was probably wrong about the Sapiosaurs too.”

  “Oh he’s holy alright,” said Ruggiero, “Only it’s a different kind of hole he’s interested in.”

  “Alright, Sandy,” said Reynolds.

  Hummford translated for the Sapios: “Sandy has made a ribald joke.”

  Garlmek insisted that she translate the joke, which she did. As she finished, the Sapio pair both opened their mouths and hissed. Northrup was startled.

  “Don’t worry,” said Hummford. “That’s how they laugh.”

  “So if you’d slept another ten minutes, more than half of us, including our new friends, would be decorating the walls of the infirmary,” said Mitchell.

  “I’m afraid so. In fact, if agent Lightfoot hadn’t believed me and let me go get the bomb, the result would have been the same.”

  “Why did you believe him, Dan?” asked Reynolds.

  The agent looked at Northrup as he answered. “There was something about the way he said it that convinced me he was telling the truth.”

  “Eugene,” said Mitchell, “don’t you find it rather perverse that your bomb was hidden inside a Bible?”

  “I have to admit, Dr. Mitchell, that always made me a bit uncomfortable.”

  “Well,” said Ruggiero, “religion’s always been an explosive topic.”

  The Sapios got that joke as well.

  “So what are we going to do with young Mr. Northrup?” asked Mitchell.

  Reynolds gave the erstwhile saboteur a thoughtful look. “I think we should leave that up to Garlmek and Touolok.”

  Hummford relayed the exchange to the Sapios, and after glancing at his wife, Garlmek replied.

  “We cannot read your expressions or your voices yet. But Eugene did save our lives in the end. He has expressed contrition, and I sense that it is sincere. He will provide his own punishment with no further action on our parts. Leaving him alone will provide both punishment and forgiveness.”

  The Sapio waited until Hummford’s translation was done, and then moved forward until he stood directly in front of Northrup, towering over him. He leaned down until his face was only inches from the human’s. With all the volume he could muster, and in his deepest bass, he spoke.

  “Tarrg kholtruk gheealkut awntin k’alt!”

  Northrup shrank back involuntarily. “What’d he say?”

  Ruggiero looked at Hummford and suppressed a smirk before translating.

  “And don’t do it again!”

  Chapter 29

  Rescue

  Rank Matthews was on his way back from checking the progress down the newest tunnel and entered the main cavern just in time to see Fred Taylor start up the stairway. The obvious urgency in Taylor’s motion worried him — he realized something must be wrong, and decided to follow him.

  With his bad knee, his speed up the stairway was slower than Taylor’s, and he had just reached the top of the stairway when the bomb went off. The shock wave, while diminished by distance and the 120-degree
turn at the corner, was enough to knock him off his feet.

  When he managed to stand, only the two nearest work lights that ran down the tunnel were still on. A thin mist of water vapor was moving toward him as he took out his flashlight and started down the tunnel.

  As he rounded the corner, he found that only about the first fifteen feet were clear; beyond that the ice above had caved in and completely blocked the tunnel. As he neared the base of the pile of ice, he shined his light around, looking for any clues that might indicate what had happened. He quickly wished he hadn’t, for what he saw were bits of flesh and blood strewn here and there. Whatever had caused the explosion, Fred Taylor had obviously been near the spot.

  He turned back, and made his way back down the stairway. Various members of the crew who’d been downtown when the explosion occurred were coming up the stairs, and he waved them back. He crossed to the communications station near the elevator and put on a headset.

  “Hello, Hal, Steph, can anybody in the Penthouse hear me?”

  There was no reply. He’d figured that communications had been severed, but checked on the off chance that they were still connected.

  “Rank, it’s Bob Fletch. What’s going on down there?” Fletch was in the main office.

  “Something exploded near the entrance to the Penthouse. Fred Taylor’s dead, and the tunnel’s caved in. There’s no way to get through to the Penthouse.”

  “Did you say Fred’s dead?”

  “Yeah, blown to bits. I’m guessing he was at ground zero when whatever exploded went up.”

  “He just chased after Eugene Northrup a few minutes ago.”

  “Northrup? He’s not supposed to be down here.” Reynolds had confided in Matthews some of the suspicions about the religious student. “That puts a different slant on it. I was thinking it was some kind of accident, but now I’m guessing it was a bomb.”

  “A bomb? What do you mean?”

  “It’s a long story. Look, I’m coming up. Can you start rounding up the team? We need to have a meeting.” Fletch agreed, and they hung up.

  Matthews asked one of the grad students to go out to the tunnel crew and bring everyone up to the main office, and then he and as many of the crew that had gathered as would fit in the elevator headed for the surface.

  Fifteen minutes later, with the entire team gathered in the office, Matthews called for quiet.

  “OK, folks, here’s the situation. There’s been an explosion at the entrance to the Penthouse or in the tunnel leading to it. At least that’s what it looks like. It’s possible that the explosion originated inside the Penthouse, but I don’t think so.

  “It’s also pretty certain that Fred Taylor’s dead.”

  This caused a stir among the group. Taylor had initially taken Lightfoot’s place as the designated government bogie, but it hadn’t taken him long to become an accepted and well-liked member of the crew. Matthews let the reaction run its course before continuing.

  “The tunnel along the entrance wall has completely caved in, and the com lines have been cut. We have no idea whether anybody inside is still alive. We’re gonna have to tunnel through again.”

  He turned to Fletch. “Bob, do you know who was inside the Penthouse today?”

  “Yeah, it was Steph, Hal, Deirdre, Flo, Sandy, Dan… and Dick.” It took him a second to remember who had been the seventh team member.

  “Plus Eugene Northrup,” added Matthews, “who evidently went down without authorization just before the explosion. Folks, it appears there’s a strong possibility that our friend Northrup may have been the cause of the explosion. He may have had a bomb.”

