They were still keeping to the rocks and the trees, away from the long plain where the bigger beasts roamed. They were making less than excellent time, however, due to Ian’s ankle. Limping was not the best form of travel. By Coopersmith’s estimation, they had a good two hours or more of illuminator light left before that great rod in the sky called it a night and the dinosaurs began to prowl in earnest. That gave them an hour and a half more to march, and a half-hour to find some place that looked reasonably safe in which to hole up.
To think that the Earth had been like this for millions upon millions of years! From this steaming stew of life had emerged mammals and subsequently human beings. Ian had always felt a gentle oneness with nature and physics. His expertise in mathematics gave him the language to express that. But here, in this primeval nature, his own heritage, he felt alien, out of synch. The ecology, though perfectly balanced, seemed to be no place for the more advanced beings that this very environment eventually created. In the middle of a land filled with monsters whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to kill and to eat, he could empathize with the first mammals in their fight to stay on the right side of saurian stomachs.
He hoped his ankle improved. He used to travel with a clean, efficient stride. After a few wearisome days, he’d taught Becky to move with a similar economy of motion. Her aches and cramps gone, she was able to keep up with his normal pace easily. Though her legs were shorter, she was lighter and more agile. Now, trailing behind her, Coopersmith was enjoying watching her. Her movements gave him a certain aesthetic pleasure. The constant reminder of her company displayed lithely before him, feminine sleekness and all, reinforced his own inner supply of security. He’d made sure she knew that. They had learned to give those sort of things to one another, and to accept. The relationship worked smoothly, in that respect.
Through narrow gullies, over stands of scrub-trees, around craggy rocks, they walked, always skirting the plain which afforded no protection. From time to time, Coopersmith caught peripheral but distant glimpses of dinosaurs, convincing him of the wisdom of this path. Only fifteen minutes short of lights-out, they located a tiny crevasse with an overhang they could use to conceal themselves. The entryway was narrow enough to prevent any large head from squeezing through, if its owner was smart enough to find them, which Coopersmith doubted.
With Becky tucked comfortably against him, and their dinner of well-done lizard flesh and fruit digesting with little objection in his stomach, Coopersmith kept the first watch. The Magnum in his right hand gave his mind ease. Rebecca, breathing softly In sleep against his body, however; supplied him with true repose.
* * *
She’d always enjoyed ruins.
Since her childhood, Rebecca Thalberg’s idea of a wonderfully adventurous day-trip was to seek out some old house or fort and wander. England and Europe had been a trip of perpetual bliss. She’d always felt that houses somehow stored up the impressions of the times and the people they’d been through. To walk amongst the remains of a very old establishment built by human beings was to somehow touch them across the gap of decades or centuries. In the tower of an ancient castle, or in the rocks of the foundation of an old New England home, mossy and blackened with age, there was a feeling of knowing something of the people who’d put them together, who had used them for shelter.
The ruins of the old city were different, however.
Superficially, they resembled some of the assembled stones and mortar that Becky had encountered before on Earth, if only in shapes and material of the structures. But they felt quite alien.
“You think they’re all dead?” she asked Ian, surveying the expanse of one of the crumbling, viney pyramidal forms.
“Hmm?” Ian was too busy examining the rune-like carvings in the side of a jutting bit of stone. Pictographs composed part of the message. Characters of some odd written language consisting of what appeared to be claw scratchings made up the rest. Coopersmith had long since given up trying to discern the meaning of the scratches. He was now concentrating on the sequence of sketches, trying to determine if they were supposed to compose a series of related thoughts that would reveal something of the creatures who’d drawn them.
“Whoever built all of this. The species, I mean. Obviously not human.”
“What brings you to that conclusion?”
She shrugged. “Oh, just the texture of this place. The feelings I get here.”
“Ah! How I love the logic of a woman doctor of science.” Only her familiarity with Ian’s brand of understated humor checked her anger. She actually found his statement amusing. Being with him all this time, she’d actually begun to be amused at herself. Just think. Intense Rebecca Thalberg, torpedoing through life, now able to chuckle at her own inner paradoxes, her absurdities. How that would please her father.
“You know what I mean, damn you, Ian.”
“Absolutely. These pictographs, for example.” He fingered one of them thoughtfully, tracing the simple, two-dimensional figures. “Obviously they do not depict humans of any kind.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean that there weren’t—”
“Correct. But notice that these figures are pictured in various poses. They hold things in their hands. Weapons. And these bowls here, with what looks like smoke issuing from them. They know about the uses of fire. Ergo, it’s reasonable to conclude that the artists were drawing self-portraits.”
“Ian. They have tails.”
“Quite. “
“You think—”
“That these are the creatures . . . or the sort of creatures . . . that were responsible for building this spacefaring terrarium?”
“Precisely my conclusion. It’s a possibility. No more, no less.”
“Something goes wrong with the ship. It’s stranded in our system and those operating it are forced to live in this encapsulated environment, returning to savagery and then working their way back . . .”
“So where are they now?”
“I was just suggesting possibilities.”
