One of the last crops planted was a genetically engineered cotton crop. They almost missed the window, narrowly getting the crop in before it rained.
Mitch was heading to his office a few days later when he heard a skittering in the tunnel ahead. A grey lizard came running around the corner, high stepping it on its hind legs with its tail straight up in the air like a flag pole. It flew by him without a look, running for its wretched little life.
A sound at the corner made him look up; a pair of cats skittered into a spin rounding the corner, and righted themselves before they then took off after the lizard. He chuckled, then flattened himself against the wall as a pack of kids come barreling around the corner in hot pursuit as well. “Carry on,” he chuckled, giving the departing brats a jaunty salute.
Chapter 7
In late spring, just after the last sheep dropped her kid, they sheered the sheep, goats, and alpaca. Brian was concerned about hurting them, but Janet, having grown up on a farm explained it was okay. “They will grow back their coats pretty quick. If we are lucky we might get another sheering out of them before we have to leave them for winter,” she explained. Brian nodded while he wiped sweat from his brow. “Besides,” Janet smiled, “Wait till we have to castrate the pigs, cows, and horses.”
“Castrate?!” Brian looked up in alarm and then to Mitch who nodded.
“Yeah, male animals are only good for some jobs, or breeding more animals,” Mitch agreed gruffly.
“Like some male humans,” Janet cracked softly. He ignored her. That joke was in poor taste considering what the Amazons had just gone through.
“See, if we don’t geld that’s the gentle term for castration by the way, if we don’t geld males we do not want for breeding, they can re-enter the gene pool and cause problems,” Mitch explained patiently. Brian cocked his head in thought. “It also fattens them up,” Mitch added. He gave her a look. “When they are no longer looking to reproduce their bodies put on weight. We use that to fatten them up for later slaughter.” Brian nodded in understanding, still mute though.
“We also geld to make them more controllable, like stallions or bulls into oxen or steers,” Janet teased, shooting a look to Mitch.
“They are a lot more docile after getting gelded,” Mitch agreed between sheering strokes.
“I would be too,” Brian muttered.
Janet wrinkled her nose at him. “Yeah, you lucked out that the bitch hadn’t gotten that far.”
Brian whitened for a moment; his knuckles turn white as he clenched the railing. Slowly he loosened up. “Yeah,” he said darkly. “Yeah she would have,” Brian growled.
Mitch pushed a bahing yew down nearby. “Hey you two, let’s get this done. Lot more to do today, instead a sitting there jawing, let’s get this over with,” he said gruffly. Brian jumped to obey.
Over the next several months he and his new group got to know each other as they rushed into the spring farming chores and finished setting up the base. The cave had expanded explosively, filling out into a castle. Openings were covered over (except for screened vents, doors, or windows) the two openings in the roof were covered with two of the geodesic domes. One had a pie shaped area left over for an elevator shaft. They covered it with tarps.
He found a small salt deposit directly south along the same chain of mountains his base was nestled against. The deposit was on the other side of a forest and river, so a bit of a drive, but the samples he and Vance had gathered proved it was perfect for their growing manufacturing and farming needs.
The kids had settled in with only a few minor behavior issues. They were good kids, cowed a bit by what had happened. A few still had nightmares, a couple missed their parents, but the women were doing a good job taking care of them.
The hummer crested the low hill and parked under a tree. Off in the distance below the herds were taking turned at the watering hole. Brian watched, looking out over the herds of struthiomimus, protoceratops, and hadrosaurs. “They seemed to be nesting.” he commented, taking a look through the glasses. “Yeah, that’s what it looks like. A struthiomimus is getting up it has a mound of eggs under it.”
Janet was in the back seat. “Damn, those would make one heck of an omelet.”
Mitch snorted. “I doubt it, they are probably all fertilized.”
Janet sighed. “Still, it would be one heck of a meal.”
Brian smiled. “So which ones are we going to go for?”
