Day of the Dragonstar

by David Bischoff

  Hoping he was still in contact with Copernicus, Coopersmith spoke into his helmet-mike, barely repressing a yell. “Huff’s dead! The place is crawling with dinosaurs. We’re getting out!”

  Valdone fired pistol rounds at the two dinosaurs. Doctor Pohl and Rebecca Thalberg fumbled with their weapons, finally adding to the volley of explosive slugs. The air was filled with gunshot reports and the hideous, keening screams of the dinosaurs. Coopersmith tried to control his thumping heart and trembling body. Carefully he took aim with his pistol and fired.

  New sounds filled the air. Loud bellowing, like that of wounded cattle. Sharp cracking barks . . . as though from the mouths of giant bullfrogs. What had only moments ago been a placid, pastoral meadow abuzz with insects singing was transformed into a slaughterhouse reverberating with death screams. Coopersmith followed the bellowing sounds and saw a nightmare emerge from the walls of forest to the right. The others saw it too for a moment, the sound of gunfire was only an echoing memory.

  The sounds of battle had aroused it.

  The smell of blood and death had attracted it.

  The half-dead, shell-riddled carcasses of the two Compsognathus lay crumpled over the remains of Alan Huff. It was first drawn to this carrion. But as it staggered from the forest, it paused and looked at the five humans, barely fifty meters away.

  For a moment, they stared at one another, the humans and the Allosaurus—eight tons of killing machinery. From head to tail it was more than twelve meters long. Standing on its powerful, pylon-like legs, it towered above them at a height of eight meters. Its hindlegs rippled with muscle-tonnage, sheathed in a yellow-brown leathery hide. Its forelimbs twitched, closing its three-digit claws instinctively at the sight of prey. Its great head, weighing perhaps a half-ton, turned slowly, so that it could study the humans with its large saucer-eyes. Its lower jaw hung open, dripping saliva, its throat heaving from the furious heat of its breath. The nightmare head dipped, bobbed, and weaved, displaying a row of dagger-teeth, a death’s-head smile.

  Then it raised that head, nostrils flaring, testing the air, smelling the carrion smells and the new smells, the new prey. It bellowed once again, and dropped its head, hunkering down, extending its tail almost straight, horizontal with the ground. The great legs moved, and it streaked forward, covering the distance between itself and the humans in two-meter strides. For such a massive creature, it was inconceivable that it could move so quickly . Yet its motions were smooth and fluid, coordinated beyond belief.

  Coopersmith and Valdone stood their ground just long enough to empty the clips of the weapons. The shells ripped through the Allosaurus’ thick hide with little apparent effect.

  It bore down upon them like a steam locomotive.

  Rebecca Thalberg ran by Coopersmith’s side as the group split up in different directions. Ian and Thalberg to the left, toward the distant forest edge. Valdone, Pohl, and Hagar back toward the marshlands.

  This tactic seemed to confuse the giant carnivore. Seeing the prey suddenly divide and separate, it slowed its charge, tilting its ugly head, as if contemplating the movements. Valdone kept running, but Hagar paused for an instant, spellbound by the immense creature which closed in on him. The Allosaurus had shaken off the distraction and was now continuing on a straight ahead course. Valdone screamed at Hagar, even turned back to fire two rounds into the thing’s head, uselessly.

  As Hagar shook free of his paralysis, the beast was upon him. Dipping its head, with little break in its gigantic stride, it snapped Doctor Amos Hagar, world-famous author, media personality, and deliverer of deadly bon mots, into its terrible jaws. Hagar did not even have time to scream before the razored teeth closed upon him, slicing him cleanly in half. The parts tossed briefly into the air before being wolfed greedily into the beast’s maw. Swallowing as it lumbered forward, it bore down on Valdone, who was laboring against the spongelike marshland which seemed to suck his boots down.

  Coopersmith and Thalberg ran mindlessly toward the forest, a glimpse of Hagar’s death urging them forward. They ran until Coopersmith’s mouth and nostrils felt afire, his legs ached. His mind flooded with thoughtless, boiling chaos. Naked panic. He could feel it in Rebecca as well. The dark green wall of the forest bobbed and jerked before his eyes as they ran.

