The Chronicles of St Mary's Omnibus, page 18
A large cage stood slightly apart – its occupant a young, half-grown T. rex. Even though not fully grown, he was still too big for the cage and he roared and bellowed trying to swing his head around and batter his way out. As I watched, a group of men wandered past on their way to somewhere else. One pulled out what looked like a stun gun and casually zapped him as they passed. He bellowed and lunged against the bars and they all laughed. I felt my blood turn hot and beside me, Dieter growled.
Further towards the tree line, another group of men were pulling a Hadrosaur from her cage. She was fitted with restraints but they still shouted and poked and prodded her forwards. Not understanding what was happening to her, upset and confused at being separated from her herd, she wailed in distress and fear. Even as we looked, she reared. They jerked the restraint viciously and she twisted awkwardly in mid-air. I heard the crack of a broken bone from all the way up where we were. She crashed heavily to the ground and lay, crying in pain. Someone stepped forward and put a bullet in her brain. Dieter gasped. Suddenly, I liked him a lot. A forklift bustled forward to remove the carcass. Obviously, this had happened before. And still they did it.
Both the T. rex and the dead Hadrosaur had a splodge of green paint on their sides and a red one on their forehead. I looked around and saw some caged animals had the same markings. Was it some sort of classification?
Dieter was describing vehicles and plant, together with lists of power provisions and generators. I set up a live feed back to the pod and tried to identify their security arrangements. There didn’t seem to be any apart from an electrified perimeter fence and a lookout tower by the gate. The whole camp seemed to be built around some large central structure, but the view was obscured.
I was speculating on the origins and purpose of the camp below when Dieter nudged me. ‘Look at that, over there. Does that look like a kind of arena to you? And that's a funnel. Have you ever seen a salmon run? The fish swim forwards into the funnel and then can’t turn round. This is a dinosaur run. These guys are hunters. They’re going to drive the animals in and shoot them. That's what those paint marks are. They’re targets. They’re painting targets on dinosaurs; so many points for a red hit and so many for a green. Maybe they even shoot them in the cages. Max, we can’t let this happen. This is so wrong.’
He was right. I could easily imagine the scene; panicking and confused dinosaurs milling around an enclosed space. Depending on the species, some would vainly seek to escape. Others, (the ones for whom I had a sneaky soft spot), would not understand the threat and would make a stand, roaring their challenge and all of them screaming in pain and terror as high-impact bullets or armour-piercing shells tore into them, shredding flesh and bones, as they crashed to the ground in blood and dust while these – tossers – stood in perfect safety, cheered each other on, and called it sport. I remembered that night at the hotel and the Chief telling me about problems from the future. This was why he came back. Suddenly it really was balls to the wall time. Trouble had arrived and it was up to us to deal with it, even if we had only stumbled upon it by accident. I wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t decided to take a techie to work today?
And another thought – was this what Sussman had been protecting? We were at the unexplored northern end. Maybe it was no coincidence he attacked me on that very day. What was his role in all this?
I was so busy thinking this through that it took some seconds to register the five or six muffled explosions at the head of the valley.
‘What the fuck now?’ said Dieter, taking the words out of my mouth. The ground began to shake. I heard a noise like thunder. We both looked up at the cloudless sky, but this was continuous, never-ending thunder, drawing closer all the time. Tens, scores, possibly even hundreds of animals were coming our way. I could hear trees splintering and crashing to the ground. Flying reptiles erupted into the air, screaming and shrieking. Small rocks tumbled past. The dinosaur run had begun.
‘Come on, Dieter, we have to go. Now! Come on!’
We ran together. The ground shook and we were continually pulling each other to our feet. I was really worried about the pod. Even with its bracing leg extended, it wasn’t as stable as I’d like it to be.
‘A bit like its owner, then,’ panted Dieter and I began to think we might make a historian of him yet.
Number Eight was still there and upright, but the loose shale on which it balanced was beginning to slide downhill and taking the pod with it. The thunder grew louder and over the crest of the hill came the stampede, invisible in a huge cloud of dust. No time to look – we had only seconds.