“Just so.” He squatted down to examine the lower layer of pictures. “Now this sequence here. I don’t know if you’re supposed to follow it from left to right or right to left or even if it’s a sequence as we understand the meaning of that word. But it appears to depict some sort of ceremony. The pouring of the fire. This pattern here . . . the two creatures in some kind of dance.”
“Religious?”
“Sexual? A fertility rite? A prayer for good crops or to protect them from their less intelligent and more savage counterparts . . .”
“You know, that may be why the aliens wanted a bit of Earth as a sample. Perhaps the similar lines of evolution. They wanted to study . . .”
“Whoa ho! Just because they seem to have long tails and snouts doesn’t mean that they’re lizards, dearest.”
“Maybe.”
Ian turned his attention back to the inscribed pictures.
“Perhaps it’s just a big Saturday night shindig.”
Ian glanced at his watch. “Speaking of night, I do believe we’ve got one coming on in about an hour. I think we had better find shelter, old girl.”
“Yes, and maybe gather up some wood for a campfire to cook with. I’m ravenous!”
They had hiked half the day without incident, somehow able to avoid the other hungry denizens of this ship-world before reaching the main section of ruins of this ancient city. They had managed to beat their way through the overflowing vegetation that thrived so well on the remnants of civilization. They had passed dozens of dilapidated huts and houses, heading for the nearest of the pyramids, operating on the assumption that any written remnant of intelligent life would be kept in what was obviously some kind of monument. And they’d found that remnant, worn and vine-covered as it was, to Ian’s immense satisfaction.
Ian was a bit of a puzzle to Becky. He was as much a mass o
f paradoxes as she was. Sometimes he seemed to thrive on this whole experience, keeping his mind detached enough from the struggle to survive to concentrate on the sifting through of all this fascinating information. Other times he just was barely able to cope. That death could be very close indeed obviously weighed on his mind, and yet it was also obvious that he was much more concerned with Rebecca’s life than with his own. That was something that was new to her after her long involvement with Phineas Kemp, who, when not involved with himself, was preoccupied with that holy extension of himself, the good old IASA.
The love that Ian Coopersmith gave, when he was able to deal with his guilt, was a natural thing, asking for nothing in return, only giving. That was a new experience to her. It was only natural for her to respond in kind. The actual easy acceptance of the giving by him was surprisingly satisfying.
No, Ian Coopersmith wasn’t like Phineas Kemp at all. She was glad of that.
“What say we climb on up toward the top,” Ian said, looking at the peak of the terraced monument. “Even if we don’t find an enclosure in which to huddle, I don’t believe any of the critters will be able to get at us up there.”
“Right.”
They gathered some firewood. Then they began to pick their way upwards scrambling over eroded fissures in the stone, scrabbling up the mounds of rubble. At one point, they were forced to use some roughly chiseled handholds to get up the short but steep face of one of the levels, tossing their dried wood up first.
Finally, exhausted, Rebecca said, “Hey. There are only two levels left. Isn’t this high enough?” She pointed to a small eroded nook in the face of the structure. “We can even use that. How about it?”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” said Ian, stretching. “As a matter of fact—” Suddenly he froze, staring away in the distance, focusing on something that seemed to engage his astonishment. “Holy Je . . . Well, I do say!”
“What is it, Ian?” She turned around to see what he was gazing at so intently. “Oh, my goodness!”
It was perhaps only three or four kilometers away.
That it was not a natural formation of rock was obvious by its uniformity, its symmetry from slope to mist-touched slope of the cylinder. Though it was a little too far away to make out precise details, there was no doubt that it was an artificial structure that appeared to ring the interior circumference of the cylinder.
A wall.
And beyond . . .
In the dim distance, everything ended.
That was why the illuminator looked so odd as it tapered off. This was the point at which it stopped, the point where it connected with whatever engine or mechanism that powered it.
Everything else was just dimly blank. A great, expanse of grey, non-reflective material, presumably some sort of alloy.
“I do believe that we may have found our intelligent inhabitants of this place,” Ian Coopersmith muttered, almost as though to himself.
“How can you be sure? I mean, this structure is here. And I don’t see any intelligent beings, wandering about.” Becky remembered her visor. She pulled off her pack, rummaged around inside, found it, and fitted it around her eyes.
Coopersmith followed her example. “Yes. Much better.” He pointed, making a sweeping motion with his arm. “Assuming it is a wall . . . or at least some kind of barrier, evidently its purpose was, and hopefully still is, to keep the carnivores of this world out.”
“Granted.”
“Fine. Now, what do you immediately notice.”
“It’s long.”
“Yes, it must be. Actually, what I meant is that there don’t seem to be any breaks in it. Any wall that is not maintained will wear away, especially in this kind of climate.”
“You’re saying that it follows that there must be somebody behind it to make repairs?”
“Absolutely.” Ian smiled as he commenced gathering the wood and readying it for the campfire. “And we’re going to meet them tomorrow.”
* * *
Had the Tyrannosaurus Rex been lying on a plain, there would have been no problem, Thalberg and Coopersmith would have given it a wide berth. However because it lay quite still amongst a scatter of rocks and boulders, its thick grey hide camouflaging it perfectly with the surroundings, Becky almost stepped on its tail.