  “A bomb?” asked several people simultaneously.

  “Why would Eugene have a bomb?” asked Barry Hanrahan.

  “Well, supposedly, he was here representing Holy Spirit University, to make sure the religious folk got a chance to observe what was happening. From what I’ve been told, it turns out he’s really here representing some screwball television preacher named Wilder.”

  “Billy Joe Wilder,” offered Dewey Manley.

  “Anyway, Dan and Fred were keeping track of his movements to guard against just this sort of thing. It looks like he managed to get past them after all.”

  “But why would they want to destroy the Penthouse?” asked Hanrahan.

  “Not so much the Penthouse as the Sapios. They’re convinced the Sapios are beasts of the Devil, or some such happy horseshit. But look, why it happened doesn’t matter right now. What we need to do is get through that tunnel and see if anyone’s still alive down there.” He turned to Dave Howard, his assistant. “Dave, the regular rig’s not gonna be much good up there now. The ice is already in chunks. What we need to do is get the chute reassembled on the stairs, and then get a lot of hands with picks, shovels and carts to dig through.”

  He looked out at the 16 faces in the room. “Anybody not want to volunteer?”

  He waited through a moment or two of silence. “I thought not.

  “OK, we’ll need someone here in the office at all times. Bob, I’d appreciate it if you’d get in touch with Royce Clayton at Berkeley and let him know what’s going on. See if he can pass the word along to Dan’s people at the NSA. They’ll take care of the Navy.”

  Fletch nodded. Without planning it, and without any objections from the others, Matthews had taken charge of the rescue effort.

  “That leaves about 15 or 16 of us for the digging team. Let’s set up two shifts — 12 hours on, twelve hours off, ‘round the clock. I’ll take down the first team.” He held up his arm, pointing through the middle of the group. “Everyone on this side comes with me, plus you, Dave,” he said, indicating the left side. “We’ll work until midnight, and then we switch. We’ll take food and drinks down with us, and some guys from the next shift can bring down more this evening. The off shift will feed the on shift after they’ve slept.

  “Any questions?” There were none.

  “Let’s go!”

  The first team included Arnold Greissman, Barry Hanrahan and the news correspondents. Manley and the CNN pair had the good sense not to ask for time to file reports before starting work. The crew gathered up their parkas and followed Matthews to the elevator. As they walked, he started laying out his plans. “The first thing we need to do is get lights back on in upper the tunnel. Let’s borrow some from the tunnel to the Outhouse. Barry, why don’t you and Jack work on that. Then, Dave, let’s you and I get the chute set up on the stairs. Once it’s up, we can use ropes to pull up two of the carts like we did originally.”

  He continued to lay out plans as the first group descended in the elevator. When the stragglers had joined them at the bottom, he stopped for a moment before dispersing the crew to their respective tasks.

  “Guys, I didn’t say anything about it, but everyone’s gonna find out before long.” He paused. “There’s bits and pieces of Fred up there in the tunnel, and we’re likely to find more of him as we dig out the ice. I want every bit of remains that’s found placed in a container.” One by one, he looked at each of the crew’s faces, most of which appeared ashen.

  “Fred’s gonna get a decent burial.”

  •

  Royce Clayton was almost out the door when the phone rang. Joyce, his assistant, had left hours earlier, but he’d stayed late to catch up on paperwork. He’d also been hoping to hear from Reynolds, which is why he decided to answer the phone instead of letting voice mail get it.

  “Clayton,” he said.

  “Royce, it’s Bob Fletch.”

  “Bob! How are you? I assume you’re still on site?”

  “Yeah, I’m still here… Royce, we’ve got a problem.” Clayton remained silent.

  “There’s been an explosion. One man is dead that we know of — the Navy Commander, Fred Taylor.”

  “Where did this explosion happen?”

  “At the entrance to the Penthouse. Hal, Steph, Deirdre and at least four others were inside at the time, along with the Sapiosaurs. Ou
r communications are cut off, and we have no idea what their situation is, or whether they’re even still alive.”

  “I see,” was all Clayton could manage.

  “The tunnel caved in, but we’ve already started digging through to the entrance. If anyone’s alive in there, we’ll get them out.”

  “I see.” Again, it was all Clayton could muster.

  “Royce, we thought you should let the NSA know. Dan Lightfoot’s also down there, and I figured they could pass the word on to the Navy about Commander Taylor.”

  “Yes… Yes, of course.” He was stunned, but finally forced himself to shake it off as best he could. “Bob, what caused the explosion?”

  “We think it might have been a bomb carried down by the student from HSU, Eugene Northrup.”

  Clayton felt his stomach tighten. Joyce had been right: allowing Billy Joe Wilder to place a representative on site had been a mistake after all. A fatal mistake, as it turned out.

  “Bob, is there anything I can do?”

  “Other than letting the authorities know what’s going on, nothing right now. I’ll make sure you’re kept posted.”

  “How long will it take to get back into the Penthouse?”

  “No idea. If I had to guess, I’d say a couple of days, at least. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

  “Let me give you my home number.” He recited the number for Fletch. “Bob, you call me anytime, day or night, when you know something?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Alright. I’ll call the NSA right now.”

  The two men signed off, and Clayton went back into his office, where he looked up the number Gordon Winston had given him. The NSA operator listened to his explanation and immediately patched the call through to Winston’s home.

  Clayton relayed the information to Winston, who in turn called Larry Chapin, who placed a call to Sara Henderson, who finally called Carl Dellinger.

  “It wasn’t a nuclear explosion, was it?” asked the President.

  “No sir, I don’t think so. I believe it was conventional explosives.”

  “But our Navy Commander’s definitely dead?”