Mitch looked over the herd. “The solitary males if possible. We’ll hit the single bar.” He looked through his glasses.
“How can you tell which is which?” Brian asked, looking down at the laptop in his lap.
Mitch took his glasses down and pointed. “The short ones with the green and brown are the females. The males are the dark ones with the racing stripes and cockatoo headdress and peacock tails,” he explained patiently. Brian looked.
Janet cleared her throat. “How can you tell?”
“Well, females in nature are normally the primary care givers. The males are the defenders and providers,” Mitch explained as he pointed. “See how that male is chasing off a scavenger?”
She looked, and then brought up her glasses. “Yeah. I see them. It is pecking at it with its beak.”
Mitch nodded. “The female’s color scheme is designed to blend into the bush to hide it from predators.”
Janet gave a grunt of acknowledgment of that point. “Yeah, well, the male can afford to leave the nest because the female is there. Look over there,” Mitch continued on further. He pointed to the left. “You see what that male is doing?”
She looked in the indicated direction. “Yeah, he is bringing the female grasses and plants.”
Brian looked as well. “Yeah, okay, so he is feeding her so she doesn’t have to move off the nest and expose it to the egg thieves,” Mitch said as the lad nodded.
“Yeah.” Brian looked down at the laptop. “They don’t look like the pictures from Earth though.”
Janet snorted. “Remember, all they had were fossils and some skin to go by.”
Brian nodded. “Yeah, but these have beaks like birds, and shorter stubbier tails then the picture. They look almost like emus or those cassowary birds,” he said as another member of their hunting party jostled him to get a better look. Pete looked excitedly through his glasses.
“I count... ten, no twenty males off to the left resting under the tree. Can you pick them off?” He was excited and itching to try his hand with the rifle.
“Maybe, but once we kill one the others will stampede,” Mitch replied, studying the group.
Pete groaned a little. “But they are laying down under the tree, we get maybe two or three right?” he asked hopefully. Mitch made a grunting affirmative, studying the image.
They had a trailer hitched to the back of the hummer, and a CAT robot on it. Pete was looking forward to making his first kill, but not thrilled about having to gut it. Janet had insisted, ramming through that little provision to dampen the fun of it. He sighed impatiently. Mitch studied the herd.
The protoceratops were nesting in their own circle, near one edge. Males were sparing with each other, much like Terran bulls or rams did. They were butting heads, making loud honking calls, and threat displays. It looked weird, like feathery four legged chickens with crests.
The struthiomimus therapods were almost emu or ostrich in design. Or vise versa he thought wryly. The front wings were still arms with claws though.
“Hey I thought they were herbivores!” Janet exclaimed in surprise, zooming into the water. Hastily the human males checked out what she was looking at. “Down by the edge of the water, closer to us,” she directed the others as they looked around for what she had seen. It took a minute; the struthiomimus was bent over doing something. When he came up Mitch realized he had a fish in his mouth.
Mitch grunted. “It looks like they might be omnivores. A lot can change in sixty five million years.”
“Huh,” Pete grunted. They wa
tched another male struthiomimus splashing in the water with his front legs and beaked head. He came up empty, dripping water. He shook the wet out, and then fluffed his feathers. The first ducked past a couple thieves and then raced to its mate and nest.
They watched as it carefully fed the fish to the female. “Huh. Good parenting and partnership skills,” Janet commented.
“Yeah, that is why I don’t mind bumping off some of the bachelors,” Mitch commented.
“Oh. Good point,” she replied.
The hadrosaurs were giving the occasional trumpeting cry. Their head crests were flushed with color. Only part of it and the muzzle was visible, much of the head was covered in feathery down or primitive feathers. A few sported some outrageous plumage. The more numerous ones have a more dappled pattern, tans with spots of white like a Terran fawn.
“So we are going for the struthiomimus bachelors?” Pete asked, anxious.
