" Still won't let anybody feed him but you," Henderson said. Stiletto stood on thick smooth legs, pressing his head against the wire mesh, his large golden eye blinking at Peter. At the age of four months, Stiletto stood three feet high, with a mouthful of sharp teeth as long as the small blade on Peter's new pocketknife. He was already showing signs of Dagger's cantankerous independence. Peter took the can of shredded beef and raw egg—mixed with Vince Shellabarger's secret herbs—and made several meatballs, then pressed them between the mesh. Stiletto pulled them through with surprisingly agile lips, like a horse's, and swallowed them whole.
"They've both passed inspection," Henderson said. "Healthy as can be. And surprisingly, they seem to like each other. Stiletto gets very upset when Frankie isn't with him."
Frankie was as odd a creature as anyone had ever seen. Ray's drawing barely did her justice. Now a little smaller than
Stiletto, who was outgrowing her rapidly, she stood on two four-toed feet, the middle toes prominent and splayed. Her forelimbs were stunted, even smaller in proportion than Stiletto's, with tiny, ineffectual paws. From the tip of her long tail to her pointed, flexible tube of snout, she was covered with fine mousy-brown fur. Her small, piggish eyes blinked rapidly in the sun; she was born to be a creature of night, but had adjusted her waking schedule to her "sibling." Despite her faint resemblance to a kangaroo, Frankie did not hop, but walked on her hind limbs with ballerina grace, using the long, flexible tail as a balance, much as Stiletto did.
Beyond the bipedal gait and long tail, Frankie and Stiletto parted evolutionary pathways radically. As Doc Henderson had confirmed, Frankie was of a line of mammals known only from fossils. No one had ever encountered them before on El Grande; the old plateau was still full of surprises. She had hatched from an egg only slightly smaller than Stiletto's—and she had hatched first. Her delicate long jaws carried sharp canine teeth, for hunting, but she would never outmatch a venator, or even a bobcat.
On Kahu Hidi, had her egg been left in place and the venator survived, Frankie would have hatched first, then killed and eaten her dinosaur siblings. She would then have departed the nest to live as a nocturnal hunter of small animals. Her species, as yet unnamed, relied on dinosaurs to raise their young—like cuckoos. Henderson guessed she would be about eight feet high when fully grown—a true mammalian marvel.
Frankie cooed softly and Peter reached through the mesh to scratch behind her small ears. That was something he would never do to Stiletto, despite the venator's adopting him as Mother. Even young venators were not fond of physical contact.
Shellabarger had failed after all. He had not succeeded in paying back his obligation to Dagger. Peter was not sure what the trainer had meant to do with two eggs in the first place— perhaps raise the hatchlings on El Grande until they could be released . . . But Frankie's egg and the Venezuelan Army had scotched those plans.
A shadow fell on Peter and the cage. For a moment, his neck hair prickled and his eyes moistened. He seemed to feel the presence of Vince Shellabarger, strong and tall behind him.
He turned and saw broad-shouldered, dark Damoo Dhotre, the Ringling Brothers' chief animal trainer.
"Good morning, Peter," Dhotre said. He knelt beside Peter and peered into the cages with wise black eyes. "That one," he said, pointing to Stiletto, "will never be trained. We will build a large paddock for him. Roland Butler will announce that he is the last of his kind, and who knows? Perhaps he is. Many people will come to Tampa to see him." Dhotre smiled at Frankie. "She will be a challenge, but no worse than a tiger, I think. Will you help me with her?"
Dhotre had offered Peter a job last week, and John Ringling North had approved. North had said, "That's what we need to sell dinosaurs again—young blood." But Peter had not yet decided.
"I do not make such offers lightly," Dhotre said.
"I know," Peter said. "I was just thinking of Vince . . ."
"Did he say that what happened was his fault?" Dhotre asked.
Peter frowned in puzzlement. "Yes, but—"
"It is only what I would have expected. Whatever misfortunes come to us who train animals, they are our fault alone. I see you working with the beasts, calm and cool and knowledgeable, not too brave and never stupid. I say that about few men, Peter."
