“Hmm, I suppose you’re right. Are we safe here?”
“Safe enough, I’d think. If their cries of passion get too loud, I would suspect that they would attract meat-eaters to themselves before us.”
“Do you really want to watch?” asked Becky.
“Why, certainly! This is valuable paleontological research! My God, woman, you’re making me sound like some kind of pervert . . .”
“Oh, Ian, I was just kidding you. I want to see this as much as. you do. I wonder what they do with those spikes on their tails?”
“Move them out of the way, I hope. Look, here comes her young prince now . . .”
Beyond the stand of trees, they could see a larger, mottle-skinned Stegosaurus, lumbering towards the female, pausing only to make that odd bellowing sound. When he approached the female, she stopped her frantic chasing of her own tail, and allowed the male to join her in the strange dance of love. They followed each other’s tails for a few moments, their bellows transformed into bleating noises that almost dripped with anticipated passion. Closer and closer they drew to each other, their circling dance slowing until the two awkward beasts had almost stopped. While the female shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, the larger-male changed positions so that, although he was still facing opposite her, his hindlegs were even with hers.
Suddenly, the female dropped over on her side, lifting her spiked tail up and away from her suitor. Seeing his lady in such a submissive and obviously seductive position, the male moved closer to her until he could lift one of his thick hindlegs over hers, half-straddling her. More soft bleating sounds, and the two ugly beasts attempted to copulate. The eventual congress took some doing. Ian could not help but chuckle as he watched the male repeatedly fail in his efforts to complete the job.
“I’m glad it’s become a bit easier for the rest of us,” he said. “Would sort of take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?”
Becky smiled. “I daresay, Ian, I think you’re right.”
The Stegosaurian union, once effected, was brief and perfunctory. Apparently neither member of the species took much delight in the performance, and were following some atavistic urge, rather than seeking any relief from tension. In fact, once finished, the male hobbled away from his lover without so much as a backward glance, leaving her to struggle awkwardly to her stubby feet alone.
“Well, that’s one more burning question laid to rest,” said Ian. “Of course, that was only one species . . . We’ve got thousands yet to record.”
Becky laughed. “I think you are a pervert . . .”
“I never thought I’d ever be accused of being kinky with dinosaurs!”
They laughed for a moment as they watched the female finally gain her feet and walk off lazily to search for a soft spot to lay her eggs.
“I don’t suppose we have to worry about waking up that predator back there, not if all that racket didn’t do it,” said Ian. “But I think we should keep moving nonetheless. What do you say, my dear?”
“I’m just visiting here. I follow you.”
“This way, then,” said Ian. He was beginning to feel more and more comfortable around Rebecca Thalberg, and he knew on another level that an easy, cooperative relationship between them would be a plus in terms of their survival. It was possible that he could become physically attracted to the small, raven-haired woman, but he tried to keep such thoughts from his mind. It was when you started letting your mind drift away from priorities that you got yourself into trouble . . .
They walked farther into the river-valley, pausing only to have a light “lunch” of seeds and fruit. Finally Ian estimated that they had traveled far enough to get a closer look at the white objects seen from the highlands. He selected a tall cycad, and nimbly scaled it, getting as close to the top as possible so that he might peer down into the deep green carpet below them. As he scanned the lowlands, he was shocked at what he saw.
Just breaking the line of treetops about ten kilometers distant were the unmistakable signs of intelligent life—the tips of three large pyramids, glistening brightly under the light of the illuminator. Ian’s pulse jumped as he strained to make out some detail in the structures. His first impression that he had seen some kind of buildings had been correct. It was somehow more unbelievable than the rest of the crazy world they had discovered.
“Becky,” he called down. “You’re not going to believe this . . . but I think we’ve got some company in here.”
She looked up and watched him as he worked his way down from the tree, waiting until he jumped to the soft earth before speaking. “What’re you talking about?”
