by Adam Carter
“I can’t stay with you,” she said in a small voice.
“I’m not asking you to. You need to go home, fight for your daughter. Think of me every now and again, but aside from that forget you ever came to Ceres.”
“And what are you going to do here? If we leave, you won’t even have a craft to get off this world.”
“Sooner or later someone will come back to that temple.”
Garrel cringed at the word. “It’s not a temple. It’s a torture chamber.”
Allen accepted the correction. “Someone will go back there. When they do, I’ll be waiting for them.”
“And you’ll what? Attack them? Run electricity through them for a change?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I can redirect the angriest dinosaurs towards that place and have them deal with the problem for us.”
Garrel smiled at the new image forming. “I can just imagine you riding to the rescue on top of a triceratops, Tom.”
“If all goes to plan, I can take their ship and get off-world before reinforcements arrive. With their building destroyed, their personnel devoured, maybe they’ll think twice about sending anyone else. Either way I can take back proof of who they were. Whether they work for our government, someone else’s government, or are a private enterprise, I’ll have that proof.”
“And what will you do with it?”
“That depends on who’s behind it. Try to publish it perhaps. Take it to the cops, I don’t know.” He focused on her with such an intense gaze that it almost frightened her. “But I’ll not bring it to you. I won’t come asking you to hide me, and I’ll never mention your name. I’ll keep you and Jeannie out of it, Sara. I’ll keep you both safe.”
Garrel felt ashamed that she could not have been so selfless, that even faced with the decision she knew she could never do what he was doing. Even if Jeannie was not waiting for her back home, she would never have had the strength of character to have committed herself to such a thing. She placed a hand upon his shoulder and felt her heart race at how good this man was. “I’m proud of you, Tom.”
“Sure.” And then he grinned like the old Tom Allen. “Do I get that kiss yet?”
Garrel drew him towards her and pressed her lips to his. He seemed surprised at first, as though he had only ever been joking about it because he had known there was never any chance she would have wanted him. But within moments he seemed to realise she was genuine and he surrendered to her embrace. She tasted salt upon her lips and knew she was crying, and as she pulled away it was to see the intense joy in the young man’s face which she knew only mirrored her own.
“Did I tell you I loved you?” Allen asked with narrowing eyes.
“You did with words, Tom. Now show me you mean it.” In one swift motion she removed her shirt and tossed it crumpled onto the neatly-folded pile Allen had been making. They sank onto the bed as one and for a while at least were able to put all the strains and stresses of Ceres behind them.
*
The craft was loaded. Garrel had insisted on leaving Allen enough equipment to see him through. He wanted to keep moving, so only wanted a few things, and the more that was left behind the more chance there was of the torturers discovering him. To this end Garrel had reluctantly agreed to take back the copter and all the prefabricated walls which formed the encampment. But she had left a few crates of equipment and batteries, weapons and ammunition. And food, since Allen would never say no to extra food. Together they had buried the crates in shallow holes so he could remove the lids and reveal their contents, covering the lids with a thin layer of sand to keep them hidden.
They had left the wreck of the buggy where it had fallen. Garrel knew she would lose money because of it, but did not want to go back out to retrieve the thing. The dinosaurs were too angry for her to feel safe doing that, and she would not add to the body count just to retrieve a hunk of twisted metal. The motorbike had been a different matter, and she and Allen had taken the copter out to find it still in barely working order. One had taken the copter back to camp, the other the bike, and Garrel had spent a few hours tinkering with it and beating the metal back into shape. Allen would need the bike if he was going to survive on this inhospitable world, and she needed to provide him every opportunity.
Allen had stayed with her while she worked, picking up pointers on mechanics. By the end she doubted he would have learned enough to fix any major fault in the bike, but if he only ran into small problems he might have gleaned enough.
At last there was nothing more to do about the camp. Travers had carefully packed away all her research materials, soil samples and unearthed bones. There were no fossils on Ceres, since the world was not old enough to have formed them, but Travers was hoping she had gathered enough to be able to placate her employers, even if she could not provide them with all the answers they sought.
Garrel kept her distance from the Professor, disgusted by her attitude. She knew Travers had spoken a brief farewell with her student, although could not see there had been any emotion in the parting. She understood how Travers could be concerned with her research, but this was the final time either of them would ever see Allen.
Leaving the Professor in the craft, Garrel moved to the ramp to find Allen checking the exterior of the craft for signs of wear or damage. It was something Garrel had intended to do herself, although she trusted Allen’s judgements. She could tell from his demeanour that he was just trying to keep busy so he would not have to say goodbye, but there was no chance she was going to leave without seeing him.
“You’re sure about this?” she asked as she reached the ground. She encircled his shoulders with her arms and waited for him to look at her.
“If I wasn’t, that was a dirty trick I played on you in your chambers.”
Garrel smiled. Despite everything that had happened and everything that would happen, there was still room for a little humour. “I won’t think any less of you if you change your mind, Tom.”