  As they reached the forest, crashing blindly through rough-edged fronds of low-lying ferns, Coopersmith paused, sensing a moment of safety. Reaching out, he grabbed Thalberg’s arms, pulling the woman close to him, dropping to his knees. “Wait,” he half-cried, gasping for breath. “Wait!”

  They turned and looked back towards the marsh where the Allosaurus had just overtaken Valdone. Rebecca looked away, but something kept Coopersmith’s eyes on the grisly scene. The great beast had actually run over Valdone, stamping him into the soft earth. Now, in a hunting frenzy, the creature savagely clawed at the ground with its hindleg, digging up great clumps of earth, pulling out the mangled remains of Coopersmith’s colleague. A bright red mass stuck to the beast’s right foot. Slowly, it bent down, examining it for an instant, then snapped it up in two quick bites. A lump formed in its throat, which quickly slid from sight down its gullet. A helpless rage filled Coopersmith. He felt fear and hate and despair all at one time.

  “We’ve got to get back to the hatch,” he said finally, shaking Thalberg, making her turn and listen to him.

  “We can’t make it. Those other things . . .”

  Coopersmith looked back towards the hatch. The two cadavers of the Compsognathus had already attracted a crowd. Bird-like carrion eaters had descended upon the bodies and were already feeding. The air above the pile was smeared by a swarming black cloud of insects. The forest noises filled their ears, occasionally pierced by the cries of other predators, aroused by the scent of the kill, which filled the air.

  The Allosaurus, having finished with Valdone, stood near the edge of the marshland, pausing to pick its teeth with its forelimb claws. It looked almost dainty as it stood, flicking and pawing at its jaws. Then it held its snout high, trying to pick up the scent of the others. Thus it stood, motionless for a moment. Then it slunk indecisively off toward the other edge of the forest. Coopersmith watched it, wondering where Doctor Pohl had gone.

  “It’s moving off. Come on . . . we’ve got our chance right now. Stay close to the trees and we’ll work our way closer to the hatch.”

  “Captain, look!” Rebecca pointed up and across the small meadow to the rise where Huff had been attacked. New shapes had emerged from the forest. Two more bipedal dinosaurs similar to the one they had seen attack the Iguanodon . . . Gorgosaurus, Hagar had called them.

  The two new beasts ambled boldly onto the scene, instantly scattering the carrion-eating Pterosaurs, the insects, and a small crowd of diminutive, pale-skinned dinosaurs that looked like Ostriches. The Gorgosaurus advanced, their mouths open, jaws drooling, bleating out warning cries. They rushed up to the carcasses and the remains of Alan Huff to begin their ritual of ripping, tearing, and greedy gulping of flesh, There was no way Coopersmith and Thalberg could hope to get past the newcomers.

  Nor was this their only problem. The Allosaurus was emerging from the edge of the forest, pounding toward the smaller carnivores.

  Then Coopersmith saw Pohl, creeping along the outer foliage. Why had the man left the safety of the trees? Gerald Pohl glanced back skittishly as he moved along. Perhaps another meat-eater was converging on the scene, and Pohl was escaping that one.

  The Allosaurus paused, catching some small movement in the corner of its vision, tilting its large head towards the forest edge. Though the great beast was quite stupid, evidently not having evolved—much like the crocodile—in the last hundred million years, its senses were not dull. To be an effective killing machine, to be able to keep such a massive, energy-burning body sated, the Allosaurus had to be extremely adept at catching prey. So it possessed keen vision, sensitive smell, acute hearing. It stood
now watching the tiny toylike man scamper along the outermost trees.

  Plenty of time for the kill.

  Doctor Pohl continued to half-run, half-stagger away from the dark forest. He ran with the mindless panic of desperation, which showed in his movement. Deeper in the forest, Coopersmith saw a shadowy form following him.

  He was making it desperate dash for the safety of the hatch.

  Pohl charged toward the spot where the two Gorgosaurus snapped and shoved at one another over the final morsels of the ravaged bodies. The scent of blood and ripped-open bowels was thick in the air. It smelled of feeding time. Coopersmith watched the Allosaurus observing Pohl running toward the other beasts, its dim brain no doubt trying to understand what kind of prey would rush into the jaws of its attackers.