Dieter's strength got us across the shale. He had the sense to head slightly down hill, which made things easier for us and we met the pod as it slithered past. The door opened and we leaped in. No time to buckle up. The leg snapped off and we tilted. The next moment the stampede was upon us.
Something big and heavy hit the roof. The ceiling sagged badly, tiles fell and wires dangled, spitting and twisting. The lights flickered wildly. Something else kicked us and we tipped over, rolling down the slope. Locker doors swung open and their contents crashed down on top of us. We were hurled around the inside of the pod, bouncing painfully off the walls.
With a bellow, something really big fell on top of us, the walls bulged outwards and frighteningly, with a noise like a pistol shot, the screen cracked. I think Dieter was yelling. I know I was.
I shouted, ‘Computer, emergency extraction …’ and it all went horribly quiet. Through the distorted screen I could see the ground – a long way down. We’d gone over the bloody cliff!
‘… Now!’ hoping desperately we would jump before we hit the ground, which was getting closer and closer. And then the world went black.
Much later, I saw the tapes of our landing. Every alarm in the unit went off. The hangar was still full of nosey sods awaiting our return. As our pod appeared about eight feet above the plinth, people scattered. Techies threw aside their umbilicals and ran for their lives. The pod landed on the plinth with a thunderous crash. Dust and debris dropped from the hangar roof. The whole hangar shook. They felt the impact all through the main building. Apparently, the shock was such that one of our decorative stone pineapples fell from its plinth and crashed onto the front steps beneath, narrowly missing our caretaker, Mr Strong, who had stepped outside for a crafty fag.
The pod bounced down the hangar like something dreamed up by Barnes Wallis, inventor of the famous bouncing bomb, scattering people as it went and finally came to a stop, door side down naturally, in front of Plinth Three at the other end of the hangar.
On the tapes there was a long, shocked silence. Red and blue lights bounced off stunned faces. Chief Farrell moved first.
‘Emergency evacuation! All non-essential personnel out. Now. Crash teams to me. Move.’
Karl and Peterson got people off the gantry while contriving to stay put themselves. They were joined by the Boss, who had turned up to see who was trying to wreck his unit.
Major Guthrie and a security team appeared from the back of the hangar, closely followed by Helen and her team of medics. All in all, the hangar cleared and key personnel assembled in around two minutes. Quite impressive. When they discovered the pod had landed on its door, the Chief kicked the pod in frustration, snapped an order, and Polly Perkins dashed off out of the picture.
Inside the pod, where the important people were, Dieter and I were still wondering who we were and what the hell was going on. Amazingly, we were still conscious and gave thanks for our vests and helmets.
‘Jesus,’ whispered Dieter, ‘I am never going anywhere with you again, Max. Ever. I’m not even using the dining room if you’re there. You’re a fucking disaster! ‘
‘I think that's a little unkind,’ I said, weakly. ‘You’re surely not blaming me for this.’
There followed some argument which it would not be useful to repeat, but he seemed better afterwards.
‘How are you?’ I asked.
‘Well, I’m lying on the door which means we can’t get out and they can’t get in, with the contents of seven lockers on top of me and there are live wires everywhere. What about you, Max. You OK?’
‘Yes, I think so. Listen, Dieter, this is important. If I pass out you must make them download the tapes first. I know we’ve got live cables everywhere, but if they switch the power off then we might lose all our data. I’m sorry, kiddo, but it's more important than we are.’ Silence. ‘Dieter, I’m sorry, but you’ve just become an honorary historian, which means you rank somewhere between blue-green algae and the duck-billed platypus in the scheme of things. The Boss must see those tapes.’
More silence. I didn’t know what to say to him. I’d brought him with me in a stupid attempt to promote equality and co-operation and I’d nearly got him killed.
‘Dieter, are you still awake?’
‘Honorary historian, eh?’
‘Could be.’
‘So how does this work? Do I have one orange leg and one blue leg?’
My com crackled. Farrell said, ‘Max, can you hear me?’
‘Good afternoon, Chief.’
‘Is Dieter OK?’
‘Yes, we’re just redesigning his uniform.’
‘Are either of you injured?’
‘We may be a little shaken.’