“I owe it to Professor Monroe at the very least. These people ... their experiments got him killed. Someone has to put that right.”
“Then look after yourself. If it turns out not to be any government, if it turns out to be criminals the law can deal with ... maybe you could look me up sometime.”
“If it’s safe I will.”
She could see in his eyes he was lying. Or at least that he wasn’t telling the truth. He wanted to see her again, wanted to be with her, but above all else he wanted to protect her. And the only way he could do that would be if he never saw her again.
She kissed him once more, a final farewell. Afterwards she could not say how long they stood there, nor did she much care. Ceres was a dangerous place, but so long as she was held in Allen’s arms she knew she was in the safest place she could be.
When finally she broke away it was to see a sadness to Allen’s eyes, and she could feel her own cheeks wet with tears. Whether they were hers or his, or even a mixture of the two, she did not care. Garrel did not care for much at all at that moment.
“I have a leaving present for you,” she said.
Allen looked at her quizzically and Garrel hung something about his neck. Allen looked down to the locket he had found in the cave when he had been searching for Garrel. She knew he had been looking for something nice for her, a gem or something of equal value. Instead he had found a locket containing the photograph of a man who, perhaps, had turned out to be an inhumane monster. Allen had not even noticed that Garrel had taken the locket from him earlier, but then he had had other things to keep his mind occupied while he had dressed. He flicked the locket open now and saw she had replaced the image of the stranger with a smiling image of Sara herself. She could see he was moved by the gift, but she placed a finger to his lips. There was no need at all for him to say anything, least of all to thank her.
“I love you, Tom,” she said. “I just wanted you to know that before the end.”
“Better late than never. You should go, Sara. You hav
e someone waiting.”
“Travers can go screw herself.”
“I wasn’t talking about Travers.”
Garrel’s mind turned back to Jeannie and she felt an immense weight bearing down upon her once more.
Allen seemed to sense her sudden change in mood and raised her chin with his finger. “Money isn’t everything, Sara. You’ll think of something.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
“You should. You’re a strong woman, Sara. We wouldn’t have lasted this long without you. Now go home. Go save your daughter.”
Garrel walked back onto the craft and pulled the door shut. The ramp retracted automatically, leaving Allen stranded on an alien world with no way out. Garrel hung her head all the way back to the pilot’s seat. The craft was formed of only three rooms, and their equipment was all tied down in the main chamber, behind the pilot’s seat. As she flipped on the controls Garrel looked out the window and saw Allen standing on the desert which had at one point been their camp. Once the craft departed Allen would brush away the marks left by the craft’s landing gear. Within a few minutes it would look as though they had never even been there.
But they had been there, and Sara Garrel would never forget.
She tried not to cast her eyes behind her to where Travers was fumbling with something, probably making sure her precious research was secured.
“It’s not that I don’t care,” Travers said, sensing the animosity thick in the air. “I respect him now more than I ever have. But my work is important, and I need to get it back to my employers.”
“I wish I could be half the person Tom is.”
Travers said noting, and Garrel could see this was the way the Professor was dealing with everything. She was upset about things, had been moved at the very least, but all she knew was her work. To throw herself into her archaeology was the only way she could cope. Garrel knew she should not judge the woman, but did so anyway. Garrel was upset, angry and afraid for Tom Allen. If Travers didn’t want to bear the brunt of that grief she should have stayed on the world with him.
Which was precisely what Garrel herself would have done if not for Jeannie.
“Where did these come from?”
Garrel had not expected the question, and stared silently as Travers drew forth some kind of long stick. There seemed to be a whole case full of them. Garrel remembered seeing them once in Monroe’s chambers. She had not known what they were for, but assumed them to be a slice of home for him. The way Travers was looking at them, however, made Garrel want to lie.
“They’re mine,” she therefore said. “I collect them. What of it?”
“Nothing.” Travers put it back reverently. “Just never took you for someone with such expensive hobbies.”
Garrel narrowed her eyes. “It’s why I take assignments like this,” she continued to lie. “So I can add sticks to my collection. You like them?”
“My bank account would like them. Genuine Nineteenth-Century English walking sticks are hard to come by. They’re massively sought after by upper class people who like to show off their money. People like Albert Monroe actually.”
Garrel could feel Travers watching her, probing, questing. But Garrel had faced down a raging deltadromeus: she could handle a curious expression from an ageing archaeologist.
“He did seem interested in my collection, yes,” Garrel said. “In fact, he knew more about them than I did. I was hoping to maybe sell him a couple of my least favourite ones, but it looks like I’m going to have to keep them all now.”
Travers held her gaze for just a few more moments, then broke away. She could sense Travers wasn’t going to pose any further problem over this. Garrel’s heart was racing. She had it at last: the means to fund her fight to regain her daughter. She had everything she needed to rebuild her life. Her heart ached to tell Allen, but she knew he would never discover her fortune. As she returned her attention to raising the ship, however, she looked through the window to see a motorbike tearing across the lands below and smiled. Allen always knew, always had faith in her. He didn’t need to see the money to know she was going to find it somewhere. He had faith in her, and now she knew she had faith in him.