  The two Gorgosaurus paused in their bloody repast, thrusting their snouts upward, catching the human scent. Turning, they seemed to grin. They bellowed with killing-joy. As they began their smooth, loping strides toward the man, Pohl fired three shots at the closest beast, one shell striking the back of its throat. A lucky shot, it exploded the thin layer of bone beneath the creature’s brain. Evidently, the shock of impact jellied the nerve center, killing it instantly. The Gorgosaurus lurched forward, falling on its snout, its hindlegs and tiny forelimbs twitching convulsively. Seeing this, its companion fell upon its fellow to rip a large piece of warm flesh from its still quivering thigh.

  Doctor Pohl had pulled up, and was struggling to slap a new clip into his pistol, trying to think what to do next, when a giant shadow crossed his path. Turning, he saw the steel-muscled bulk of the Allosaurus towering above him, gliding quietly and quickly over the soft earth. Lowering its head, it opened it jaws. Pohl fired his sidearm wildly before rolling to the left. The light tan hide blurred past him. Scrambling to his feet, running out from between the feeding Gorgosaurus and Allosaurus, he did not look back.

  Ahead of him, angled off to the right, was the entrance hatch. He was not more than fifty meters away. Gerald Pohl staggered forward, leaning, half-falling, to sustain forward motion. Coopersmith held his breath for the man . . . then gasped as the Gorgosaurus sprang from its meal and bounded across his path.

  “Pohl!” Coopersmith cried. “Run, man!”

  Pohl did not seem to notice .the creature until it was directly above him. He tried to dodge, but to no avail.

  Open jaws dropped over his head and shoulders.

  Coopersmith averted his gaze as Pohl was decapitated. Never had he imagined such slaughter, such mindless killing and feeding. Rebecca grabbed him and began sobbing and shivering in his arms. She gasped for breath. He wished he could join her in the physical release.

  A bellow.

  Coopersmith looked up. The Allosaurus was advancing upon the Gorgosaurus. The two dinosaurs faced each other, barking and hissing in an attempt to scare each other off. Neither apparently wanted to fight as much as it desired to feed. Slowly the smaller Gorgosaurus backed away, turning to finally sidestep off toward the forest.

  The Allosaurus threw back its head, rejoicing in its triumph with a final roar of primordial joy. Then it ambled up to the remains of the dead Gorgosaurus, and began to rip and tear with reptilian gusto. Coopersmith watched it feed for the better part of an hour. He held Rebecca Thalberg, who was now quietly sobbing. When the Allosaurus finished its bloody meal, it slowly settled down, reclining over the skeletal carcass of the victim. Coopersmith knew that it would now fall into a heavy doze—a half-awake torpor, while its great body labored to digest the feast.

  Not forty meters from the hulking beast lay the entrance hatch and safety. After seeing the quickness of the predators of this world, the unmerciful death they held in their claws and jaws, Coopersmith knew that he would not risk trying for the hatch as long as the Allosaurus remained close at hand. He felt defenseless against the hostile world they had found. It was an arena of twisted nightmare, full of God-knew-what-else beside the dreadful things they’d already seen devour their companions.

  “C’mon. We’ve gotta move a little farther back into the foliage.”

  Rebecca wordlessly obeyed.

  They slid past the brushing vegetation, crawled over fallen trees for some minutes.

  Something rustled in the forest behind them. Ian tensed.

  “What is it?” Rebecca asked.

  “I don’t know. The smell of blood keeps drawing more to the area. Not safe back there now. That’s why we’re moving on just a bit.”

  “What about the hatch?”

  “No way. The big fellow’s out there sleeping it off. I don’t want to wake him up.” Ian patted her protectively on the shoulder. For a moment, she relaxed. Then she gazed upwards.

  “Ian. Look . . . Look at the light. It’s getting dark! Oh my God, no . . . It’s getting dark!”

  Coopersmith studied the junglescape and noticed that the colors seemed a bit more saturated, that the shadows were deeper, darker than they had previously been. Flipping down his goggles, he stared up at what he could see of the light rod in the far away center of the cylinder.

