by Adam Carter
“The penal colony belongs to Earth,” Honeywood reminded him, although it did not mean an Earther could not have picked up a local paper along the way.
“Whatever their motive,” Garza continued, “someone’s come here from the outside world. They came here for a reason, and we have to determine whether we are that reason.”
“What if,” Stiggs asked tenuously, “they took Seward from his café and made it look like a dinosaur attack?”
It was a decent enough question, and Honeywood didn’t even berate him for voicing the fear.
“We should get out of here,” Aubin said in a quiet voice.
“Not without Seward,” Honeywood said. “At the very least he could lead these people back to the prison. He could give them enough information to finish us.”
“I agree,” Garza said. “We have to press on. At least now we know we have an enemy.”
“Maybe we don’t,” Aubin said. “Maybe they’re friendly.”
“Better to assume they’re not,” Garza said, “and be pleasantly surprised.”
What had begun as a simple tracking manoeuvre had spiralled into a miasmic confusion. First Honeywood came to realise her lover was unfaithful, and now they had discovered he may have been taken by off-world visitors. On top of all the creature attacks she was beginning to regard this as a very bad trip after all.
They set off once more, leaving the camp just as they had found it. If whoever had made it had been scared off by dinosaurs and returned to the camp they would find no evidence of Honeywood and her party having tramped through. Stiggs once more pointed the way, and this time Honeywood made him walk ahead of them. She kept Aubin by her side, allowing Garza to keep an eye on their untrustworthy cartographer. Garza understood Honeywood’s reasoning, even if he did not agree with it, and obeyed her instruction. Aubin, for her part, did not seem to realise just why Honeywood was keeping her as far from Stiggs as possible.
“If we can find this person,” Honeywood told her, “we’re likely going to discover it’s a scout and that there are a whole lot more people waiting in orbit.”
Aubin shrugged.
“I’m going to try to convince them,” Honeywood said, “to take you with them.”
Now Aubin looked at her, and there was more than a hint of curiosity to her eyes. “Why?”
“Because you’ve done nothing wrong, and you don’t deserve to grow up in a penal colony. You were convicted as a child for having had a crime committed upon you, and you shouldn’t be here.”
“No, I meant why do you care what happens to me?”
It was a good question, and Honeywood wasn’t about to get soppy with the girl. “We’re all here because we’ve done bad things, Cassie. Maybe we deserve to be here, maybe we don’t; but the crux is we’ve all broken the law. You haven’t.”
“I know that,” she said rather innocently. “And that’s not what I asked. Ash, why do you care what happens to me?”
“What, because I’m a pit fighter I don’t get to care about people once in a while? I’ve hardened myself, Cassie. Surrounded by criminals it’s all I can do. But if I can get you off this world I’ll do it. Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it. The rest of us they won’t take with them, but maybe I can talk your way out of this.”
“Oh. Well, thanks, I guess. But they’re not gonna much care, Ash. I was put here, same as you. If anyone cared about us a patrol would have been by by now. There are no records of our even existing, otherwise someone would have come looking. And if there are no records, no one’s going to believe you, whatever you have to say. Whether I like it or not I have grown up here. And I’m gonna die here too, you know. I’m resolved to that, or at least I’ve accepted it. Maybe you should too.”
She did not speak with hostility, remorse or any negative inflection at all. Hers was the most mature viewpoint Honeywood had ever seen in this place, and the older woman found she could learn a lot from her. Perhaps they all could.
“I wish I had your resolve, Cassie.”
Aubin grinned, punched her lightly on the shoulder as they walked. “Maybe I can teach you. Tell you what, we’ll make a game of this. Whoever can find out what Garza was sent down for has to do the other’s laundry when we get back to the institution.”
Honeywood could not deny she had long wondered what Garza had done. “What about Stiggs?”
“Oh he’s easy. He killed someone.”
“How do you figure that?”
“He told me when we were alone, looking for you guys. He’s insecure, the way I see it. Likes for people to think something of him, but lacks the self-esteem to think anything of himself. He likes to do things for people because it makes him feel as though they’ll like him more. He just fell in with the wrong people and ended up killing someone to try to fit in. Turns out he was fitted up for the murder and sent here. He just didn’t learn his lesson and fell in with Valentine, went right back to his old habits. I guess it was easier for him than coming out of his shell, especially when surrounded by violent criminals.”
Honeywood blinked. “He told you all that?”
“No. I figured out all the psychological stuff from what he did tell me though. Wasn’t hard. He just needs someone to like him for who he is and he’ll be fine.”
“He’s also willing to murder people in order to be liked, Cassie. You have to be careful with someone like that.”
“I’m careful, Ash.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” She seemed uncomfortable to talk further so Honeywood dropped the subject. The girl may have a more mature attitude than most people Honeywood presently knew, but in some things it seemed she was still every bit the adolescent she appeared. It was sad to think Aubin had to choose prospective lovers from the detritus that existed on this world; sadder still to consider that maybe she had even managed to pick someone who wasn’t as bad as some of the others.