Somewhere below a terrible carnivore sent a roar bellowing through the land and Garrel thought about Allen, alone in a world of madness. Hitting the atmosphere, Garrel took the craft into space, leaving her heart behind forever.
DINOSAUR
FALL-GIRL
CHAPTER ONE
Apparently you shouldn’t wear green because it offends the faeries. It’s why no one ever wears green at weddings, why we’re psychologically conditioned to never buy green cars or stereo systems (although since faeries can’t stand noise, having a green car or stereo system is surely rubbing their noses in it). Presently I’m crouched low in the bulrushes, unnaturally tall grass the size of corn stalks growing all about me, the sun beating mercilessly upon my unprotected face, an unknown quantity of unknowable creatures potentially surrounding me.
Screw the faeries.
The material I’m wearing is poly-something-fibre; I don’t know what it means but not knowing has never bothered me before. It looks like metal, feels like plastic and is as hard as diamond. Not that any guy’s ever given me a diamond to compare it to, but I had one married friend who even tried to cut her suit with her ring. Pretentious cow. The poly-whatever-fibre is a very deep green, almost a browny-black, and blends me nicely into the grass and mud and what limited shade the trees offer. It’s actually quite flattering, now that I’m thinking about it. It hugs the body, not allowing excess movement beneath so an impact is absorbed by the material. Most days I wouldn’t want a material clinging to me so tightly, since I’ve always been self-conscious about my less than impressive chest; but I’m making no argument this time around.
Of course I’m not relying on just my suit to keep me alive. Before coming out here I was put through the most invasive spa treatment I’ve ever not paid for; but then I knew I wanted every part of my body smeared with the oddly-smelling paste. Once it soaked into the skin it did not even appear visible, and left only a faint odour of lilac. I’m told it’s enough to keep the animals at bay, to mask my natural odour from them for short periods at least. I didn’t even get into an argument about whether I actually had a natural odour: I’d seen footage of what those animals could do.
Lastly I smeared my face with some of the local mud once I’d set down. It wasn’t necessary, I was told, but I’ve always liked to think no precaution was ever wasted. Remembering the footage of these things, I didn’t actually care what a mess I looked.
Peering through the grass I can barely make out my target, but it’s difficult with this wind kicking up the grass like this. It’s as though the individual blades are laughing at me, taunting me, knowing I’m not going to make it out of this alive.
I check my own blades: two knives in my belt, one in a boot. They’re secure, as are the guns attached to my hips and the rifle at my back. Everything is tied down, nothing clatters. Like I said: precaution can never be overrated.
Flicking my dark fringe out of my eyes and thankful I opted to tie my hair back for this mission, I hold steady a pair of goggles so I might be able to at least determine direction. A thousand heat sources erupt into focus and for an instant my heart leaps and every pore on my body opens, a thin layer of sweat trickling out. Insects, I scold myself, and adjust the scanner. The heat source count drops to a more manageable score, and determining from the size it seems the majority of these are small mammals foraging in the grass. I focus on anything larger than a vole and start breathing again when I’m shown only one result. That means there’s none of the native wildlife out here stalking me.
Moving at last, I make my way swiftly through the grass without properly rising to my feet. I draw my pistols; I prefer my rifle, but it’s easier to move quickly with the smaller guns in hand. I don’t expect to need any weapons at all; yet again my mind is drawn back to that terrible fo
otage.
I stop to check my position only once, and slow as I approach my target. My anxiety is pressing me forward, but my common sense is telling me not to spook my target. The last thing I need is for a loud scream to bring the wildlife running.
I can see movement through the grass ahead of me and realise now I’m only a few metres away from my quarry. I slow considerably and tiptoe through the grass until I part the fronds before me with one pistol and see the woman for whom I’ve been searching.
Professor Marigold Harper is twenty years old, the daughter of two noted physicians and heiress to a considerable fortune. Her life is constructed around botany experiments and she has apparently proposed some revolutionary theories over the past few years. I have of course never read any of her papers: I just read the profile I was given in my mission overview. My impression of Harper is that she’s a spoiled rich kid, too much money and not enough sense. And no experience in the real world. If she had any of that, she wouldn’t be here now looking for extinct plants to prove some useless theory. It long ago stopped amazing me what money can do. Even at just twenty, Harper has a title and a string of achievements to go with it.
She has her back turned to me, entirely unaware I’m even here. If I was a predator she would be dead already. This is of course my first look at her, and I pause to set her to memory should we somehow become separated. Even crouched I can tell she’s short, dressed in stupidly bright blue and yellow. Her long blonde hair is tied back, and she’s wearing trousers and a tunic, so at least she’s had the sense not to come here in her best dress. But there my respect dwindles.
Replacing one of my pistols at my belt I decide the only way to introduce myself without making her shriek is not one she’s going to like. But she’s coming off this rock alive and if she complains to daddy about her rough treatment it’s something I’m just going to have to handle later.