A long black Cadillac limousine drove up between the buildings, grinding gravel beneath its wide white-sidewall tires.
The door swung open and Merian C. Cooper and Ernest Schoedsack stepped out. Ray and OBie walked through the door to the equipment barn.
Cooper waved a thick sheaf of papers and smiled. "We got 'em! The sons of bitches went for it. We are now slaves to Republic Pictures. Ford's going to produce. Peter, Anthony! How're the little fellas?" He peered into the cage. "Damoo! great to see you again. How about a guest shot?"
"In what?" Dhotre asked.
"In the biggest epic of all time. Big enough to make Monte and me partners again."
Anthony walked forward, his new leg clicking at the ankle. Cooper stooped to give it a whack with his knuckles. "By God, you look every inch the hero. Jimmy Stewart! A perfect match!"
Schoedsack stood back, glowering, as if nothing would ever quite cheer him up. OBie and Ray sidled around the group, OBie with hands in pants pockets, like Schoedsack unwilling as yet to show any enthusiasm.
"We going back to shoot?" OBie asked warily.
"To El Grande?" Cooper roared. "Not on your life. Truman's got the State Department staring daggers at Betancourt and those bastard generals. No pun intended. All of the U.S. of A. is riled about what happened down there. Looks like they may twist a few arms and get the plateau opened up as a scientific preserve—in a few years. But we're going to make our movie now—strike while the iron is hot."
"We don't have much footage from the plateau itself," Ray observed quietly.
"That's where you two come in," Cooper said, flinging out his arms as if to embrace them. "You've always wanted to build and animate your monsters in a studio. Hell of a lot safer that way. Now's your chance. Return to the Lost World! Technicolor! Two-million-dollar budget! Jimmy Stewart and John Wayne and Mickey Rooney—that's you, Peter! And Sabu, by God! We haven't signed Kate Hepburn yet, but she's interested."
OBie and Ray appeared stunned.
"It's the publicity, boys!" Cooper shouted. "You're in all the papers! You're famous!"
Stiletto grumbled threateningly at the loud and active man. Cooper bent over the young venator's cage and stared him down. "Exactly right. We'll terrify 'em!"
"And who will play you, Mr. Cooper?" Dhotre asked.
Cooper got to his feet and waved away that question.
OBie tugged on the brim of his Panama. "It's on the level?" he asked Cooper.
"Why, OBie, I'm hurt," Cooper said, feigning a sad expression. "Have I ever joked about making pictures?"
"Never," OBie said. "Ray?"
"We'll have work," Ray said. Peter realized that motion picture people like Ray and OBie faced a lot of disappointments and that was why they were reluctant to show enthusiasm.
"We're in," OBie said. He smiled and held out his hand.
Cooper grasped OBie's hand and they shook firmly, and then he grabbed Ray's hand. "Fine, boys, fine!"
Anthony stood beside Peter. "What about you?" he asked, and there was the usual dare in his voice.
"Someday," Peter said, "I'd like to go back."
"Not me," Ray said.
"Until then, I have a lot to learn about animals. Mr. Dhotre, I'd be honored." Peter shook the trainer's hand.
Schoedsack removed his thick glasses and rubbed them with a handkerchief. "It's all show business," he said philosophically. "Craziest goddamn life in the world." "Going to go visit your mother first?" Anthony asked Peter.
"Of course," Peter said.
"Give her my best," Anthony said.
"Of course."
"Come on!" Cooper shouted, taking the cart by its handle and tugging it toward the equipment barn. "We have to
make our entrance!"
Peter followed OBie and Ray, helping Doc Henderson pull the cart with the two cages on it. Frankie settled back on her haunches, long nose twitching. Stiletto paced and whickered restlessly. He kept his eyes on Peter as they passed through the shadowy equipment barn, back under the bright sun and all the eyes of the world.
What's Real, and What's Not
El Grande, of course, does not exist.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle set his novel The Lost World on a tepui in Venezuela, and the tepuis are real, but they are much smaller than either Doyle or I have described them, and none of them has dinosaurs. The little black frog that Peter sees in the maze on El Grande is real, and more typical of the species found on these odd and wonderful plateaus.