‘We’ll get you out in a jiffy.’
‘Is the Boss there? Can I have a word?’
‘Just a minute.’
He came on immediately. ‘Miss Maxwell. That was quite an entrance.’
‘Sir, I apologise for disturbing your afternoon. We’ve got some data here and it's important you see this. It's more important than we are. Please, sir; under no circumstances allow them to disconnect the power in this pod. You must preserve the data. You’ll understand when you see it.’
To his credit, he didn’t argue or delay.
‘Miss Barclay, upload these tapes immediately and advise me when you have done so. Now, please!’
Back on the outside, Polly Perkins arrived with a forklift truck. The plan was to use the prongs to ram open the cracked and weakened screen and get us out that way.
Back inside, I sniffed. ‘We’ve wrecked the toilet. Can’t you smell it?’
‘Ah, no, sorry. That would be me.’
Polly lined up carefully, revved the engine and hit the pod with a crash. It took her four goes before they could batter their way in. Shouts of ‘Cover your eyes in there!’ would possibly have been more helpful if they had been uttered before impact. Still, let's not be picky.
The Chief clambered in first, went straight to the trip switch, and pushed it up, ignoring my warning whimpers.
‘We’ve got the data,’ he said. ‘Relax and we’ll get you out.’
They got Dieter out first, manhandling him through the shattered screen. He reached out to me and I grasped his hand.
‘So, Mr Dieter, apart from that, how was it for you?’
‘Awesome, Max; the earth moved.’ They took him away.
The Boss waited quietly. As they stretchered me away, I grasped his sleeve and croaked, ‘The tapes?’
‘Safe and sound, Miss Maxwell, I shall be reviewing them in a few minutes.’
Satisfied, I closed my eyes and let go for a bit.
I woke up in Sick Bay. Actually that happens so often I’m going to put it on a hotkey. I was asked to prepare a briefing. I spent two days getting down as much as I could and preparing a large-scale map of the area, including the previous site where Sussman and I had worked before. I took my time because I wanted to get it right. That's the beauty of this game; we could take whatever time needed and still go back to about ten minutes after we left.
Guilt-stricken, I persuaded them to let me visit Dieter who lay heavily bruised in the next room.
‘What's the damage? I said, trying not to wince in sympathy.
‘Broken arm, broken wrist, sprained ankle, cuts, bruises, in-growing toenail, and mild concussion.’
He moved his arm fractionally and caught my sleeve. I gently patted his hand.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘We’ll get the bastards. And the pods they came in on.’
He nodded, yawned, and when I looked again he was fast asleep. Typical techie.
The day after I was able to start hobbling around again, Chief Farrell came and collected me from Sick Bay and we walked to the Boss's office.
As I limped down the Long Corridor, he said, ‘We got it wrong. Well, I got it wrong. We assumed the point of killing you was to bring back a body that would lead to mission shutdown. However, I think their plans were further advanced than we thought. The point may have been to keep you away from the northern end of the valley where Ronan and his team were carrying out their very illegal, but highly lucrative temporal tourism. Sussman's bank account shows a rather large recent deposit.’
I looked at him.
‘He was always jealous of you, Max. Didn’t you know?’
I shook my head.
He didn’t mention this could be the reason for Sussman's behaviour as well; a quick bit of rough sex before tossing me to the raptors. I looked up to find him watching me. He’d followed my thought processes. He put his hand on my shoulder. ‘The bastard deserved what he got. Don’t think about it. How's your leg?’
‘A bit bruised. Twisted knee and a banged-up shoulder. A few cuts and bruises but everything's fine.’
I limped thoughtfully down the corridor. With all the vastness of the Cretaceous period, what were the odds two expeditions would end up within a few miles of each other and at the same time? Did they use our co-ordinates? Did we somehow use theirs? Was it just coincidence?
I asked him, ‘Who did the co-ordinates?’
‘IT provided them and we laid them in.’
Barclay. Barclay and Sussman. No, I was just allowing my prejudice to get the better of me.
The Boss sat at the head of his briefing table. Mrs Partridge sat behind him. The Chief took a seat at his right hand and Major Guthrie was opposite him. I sat at the end.