It was a sobering thought, and one which drove Honeywood with even greater determination to make sure Aubin left with whoever had come down to the surface of this Godforsaken world. Cassie Aubin would not die here, that much Honeywood promised herself. No matter what it took, she would have a proper life somewhere else.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The heat was beginning to get truly oppressive now, although there was little more in the way of clothes that Garza could remove. His naked torso was grimy with swamp, sweat and dust; and his legs were itching from a thousand insect bites. He was trying not to say much to his companions because he knew how grumpy he got when he was too hot. He didn’t much care what any of them thought of him, but Honeywood was liable to snap right back at him and he could do without a slanging match. It was bad enough the woman had turned all maternal on Aubin, but Garza certainly had no desire to watch. He was just glad Honeywood still hated Stiggs, although he was certain that given a few more days she would come around to liking even him. At which point Garza would likely shove his own head into the swamp and end all his misery.
He kept Stiggs in sight ahead but made no attempt to catch up to him. That Stiggs was reading Seward’s maps and notes was good enough for him; for while he did not trust the little weasel of a man at all, so long as he was reading the map for them he was proving himself of some use.
He could sense the two women falling further and further behind, or maybe Stiggs was moving further and further in front, and debated on whether he should go back to hurry them up a bit. The last thing he wanted to get in between however was their girlie chat, so just kept at his own pace as he trudged through the swamp. He had long aspired to be Honeywood, to have everything she had. The more time he spent with her however the more he realised what a milksop she was. In the pits she was fierce, determined, merciless; while in reality she was every bit the woman. He had always been attracted by her power, and it was with a certain desirability that she would dispatch each and every monster thrown against her. It was far from sexy of course, but her movements, her grace, her strength … it all added up to so
mething incredibly attractive. The reality of her though was that she was just an ordinary person who coped well in times of high stress combat. There was very little he could learn from her aside from mental control.
With a grunt of annoyance he realised he had allowed his mind to wander, and now he could see no sign of Stiggs. Nor could he hear any indication that the two women were even behind him any longer. That he had wandered off in the wrong direction was probable, and he began to trace his trail that he might rejoin theirs. It wasn’t anything to panic about, since any idiot could read a trail, but it was somewhat annoying to have allowed his mind to walk away with him, quite literally.
Following his footsteps back, however, he froze. He could see his boot prints in the soft mud, left only a minute earlier, yet there was something overlapping them: a trail of prints which had been left in his wake. They were familiar tracks, for he had seen the strange prints before, and he knew them to belong to the creature, whatever it was, that had dragged Aubin from the flash flood. More disconcerting was the fact the two paths did not actually cross; instead the tracks overlapped. The creature had not just moved across his trail therefore. The thing was following him.
Instantly Garza became more alert to his situation, lost and alone as he was, although aside from a slight tensing he allowed no indication to show that he had noticed he was being followed. The creature was likely watching him even now, and if he reacted adversely here it would likely leap out and attack immediately. He needed to play this carefully, and use his one advantage: his superior intelligence.
Garza continued to retrace his steps, his every sense alert and ready to react to an instant’s attack. He had not gone a further ten metres however when he stopped and stared in abject horror. His tracks were no longer there: they had been purposefully wiped clean.
His gun came to his hand in that instant, his other hand producing his hunting knife. Garza had never been especially good with a firearm, yet the noise of its firing would alert the others and with any luck bring them running. He held off firing that shot, however, not knowing in which direction the enemy actually lay.
Suddenly it was before him. There was no rustling of bushes, no sucking of mud, no scent even to indicate its approach. It was simply standing there on the path behind him. Garza stared at the creature and any doubt of young Aubin’s wild tales died instantly within his wide eyes.
The creature stood at around seven feet. It was thin and lean and walked directly upon two legs, with a vertical straight spine. Its legs were long and thin, its arms shorter than a human being’s, ending in hand-like claws bearing opposable thumbs. The thing wore neither clothes nor armour, although its slick dark green body appeared to glisten with what may have been a tough leathery hide, may have been a plating of scutes. The chest was broad and powerful, and appeared very much human to Garza’s eyes. Its head was the shape of a man’s, for it bore no snout, although its lipless mouth revealed a row of razor predator’s teeth. Its nose was formed of two simple nostril slits, while its eyes were large and almost luminous, and clearly it was well adept at nocturnal hunting.
None of that, however, even began to explain the most shocking aspect of this beast. For held comfortably in its two hands, and pointing towards the floor, there was a rifle.
Garza blinked in astonishment. There were theories put forward in the twentieth century that if the dinosaurs had not become extinct they would have evolved. No one knew of course just why the dinosaurs died, and there were a thousand theories abound throughout the solar system. It was an age-old question and even after the generally accepted theory of the meteorite was at last debunked, still was there nothing concrete to fall in its place. Whatever had killed them was irrelevant, however, for the theory Garza was presently more interested in was the one concerning the troodon. He didn’t believe it, had said as much earlier, yet with a human-like dinosaur standing armed before him he could theorise nothing which even came close. But the troodon wasn’t even all that clever to begin with. It may have possessed problem-solving capabilities, but that was a far cry from computing algebra equations in your head.