“Yes, and if possible one or two of the protoceratops. I think that will be it for the day though,” Mitch replied. Pete nodded. Softly Mitch ordered the CAT out, and nearby to keep an eye on the perimeter. He opened the roof hatch, Janet handed him the rifle.
The wind was coming from the South East, so they were upwind of the herd. He sighted the bachelors, finding them three hundred twenty meters away. He picked out five. It would nice to get all of them, but he knew once the first went down, it would be a mad scramble. He waited for the wind to stop for a moment, and then sighed. A twitch on the trigger was all it took.
The loud bark of the rifle had the Hadrosaurs honking in distress and looking around. Mitch tuned it all out and focused on the targets.
The first twitched, and then its head dropped. Other heads began to look up in alarm. Quickly he lined up on the second; put a bullet in behind the right elbow. He switched to the third. It was getting up; he had a momentary flash of movement. He took the shot; it hit the left leg making the animal stagger, then fall.
It bawled in the dust, kicking its good leg and thrashing around. Alarmed the others started to get up, trying to get away from the invisible killer in their midst. The fourth target ducked behind a tree, but another followed it a little too slow, he picked it off hitting it just under the forearm. He twisted back to the others, but they were off and scattering in a flurry of grass and plumage. The third was still thrashing though. A single bullet put it down for good though. “Good shooting,” Pete commented.
Mitch looked up from the scope, watched as the other animals were panicking. The females looked up once, and then ducked down, covering the eggs. The mated males were dancing about, they moved away from the bachelor area in alarm. Hadrosaurs that had been drinking further down were stampeding into the water and then they turned and rushed out and further south away from the scent of blood.
“It looks like the fighting has stopped with the protoceratops,” Janet observed. She passed up his binoculars. Mitch clicked the safety on the rifle, then gently set it down and took the glasses as he pulled one ear plug out. He looked through the lenses, noting that the protoceratops were instinctively facing the kill area, tails together, fanning out into a circular formation. He checked to make sure the cameras built into each set of the binoculars were recording, they were.
“Pete,” he called down softly.
“Yeah?” Pete asked hopefully.
“Come up here,” Mitch ordered quietly. He could feel the hummer moving a little, and then Pete jostled him a bit as he pulled his head and torso through the hatch. Mitch took another look at the protoceratops, and then handed the rifle to Pete. Pete followed his training, checking the safety, clip and bolt.
“Go for the wounded male, off to the right and away from the others,” Mitch instructed.
Pete took a look through the scope. “Why that one? Why not a healthy one?” he asked.
“Because, that one just lost the fight, and has been culled by the herd. We can just make it official,” Mitch explained. It was predator logic; go for the sick, weak, and old. Pete sighed and lines up the sights. His first shot went in low and to the left.
The animal started, bawling in fright at the sound and sudden explosion of rocks near it. It started to limp away, and then tried to turn for the safety of the herd. That was another reason Mitch had pointed it out as the target, it couldn't get away very fast. “Higher. Remember to adjust for the wind and the movement of the animal,” Mitch instructed softly. Pete moved the barrel up slightly, and then tracked the protoceratops. When it exposed its chest with a bawling call he sighed and squeezed the trigger. The bark and recoil made him wince. The protoceratops on the other end dropped.
Mitch patted the lad's shoulder. “Good shooting. Can you see the other wounded one? Heading behind the herd?”
Pete tried to get a sighting, but failed. “I can’t it is behind a rock.”
“Okay, how about the one left of it?” Mitch asked.
Pete checked. “I can see its head and tail; do you want me to try a head shot?” Pete asked eager.
“No, remember what I said, wait,” Mitch instructed patiently. The targeted animal tossed its head back and forth, and then mooed. Another came at it from behind. It turned and a brawl ensued.
Pete waited until he could get a clear shot, and then squeezed the trigger. The protoceratops dropped.
“Good shooting kid, I think that should be it for today,” Mitch said, patting the lad's arm in approval.
Pete nodded, massaging his shoulder. “Dang that hurt!” he said with some feeling. Mitch smiled in sympathy.