“There’s some kind of buildings ahead. I saw the tops of them-look like pyramids to me. It might be a city or a temple or something . . .”
“But how? Who built it?”
“I don’t know, as is the usual state of affairs. But I suggest that we find out what we can before it gets dark. I’ve taken a new fix on the position, and it looks like we have about ten klicks walking ahead of us. You feel up to it? I’d like to get there before the night-cycle.”
“Do you think there’s any . . . people there? Would it be dangerous?”
“I’m asking myself the same questions, but somehow, I don’t think it would be any less safe than where we are now. Let’s get moving, what say?”
* * *
It was not a city.
Three limestone-block pyramids—three-sided configurations—were arranged to form the points of a large isosceles triangle, all bounded by the remains of a two-meter block wall. The jungle had done its best to completely overwhelm the ruins and had done so quite efficiently. All that remained of the wall were a few bare patches which Ian cleared by cutting away the thick mat of vines and creepers that covered it. The pyramidal structures had, at one time, been built with step-configurations like the South American temples or the Mid-Eastern ziggurats, but now they were crumbling down, under the constant pressure of gravity and the creeping growth of the forest.
It was impossible to determine how old the structures might be, but Ian estimated that they were very old indeed. He found it curious that there were no remains of statues or any friezes, reliefs, or any other stone-work that would give some clue as to the identity of the builders. From an engineering standpoint, the pyramids were not works of inspiration or architectural finesse, and seemed to be only a few orders above the primitive constructions of Stonehenge.
Rebecca sat upon the lower steps of one of the structures watching Ian poke about in the thick undergrowth, still searching for any clues to the mystery.
“Could there possibly be people here?”
“We can’t assume that from what we have here, Becky. This only tells us that at one time, probably a long time ago, there were people here. It doesn’t look like they’ve used this place for a hundred thousand years, if you want to know the truth.”
“Could they have been neanderthals or . . . australopithecines?”
“You mean those fellows Leakey found? I doubt it . . . The latest data puts humankind on the map around ten million years ago. That’s still a hundred and sixty million years after the dinosaurs. No, that’s not too likely.”
“But maybe they evolved! Right here in this ship, the way they did on Earth.”
“You mean the little protomammal and tree shrew bit? Hmm, I suppose that could have happened, but isn’t all that predicated on the demise of the lizards? I haven’t kept up with that sort of thing, but I seem to have the idea that most scientists feel that the Earth passed through some kind of planetary disaster period that caused the demise of the dinosaurs, and that was the only way a new order of creature—the mammals—ever had a chance to get started. After the dinosaurs had been eradicated.”
“And . . . ?”
“Well,” said Ian, looking off into the darkening shades of green beyond the walls, “that obviously didn’t
happen here. I mean, the dinosaurs dominated the Earth for a hundred million years or so. That’s being a success under anybody’s terms. Whatever wiped them out on Earth never had a chance to do it up here, and as you can see, they are still going strong. If there are any tree shrews or protomammals, or whatever you want to call them, crawling around up here, I haven’t seen any. And even if they’re nocturnal, it seems obvious to me that all the big fellows with the scales and the nasty dispositions have been doing a good job of keeping them in check.”
“That still doesn’t tell us who built these ruins.”
“No, it doesn’t. But it only leaves us two possibilities: either the alien crew, having experienced some kind of technological problem in the control section—famine, mutiny, etc., all following naturally afterwards—had struck out inside their giant terrarium simply to survive. Maybe they lasted for a few thousand years, or whatever, but with the loss of their technology through the generations, until their descendants were a bunch of primitives who eventually died out . . . or, the second possibility, which is that during all this time, in this controlled biosphere, some species of dinosaurs evolved to sentient levels . . .”
“My god, Ian, is it possible?”
“Is anything not possible? That’s the question, isn’t it? But there’s a problem with that theory, too.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, where are they? These intelligent dinosaurs, I mean, if they survived as a species. I mean, they have had lots of time to evolve, and they should have been able to dominate this whole little world after all the millions of years.”