  It did seem dimmer. More solidly defined.

  He held Rebecca for a moment after flipping up the goggles. “You’re right. The light source must be timed, automatically, so that it produces a natural cycle of night and day.”

  Rebecca shivered. “Ian, I don’t think I can stand it here in the darkness . . .”

  “Let’s get away from the clearing. The safest place would be up in some high branches. Can you climb a tree?”

  “Sure I can,” she said, almost indignantly. She was recovering her spunk. Good, thought Coopersmith. She’d need it.

  They stood and walked cautiously farther into the cooling shadows ‘of the forest as darkness descended. The world was again lulled into false serenity by insects.

  A cry of hunger pierced the growing darkness.

  CHRIST, what a wretched headache he had.

  Phineas Kemp seemed wrapped in a thick mist of preoccupation as he sat in an uncharacteristic slouch before the Command console. All around him, voices blended in a babble of shouts. Confusion arid shock and even a hint of panic stirred through the room, like the echoes of his own mind. The headache had been there before all this. Now it pounded like the voice of doom.

  The Deep-Space radio crackled with the voice of Heinlein pilot Fratz, but Phineas was not listening. He kept replaying the sounds of the final attack by the Allosaurus on his crew. Rebecca. Visions of her mauled swam in his brain, as violently as the ache there. Becky! No . . . Not Becky!

  He managed to remain calm. Solar no final verification, no proof that she had been killed. She might have escaped . . .

  “Colonel Kemp . . . ?” Communications Officer Alterman said.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “I’ve got Commander Fratz on hold, sir. He’s awaiting further instructions.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course,” said Kemp.

  He’d been in the Mission Command Center when the Heinlein crew entered Artifact One. Kemp and the Chiefs of Staff had shared the astonishment of the crew’s finding. A little world . . . A lost world . . . A model of the Jurassic period of Earth, perfectly preserved. Incredible, inconceivable. And yet they’d seen it with their own eyes, heard its savage sounds.

  They’d watched helplessly as the crew was overrun by the carnivorous beasts.

  Kemp expelled a shivery breath as he flicked the transmission switch on his console. “Kemp here. Go on, Fratz.”

  Fratz’s voice was strained. “Colonel, we’ve completely lost contact with the exploration team. Do you want us to go in?”

  “Negative, Fratz. You and Bracken are not equipped to deal with the situation in there. We’re going to need some fairly sophisticated weaponry and defensive rigs to handle those lizards.”

  “What about my crew!”

  “I think . . . I think we
have to presume that they are beyond our help at this point. At any rate, I don’t want to risk the loss of more lives and equipment. I want you to remain in matched orbit with Artifact One for twenty-four hours. If any of the crew have survived, that should give them enough time to reach Huff’s communication gear and contact your ship. If they contact you, request further orders from Mission Control. We’ll be studying the situation down here. We’ll keep you updated. That’s it for now. Copernicus out.”

  Fratz signed off, leaving Phineas alone with his thoughts. He was of two minds about sending Fratz and Bracken into the alien ship. There were arguments for both courses of action, but Kemp was not emotionally prepared to discuss them at the moment.

  Someone slapped him on the shoulder and sat down. It was Gregor Kolenkhov. “My friend, l cannot believe this. How can we have seen what we have indeed seen. By Lenin’s Tomb, I have never heard of such a thing!”

  “Who could have anticipated anything like this?” asked Kemp rhetorically, shaking his head. He was getting groggy from lack of sleep, having been up for the last twenty hours. He wondered if he could fall asleep knowing what was happening our beyond the orbit of Mars.

  “But what the hell is that thing?” said Kolenkhov. “An alien ship full of dinosaurs . . . it’s absurd . . . it’s unreal.”

  “But it is real, Gregor. We know that it is, and we must deal with it as such.” Phineas looked about the room, where the other Chiefs were standing about talking, obviously unsure as to whether or not they should intrude on his conversation. Phineas had the feeling that even though he must get approval from the Joint Directors, everyone was looking to him for the solutions—even though he had thoroughly fouled up the first two attempts to deal with exploration of Artifact One. What was it the Americans always said—three strikes and you’re out? He had a feeling that they were correct,