“Oh, God.” She managed to stifle a yelp.
Coopersmith fought to control his instinctive panic. This pile of muscular, baleful death was the stuff of nightmares. Only it was real.
The behemoth stirred. Two tiny lizards, evidently feeding on parasitic mites and insects that covered the beast’s thick, almost corrugated hide, scampered away into the shadows. The great mouth opened with a yawn, revealing a mouthful of ragged, sword-like teeth. It slammed closed with almost a pneumatic hiss. Ian Coopersmith got a whiff of rotting meat nestled uncomfortably amongst the lizardy musk the monster exuded.
Fortunately, the Tyrannosaurus seemed torpid, probably having fed recently; its underside protruded beneath it.
Its proportionally tiny forelimbs were stretched forward and its head laid down so that the jaws rested on the ground. Its eyes were closed. Its great body heaved regularly with bellows-like breathing.
“All right,” Coopersmith whispered, cursing their luck. Only about a short distance from that wall, and they had to run into Mr. T. Rex. Still, if they could skirt it, they’d be okay. “Steady, dear girl. Back off slowly, with as little noise as possible.”
She obeyed as soundlessly as she could, keeping calmer than he felt. As they moved, Coopersmith unsnapped the-holster of his gun.
Suddenly, the great, ugly , veined nostrils flared wide on an inhale of breath. The greedy eyes fluttered open, immediately catching sight of the two backing away from it.
“Oh, shit,” said Coopersmith.
Rebecca stopped, paralyzed. “Ian. We can’t kill that . . .”
The Tyrannosaurus recovered awareness with astonishing speed. Its vast bulk moved to rise, faltering.
A ray of hope broke into Coopersmith’s mind. Of course. There were maybe eight tons worth of dinosaur lying there, prone. Most of its muscle was devoted to its thick neck and haunches. As it moved to get up, though, it was obvious that the forelimbs—about the width of human thighs, tapering down to two clawed fingers—had their definite and very important purpose.
As the massive hindlegs pushed hard, the flexed claws were digging into the rocky soil. If not for those small forelimbs.
Even before the final thought entered his mind, Coopersmith raced forward toward the beast, the pain in his ankle awakening.
“Ian!” cried Becky, startled. “Ian! No!”
He stopped about five meters away from the struggling beast. It roared with fury as it saw its intended prey approach and increased its effort to rise, flinging its great tail out to help it balance.
Coolly, Ian Coopersmith brought the Magnum up, switched off the safety, and carefully aimed.
He squeezed off three rounds.
Crack!
The bullet exploded into the nearer forelimb, tearing away a huge section of flesh. Blood pulsed and sprayed.
CaaRack!
Just below the other wound, a larger wound opened, revealing the white of bone.
Caaaa RACK!
The snap of bone was audible, even though mixed with the loud scream of the Tyrannosaurus.
Just as Ian hoped, it instinctively redoubled its plodding efforts to rise. In doing so, it put its eight tons on a shattered limb, throwing it entirely off balance.
With a roar of outrage and pain, it fell to its side.
Ian about-faced and began to run in the direction they’d been heading, wobbling from the raging pain in his leg, but going full speed nonetheless.
“I don’t know how long we’ve got!” he cried to Rebecca Thalberg. “Get the hell out!”
Th
alberg needed no further encouragement. They ran as they’d never run before.
* * *
The Tyrannosaurus’ screams followed them for a long time. Whether it had finally been able to right itself was hard to say. Becky suspected it had, but by that time they were far enough away for it to have lost scent of them. Just the same, although they slowed their run to a jog, they wanted to get as far away from the giant thing as possible.
“Huge!” was all that Becky could gasp. “Huge!”
“Shut up and move it,” Ian said, slowing to match her pace. A wave of indignation passed through Becky, but she repressed it. Ian could be as much the macho authoritarian as Kemp, if the time was right. Still, the essence of the advice was sound. She sped up.
After a while they had to slow to a quick walk to catch up on their breathing. Becky often darted furtive looks behind her without catching any sign of the Tyrannosaurus. They struggled on through the land, which had grown a bit marshy with the beginnings of a jungle-like portion nearby. The high trees had long since obscured all sight of the wall they’d glimpsed.
“Wait a minute, Ian. I’ve got to stop. I can’t go on anymore.”
“Right,” Ian said without objection. He promptly flopped to the ground, chest heaving. “Talked me into it. Just keep your eyes” —he paused for an intake of breath— “focused back the way we came. Should you happen to see a pair of nasty reptilian eyes” —breath— “attached to a body with a mangled forearm, notify me immediately.”
Very deep breath.
“Ian.” She sat down hard, propping her head up with her hands. Difficult, she immediately realized, because her face was drenched with sweat. “Ian, you saved our lives!”
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” —breath, wheeze. “Entirely automatic. I just did it, shot the thing’s leg, I mean. No use going for anything else at that point, you know. Thank God I can shoot as well as you can.”
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