“They could be anywhere, Ian. We haven’t even begun to cover the territory inside this ship. For all we know, we might be wandering around in one of their game preserves or ‘national parks’.”
“By God, that’s a sobering thought, isn’t it?” He smiled and sat down beside her. “It’s getting dark. The cycles are about eleven hours and forty minutes each. Days and nights used to be shorter on Earth.”
He watched her as she gazed up at the dimming illuminator. She really was a fascinating woman. She’d been opening up a lot to .him, telling him about her life. She’d taken the intense academic and professional course in life, and now, in the face of the possibility of death, she wondered if she had made proper choices. Parts of her seemed, in this alien hot-house, to be blooming.
“Maybe they’re up there,” she said, pointing past the halo of the rod, beyond the sky, at the landmass sixty kilometers above them. A thick haze kept everything there indistinct. “Maybe we’re just in the wrong part of town.” She turned to him. “Well, what do we do now besides survive?”
“I was thinking that maybe we should stay here tonight. Maybe linger for a few days.”
“Ian. I can’t believe how scared I am.”
“Well, that’s an emotion we’re both sharing. Look, my dear, I’ve told you. We’ve just got to make the best of it, that’s all. I’m frightened of dying . . . especially in the manner that most creatures die in a place like this. But I’m also frightened of finding some of the answers to our questions. I mean, I’m not sure I want to know what all this bloody nonsense means.”
“You mean that there are some things that man was not meant to know?” Becky smiled half-heartedly.
“No. Not that rubbish. I mean I’m not sure l can mentally or physically deal with the underlying truths about this ship and everything that’s in it. At least not now, while I’m trying to stay alive. There’s such a thing as too much, you know. Too many mysteries. Too many questions. After a while, you just don’t care anymore . . .”
“Now you’re starting to sound like me.”
“Am I? Good God, we can’t have that, can we?” He put his arm around her, surprised that she felt so tiny and frail. She responded to his touch by leaning into him. He felt the soft warmth of her body against his chest. Ian had almost forgotten how good it was to hold someone, the reassurance it gave. He thought immediately of his wife Leticia. Would he ever see her again? He thought of all the intimate moments they’d shared, the way, sometimes, they’d almost think the same way, finish sentences for one another. A pang swept through him . . .
What the hell was the use of anything? Scientific inquiry. Status. Achievement. Fidelity. All the things he’d worked for all his life. Under the glare of the illuminator, amidst the smells and the sounds and terrible beauty of this savage paradise, all his civilized values seemed . . . distant.
What was happening? What was he thinking about, really?
He switched his attention toward thoughts of the timetables they were dealing with. It had been seven days since they’d been stranded inside the ship. Even if Copernicus had mobilized another ship within that week’s time, considering the increasing velocity of the alien vessel, the tricky navigational maneuvers, the speeds necessary of the IASA ship, and the additional difficulties of finding him and Becky, it was going to be another thirty to forty days before they could hope to be found.
A long time to simply survive. A long time to live with someone like Becky, becoming close, sharing . . .
Becky stirred lightly. She seemed to nestle closer against his chest. “That’s nice,” she said.
“What’s that?” he asked softly.
“Feeling you holding me, that’s all. I’m so glad you’re the one that made it, Ian. I don’t know if I could have held everything together without you.”
“Yes. You would have. We can do amazing things when we have to.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But you’ve made it a lot easier. It occurs to me that I’ve never thanked you.”
“Thanked me? What for?”
“For being so competent. I guess that’s the right word. And . . . for being such a—God, I sound so old-fashioned, but—for being such a gentleman.”
“Oh, I think I know what you mean. Somehow I don’t think being a gentleman will ever go out of style. Not with the right people, anyway.”