Professor George Edward Challenger is Doyle's invention, as is Maple White. Cardozo, Lowell Thomas, Colonel Percy Harrison Fawcett, Sir Walter Raleigh, and Jimmie Angel were all real people. Jimmie Angel actually did crack up an airplane on Auyan Tepui, and may have been the first human of European descent to see the falls that bear his last name. Colonel Fawcett, a true eccentric, disappeared in the Mato Grosso in Brazil in 1925.
Calvin Coolidge, his wife and son, and Herbert Hoover were real, but having no El Grande in their lives, did not do what I have described. The United States of America's proprietary attitude toward Latin America, and the Venezuelan political situation of the time, including Gomez, Betancourt, Gallegos, etc., was roughly as described. El Colonel and all other characters are fictional.
The indigenous tribes of the Amazon did not gather around El Grande and use it as a ceremonial site. The tribes named do exist, or existed at the time, in and around the rain forests and the Gran Sabana, and their plight is even more desperate. Billie, who never reveals his Indian name, is fictional.
John Ringling North, J. Y. Henderson, and Damoo Dhotre were all real, as was Gargantua, the giant gorilla. Vince Shellabarger and Lotto Gluck are fictional.
Merian C. Cooper, Ernest Schoedsack, John Ford, Willis O'Brien, and of course Ray Harryhausen are actual people. Cooper, Schoedsack, and O'Brien made a film called King Kong, and OBie did indeed animate the dinosaurs in the early silent version of The Lost World, based on Doyle's novel.
Released in 1933, without the interference of dinosaur circuses, King Kong became a huge hit and inspired generations of young people. One of those youngsters was Ray Harryhausen, who realized his dreams and animated dinosaurs, creatures from Venus, mythical monsters, and quite a few skeletons. Harryhausen in turn inspired later generations of moviemakers—and not just moviemakers, but dinosaur experts and paleontologists around the world. He inspired me, as well.
I owe a debt of gratitude to all of these people, real and imagined, and to the animals.
Altovenator ferox is fictitious, but modeled from varieties of theropod dinosaurs. Stratoraptor velox is completely made up, but based on speculation (admittedly my own, for the most part) about what avian precursors might have evolved into, given the opportunity. Aepyornis titan lived well into modern times, as did other large flightless birds such as the Moa. Neostruthiomimus planensis is based approximately on
Struthiomimus. Centrosaurus, Ankylosaurus, and avisaurs such as Archaeopteryx all lived at one time.
Frankie, the nest-robbing mammal, is loosely based on a real creature as well, Leptictidium nasutum, found in the Messel fossil beds in Germany. Frankie's habits and size (and egg) are fictional, however. Leptictidium nasutum was a hunter, about as large as a cat, and strangely enough seemed to have been built very much along the lines of theropod dinosaurs like Tyrannosaurus rex: long balancing tail, locomotion on two hind limbs adapted for running, not hopping, and small forelimbs not suitable (supposedly) for holding down large prey. It makes an interesting contribution to the controversy about T. rex's tiny arms!
The hammerhead amphibian that so fascinates Ray and Peter is not known in the fossil record, though Diplocaulus and Gerrothorax might be prototypes.
Therapsids—mammal-like reptiles—existed at one time, but not necessarily as I have described them. The lizard-monkeys and communisaurs are my own invention.
Remember, El Grande was sealed off from the outside world (in three parts, no less!) tens of millions of years ago, and it is my supposition that many species would have evolved to fill vacant ecological niches.
GREG BEAR is a multiple Nebula and Hugo award-winning author whose works have been celebrated for their vision, scope, intensity, and sheer drama. His novels include his newest, /(Slant), Moving Mars, Queen of Angels, The Forge of God, Eon, Eternity, and Blood Music. He lives in Washington State.
1 Available from Warner Aspect
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
BOOK
ONE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
BOOK
TWO
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
What's Real, and What's Not
Greg Bear, Dinosaur Summer
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