“I told you it would. Guns have a kick called recoil. Physics one oh one. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.” He ducked down, squeezing past Pete. Pete handed down the rifle to Janet who racked it carefully.
Mitch looked over his shoulder to Pete, who was still standing in the opening. He snorted, and then drove the car down to the kills. The surviving animals moved out of the way warily. Mitch ordered the robot between them and the animals. He arched the truck and trailer near the tree, and then checked the downed animals carefully for signs of life. When he was sure they were dead he called the others out.
Janet stretched, warily watching their baleful audience. She bent to examine the nearest Struthiomimus. She ran her hands through the feathers on the Struthiomimus, avoiding the blood soaked areas. “The front has down like a goose or waterfowl. The rest of the body was covered in feathers, including primitive flight feathers.” She observed, pulling the feathers up off the forearms to flare them out.
“Do you mind if we get this show on the road and examine them later Janet?” Mitch asked, warily watching the dancing grass.
She looked up. “Hmm?”
He pointed his chin to the grass beyond. “I think we are going to have uninvited guests soon.” he said warily. She nodded.
“Quickly now folks, the predators will be on the scent soon.” Mitch urged them to work. Brian nodded, needing no further invitation. He got to work with practiced ease, cutting the head off, and then cutting into the abdomen and pulling out the entrails. Janet wrinkled her nose but helped wrestle the first carcass onto the trailer. The second was easier, but the third had its broken leg caught in a root. It took a bit of hacking at the root to get it freed.
By the time they had the fourth loaded the flies and therapod scavengers were gathering. Brian was soaked in gore, he tried to wipe his face but Janet quickly grabbed his hand to stop him. She handed him a towel. He nodded his thanks and cleaned up.
They moved the truck to the protoceratops kills, moving through the herd which parted and moved warily away. The surviving animals wanted no part of the blood soaked strange thing in their midst. Brian got out, but Mitch had him hand the knife to Pete. Pete was a bit dubious and hesitant, but Brian and Janet coached him through the process. He was a bit pale when they finished, Janet hugged him to her. “Good job love, good job,” she murmured, ignoring the sticky mess. She held her hands up. They were covered in blood. A scavenger came over, teasing at one
of the intestines. She looked down at it and then quickly looked away.
Mitch pulled out damp rags; he tossed one each as they got back into the truck. The CAT robot followed them out of the nesting area and North back to base. “Now all we have to do is avoid any predators and scavengers between here and home,” Mitch said, relieved. Pete grunted, very quiet. Too quiet Mitch thought.
“Did you know that the Protoceratops is the most likely origin of the griffin myth?” Mitch asked, trying to get their minds off the gore for the moment. Pete made a grunting sound.
“Griffin?” Brian asked knowing a queue when he was given one.
“Yes, scientists believe our ancestors would find exposed skeletons and then think they are monsters. That is how a lot of mythical creatures came to be known. Imagination, it was all imagination.”
Brian nodded. “I can see where they got dragons from a Raptor or Rex skeleton, but a griffin?” He gave Pete a look. Pete wasn’t paying attention, staring off into the grass.
“The skeletons of Protoceratops can be re-arranged to form a griffin,” Mitch explained. Mitch pulled up the laptop and frowned as he searched for the entry.
“I really hate it when he does that.” Janet muttered, nodding her head to Mitch.
“What?” Brian asked. “Not used to modern technology?” he teased. Janet shrugged, and then turned to watch their path.
“Yeah, here it is,” Mitch showed the screen to Brian.
“I hope they are worth it,” Janet said.
“Well, if they are anything like turkey I for one will be happy,” Mitch replied. The turkey were not doing so well, he had lost two more, and half the eggs came up dead or unfertilized.
“We might have a replacement right there, though trying to fit one of those in an oven will be a challenge,” Brian snorted.
“Stuffing it too,” Pete looked up. “My mom said...” Then he paused and looked down. He looked out to the savannah.
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