“Are we the right people, Ian?” Becky looked up at him. He found himself falling into the depths of her brown eyes. Odd feelings stirred in him. He knew what was happening. Should he resist, or not?
“I don’t know, Becky. But I think so.”
She put her arms around him, pulling him even closer. “I do too,” was all she said.
Ian looked up to see the illuminator growing dimmer, now only a dully glowing amber. Shadows fell across the landscape like dark pools, the green of the forest became more intense. The sounds of life scurrying for survival hummed in the air about them. Something woke up screaming and hungry in the distance, but Ian barely noticed.
* * *
In that first moment of intimate contact, Becky asked herself, over and over, the same questions. They flashed through her mind in a heated rush, mingling with the initial stirrings of passion. Why are you doing this? Do you really want this? What is he going to think of you?
She quickly decided that it did not matter. That nothing really mattered except staying alive, and that anything else was just some icing on the cake. She and Ian had been forced to be so close in all other ways since being marooned inside the strange ship, so close that a sexual intimacy seemed to be the most natural thing to happen. She knew that he had been entertaining fantasies. Becky was no naive child; she knew men’s basic needs and drives.
All these thoughts, she knew, were her super-ego’s final flashes of restraint or rationalization for what was happening. But the thoughts were growing fainter now, becoming gauzy and insubstantial as she allowed her senses to override everything else. She could feel her hands, her fingertips, digging into the firmly muscled flesh of Ian’s back, pulling him close to her. At first, she detected a moment of hesitation on his part, as though it occurred to him to resist her. But then there was the sag of relaxing muscles and the embrace of his arms around her waist.
His jumpsuit was damp with perspiration
and humidity, and as he slowly nuzzled his cheek against her neck, she could feel the prickles of his beard, the smell of his sweat. She closed her eyes, perhaps out of fear of gazing boldly into his, and turned her face upwards to meet his lips. She was surprised to feel the gentleness of his kiss, the tentative touch before pressing closer. Becky parted her lips slightly, and felt his tongue slip into her—and a shot of fire burned through her body, slowly at first, then curling and snaking its way, tingling, out to her extremities.
She heard herself speak his name softly as they parted briefly to take a breath. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” he said awkwardly. “But I didn’t know about you . . .”
Becky smiled. “Well, now you do!” She kissed him, and this time her tongue slipped past her lips, probing, teasing. She lay back against the large, smooth rock behind, sinking into the spongy ground cover, and Ian settled down beside her. The expression on his face was one of excitement and fear, and Becky understood how he was feeling—the awkward passion of the very young, or perhaps the very guilty.
No time for guilt now, she thought. Tomorrow we may be dead . . .
Reaching out to the zipper of his jumpsuit, she pulled it down. The fabric peeled away from his bronze skin, the firm pectoral development and taut stomach. As though hypnotized, Becky watched the zipper descend, revealing Ian’s mesh briefs, his swelling penis beneath them. He carefully slipped out of the sleeves of the garment and pulled her close to him, and she let the tight curls of his chest hair tickle her face. He was a very masculine man, hard, firm, sinewy. In that respect he was like Phineas, although he was taller and heavier than her lover.
He kissed her again, longer this time, and with less of the tentativeness of before. He unzipped her jumpsuit with confidence, pausing to tease her softness with a brief touch before continuing, until it was down to its stop just above her pubic mound. As he slipped her jumpsuit away from her shoulders, she felt a new tingle of exhilaration rush through her. God, it had been so long wearing these clothes! How good it felt !o be free of them! She undid her brassiere, and let him lift it away from her, as though they were participating in an age-old ritual. She smiled to herself at the thought—perhaps it was just that. To feel her small, firm breasts free from the constraints of the halter, to feel Ian’s touch upon them tenderly, gave her another rush of passion. She could feel her nipples growing hard in the anticipation of his touch, the tingly God-l-can’t-stand-it pleasure of them being moved easily, playfully under the flick of his fingers . . .
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