‘Miss Maxwell, it's good to see you up and about. We’ve spent some time reviewing the tapes made by you and Mr Dieter. Have you seen them?’
I shook my head and he brought them up. We watched in silence. It seemed worse the second time around. I dragged out my scratchpad from my knee pocket and made one or two notes.
At his request, I brought up the detailed and comprehensive contour map I had made, showing the location of Site A, the position of the lake, the coastal plain, the forest, the volcanoes, and the slopes.
Then I moved it up a few miles north, showing Site B, where Dieter and I landed. I showed them the shale slope and cliff, warning them to avoid this area. I showed them the route Dieter and I had taken and the position of the compound and we went back to the tapes and superimposed the buildings, cages, pods, fence, generators, and power sources. We speculated about the big structure in the middle. I showed them the direction from which the stampede had come, estimated where we’d gone over the cliff, and we added the dinosaur run and arena. At the end, we had a reasonable facsimile of the layout.
Major Guthrie asked me to describe conditions.
‘It's hot and wet. The rainfall is like vertical water. The humidity is very, very high. It stinks. The smell will make our eyes water. We will sweat continually. It doesn’t get much cooler at night and it's certainly no safer. Most of the predators seem to operate on a twenty-four hour basis. Their night vision is far superior to ours. Their sense of smell is acute. I recommend a thorough dowsing of cabbage spray and insect repellent.
‘It's rough underfoot. As well as loose shale higher up, there are swamps lower down. Things live in the swamps. Rotting tree trunks, branches, tree roots, and boulders are everywhere. The few paths made by animals going down to drink are monitored by predators. What seems the easiest way will not be the safest. We need to watch our footing. Progress will be very slow. I advise operating in pairs at least. No one should go anywhere alone. We should watch our backs at all times. A T. rex standing motionless among dappled trees is completely invisible until it's too late. Raptors move faster than you can possibly imagine and they come at you from all directions, including above. We must always remember this is their world. We are their prey. They won’t know the difference between us and the other lot and they certainly won’t care. The inadvisability of underestimating any dinosaur cannot be emphasised enough. And we need to do it quickly. The longer we’re there the less chance we have of getting out successfully.’
I didn’t like the pause.
‘We?’ said the Boss.
I couldn’t believe they were thinking of leaving me behind. I drew a breath. ‘I think that undertaking this – enterprise – without the only person in this unit who has spent three months on-site would be inadvisable, sir.’
‘You can barely walk. What would you bring to this – enterprise?’
‘Knowledge, experience, expertise, you name it, sir, I’ve got it. I’m the third most experienced historian in this unit. Even if I just pilot the pod, I’m freeing up another body.’
Another pause.
‘Thank you, Miss Maxwell. That will be all for now.’
To say I fretted for the rest of the day would be an understatement. I didn’t bother going back to Sick Bay, but spent the day in my room, walking off my stiffness and frustration. At 1800, I attended the briefing in the Hall.
Present were us three historians, most of the security section, and a few techies. The Boss attended, but Major Guthrie presided. We were divided into three teams with three pods, piloted by Kal, Peterson, and me. My main anxiety relieved, I began to pay attention. I got Murdoch, Whissell, Evans, and the irrepressible Markham. He grinned at me. I grinned back. Always nice to see someone who's even more of a disaster magnet than I am.
‘Maybe we’ll cancel each other out,’ he whispered. ‘Like white noise.’
Fat chance! He was the only person in the unit to have more yellow disciplinary sheets in his file than me. Despite eating like a horse, he remained small and slight and his hair stuck up in spikes around his crown. He’d been involved in the disastrous Icarus experiment last year, tumbling off the stable roof with his wings well ablaze. He’d thudded heavily into the paddock, panicking the horses who took exception to small, burning humans dropping on them from a great height. Running for his life and looking anxiously over his shoulder, he’d run slap bang into a horse's bottom and knocked himself senseless. The entire unit lay face down on the ground laughing. Even the Boss barked out something between a snort and a cough. The security section clubbed together and sent a ‘Get Well Soon’ card to the horse, who promptly ate it. That's St Mary's for you.