Still, what stood before him was clearly some form of evolved dinosaur in the shape of a man.
This world was constructed by humans, though. As he had argued before, there had not been the necessary time for this thing to have evolved. That meant it had either been placed here at the world’s creation, or it had been put here since. Either way mankind had placed this creature here, which meant mankind had created it to begin with. The beast was an experiment, then; something created in a laboratory. It was the only explanation which made any kind of sense.
But why would someone want to create a humanoid dinosaur? To prove centuries’ old stupid theories correct? It didn’t seem likely.
The creature stared at him stupidly and slowly its claws clacked down upon the rifle as though it was tapping out a rhythm.
Garza decided he had nothing at this point to lose by attempting communication.
“So, come here often?”
The creature did not so much as crack a smile. It had been worth a try.
“My name’s Abe Garza,” he tried again, trying not to speak loudly and slowly like a typical Englishman on holiday in a foreign country. “Do you have a name?”
The creature continued to stare.
“You saved the life of my companion,” he thought to remind the thing; he could not even tell the sex of the creature. “Thank you for that.”
Silence.
“Do you live around here? I met a woman who says you don’t harm anyone, just go about your daily business without bothering her.”
More silence.
“I don’t mean you any harm, my friend.”
The creature slowly raised the rifle and Garza tensed. The weapon was pointed directly at him now and Garza could see whatever this creature was it had been trained in the art of warfare. What its creators had had in mind Garza could not say, but he was getting a fairly good idea the more time passed.
“I’m not your enemy,” Garza promised, backing away slowly.
The rifle was brought up to its shoulder.
Garza flicked his hunting knife through the air, the blade somehow making contact and taking the creature through the shoulder. It screamed, snapping about and dropping its weapon. An arc of crimson blood shot through the air, and Garza stared dumbly as though having expected the blood to be green or something. His petrification lasted bare seconds however and he realised if he wanted to live he would have to run.
Turning, he charged through the undergrowth in what he believed was the general direction in which he had come. Thrusting his arms up before him he simply ran, heedless of the branches tearing into his naked flesh. The terrible angry wails of the wounded creature carried him onwards, and echoed throughout the swamp as though it was communicating with the trees, telling them to slow him and cut him deep.
Garza all but fell into a glade and saw movement ahead of him. He fell into Honeywood, who cast a frown to the underbrush behind him. Stiggs and Aubin were rushing up to see what all the commotion was about, although as Garza collapsed in a breathless heap it was to see he was not being pursued at all.
“What was it?” Honeywood asked, drawing her own knife as though it would do her any good. “Marshosaurus?”
Garza fought to get his breathing under control and didn’t speak until he knew he would be able to string a few words together. His heart was racing, but now he was relatively safe his adrenalin was levelling off and he was having trouble concentrating. “Aubin was right.”
Aubin’s face turned ashen.
“Thing’s not natural,” Garza said, taking a deep breath. “Had a weapon.”
“You mean like a club?” Honeywood asked fearfully.
Garza shook his head soundly. “Rifle. Human rifle.”
“It took it then,” Honeywood decided. “Saw it and stole it.”
“Was trained how to use it.” Garza was at last finding
he could speak properly. “It was trained, Ashley. Whatever’s going on here, we don’t want to get messed up in it.”
Honeywood’s eyes had never once left the path Garza had taken, although now she slowly nodded. “We need to press on,” she determined. “We need to find Seward and get back to the prison. Valentine can put some people on this to investigate. Whatever’s happening Valentine will be at the bottom of it by the end of the month.”
“Have a feeling,” Garza said, “we might all be dead by the end of the month.”
It was not something they could do anything about, however, so Honeywood chose to simply get on with the mission. Garza had to respect that about her, but then she hadn’t yet come face-to-face with that creature. It was all right to be blasé about the thing, but the fact was none of them knew what they were up against here. It was as though the world was against them, punishing them for venturing too far into the swamp.
Casting one final look into the underbrush Garza wished he had never volunteered for this assignment in the first place. Perhaps he didn’t want to be the next Ashley Honeywood after all. Not if it was going to cost him his sanity, or his life.
At a quickened pace they moved off, farther into the unknown; into the territory of the dinosaur-man.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dinosaur-men were simply something Honeywood didn’t want to think about. To a layman they sounded an entirely ludicrous idea, a sentiment with which any decent palaeontologist would have agreed. Most of the population of their world however were neither; they were people who had to live with monstrous creatures lurking outside their home every day of their lives. Most people at the institution never left the grounds, never had to even consider what kind of animals were roaming the world. Many people didn’t even venture out to Seward’s café. For people like Honeywood, who either did venture out on occasion or simply wanted to know how to survive should they wish to, dinosaurs were a reality. Accepting there were ten tonne lizards living in the swamp was far different however to believing in the existence of man-like dinosaurs. Man-like dinosaurs trained in the art of wielding firearms took her straight back to the ludicrous.