***
The manacle securing Gar’s right hand dropped to the Persian rug on the living room floor with a loud clink. A moment later the left handcuff joined it when Chase undid the makeshift bolts holding it together.
“Welcome,” Ogilvey said as Gar smoothed his wrist feathers. “You are now a full-fledged member of our little family.”
Gar bobbed his head in a gesture of understanding, or gratitude, or both.
“I hope this is a good idea,” said Chase, still shaky from the aftereffects of his brush with the tyrannosaur.
“Most certainly,” Ogilvey reassured him and Kit, who had a similar dubious look on her face. “Gar has proven himself trustworthy.”
Chase gathered the chains from the floor. “You could count on him not to bite your head off while he was chained up. But giving him his weapon back? I don’t know.”
Ogilvey went into Will Daniels’ study and returned a moment later lugging the tintza rifle, which seemed half as big as him. He carried it to Gar and handed it over with a groan. He sputtered, “If your side loses this war, Gar, it will be from hernias.”
The prospect of an armed Kra in the same room caused Chase to glance uneasily toward his 30-06 leaning against a wall. “You’re sure he’ll keep his end of the bargain?”
Ogilvey and Gar seemed almost conspiratorial. Their eyes shined with the same clever light. But the paleontologist gave Chase a reassuring nod. “I have no doubt Gar will acquit himself honorably.”
Gar went to the open front door and paused to flip a switch on the tintza rifle. It hummed softly as it powered up. Seeing Chase looking uneasy, Ogilvey quipped, “Oh, come on, Chase, he’s really no threat. He’s promised to hide the walking machine in the garage and to repair the damage done by your little excursion. Now, we can’t send him out to retrieve it without some means of dealing with a T-rex attack, can we?”
“Good point,” Chase admitted.
“While Gar tends to that unfinished business, I suggest we prepare dinner, unless we want to eat in the dark after lights-out.”
As Gar went onto the front porch, he called over his shoulder, “Neetoo.” Then he bounded down the steps and headed for the walking machine.
Ogilvey smiled. “That’s one vote for raw steak. Any other suggestions?”
Two hours later, Chase sat with the others at the dining room table. He kept a leery eye on their dinner guest, Gar, whose table manners were curious. Not built for chairs that would seat a human body, the Kra squatted on the floor with his long neck raised above the level of the table top. Kit set a plate with several raw steaks in front of him.
Unexpectedly, he showed none of the keen interest he’d previously had for steak. Averting his head, he hissed a few words of Kra-naga to Ogilvey, who sat in a chair to his right. Ogilvey’s wooly brows lifted. “Aloo-koo na toto,” the paleontologist replied in his best Kra diction. Gar responded by getting up and walking quickly through the kitchen and disappearing outside.
“Is something wrong?” Kit asked.
“Oh, no,” Ogilvey deadpanned. “He just needs to urkooss. I suggested he go behind the barn.”
“To do what?” Chase asked.
“Urkooss,” Ogilvey explained, “means to vomit out the bones of your previous meal. It’s a normal Kra habit, before each new sitting.”
Kit wrinkled her nose. “What a nice thought.”
“In fact,” Ogilvey went on, “there are seven words for vomit in the Kra language. Urkooss, as I have already mentioned, and naukek, which means to regurgitate food for one’s young. Then there is ur-kah-kah, to be sick to one’s stomach as a result of disease, and kalla-kah-kah, which means—”
“Stop.” Kit reached across the table and gripped Ogilvey’s hand. Her expression had grown more disdainful at each new definition. “Can we change the subject? Something more appropriate for the dinner table?”
“Of course,” Ogilvey said, chastened.
Gar returned to his place and without fanfare and immediately set his teeth into a steak. Lifting it off the plate in his jaws, he flipped it into the air with a toss of his head, caught it in his mouth, and gulped it down whole.
Kit leaned near Ogilvey and whispered, “I don’t suppose a knife and fork would be of any use?”
Gar gulped several times while his tablemates watched the visible bulge of the steak slide down his throat. A satisfied look came over his face, expressed by his half-closed eyes.
Ogilvey broke the silence that had fallen over the table. “You know, Gar is quite an interesting fellow.”
“Naw,” Chase drawled, eyeing a drop of saliva dangling from one of Gar’s fangs. “You’re kidding.”
Ogilvey cheerily ignored Chase’s sarcasm. “For instance, did you know Gar is only two years old?”
“Two?” Kit questioned. “He’s gotta be the world’s biggest baby.”
“How big will he be when he grows up?” Chase asked. “Tyrannosaurus-sized?”
Ogilvey’s eyes twinkled. “Just as you see him now. The Kra grow fast, like all birds and dinosaurs. He’s fully mature and very much at the top of Kra society. For instance, he’s a warlord and a co-equal commander in a triumvirate with two fellows named Oogon and Saurgon. You’ll be interested to know he opposes their plan to destroy humanity.”
“How thoughtful,” Chase said darkly. He eyed a forkful of mashed potatoes without much interest.
“What brought Gar to this house,” Ogilvey went on, “is his desire to understand us better. And, Kit, you should know that your family portrait was the thing that convinced him he wanted to make peace.”
“Lucky we didn’t shoot him.” Kit wrinkled her nose at Chase.
Chase shrugged and ate the mashed potatoes.
“Tomorrow,” Ogilvey continued, “Gar proposes to take me to Oogon. Assuming our discussions are successful, we’ll contact the U.S. military forces with a peace overture.”
“I wish you luck,” said Chase. “But suppose this Oogon fellow disagrees?”
Ogilvey gestured toward Gar. “Our friend here is as highly ranked as any Kra. As High Priest of Life, he is dedicated to the preservation of species and reintroduction of the Cretaceous animals we’ve seen, as well as the Kra themselves. He’s got an important voice and even Oogon must hear him out. I surmise that Oogon and Gar are brothers, after a fashion, born in the first generation of Kra after the moon base was reactivated.”
“How was anything born up there?” Kit puzzled. “The moon’s a frozen wasteland with no air.”
“That’s not true of the station. It’s fully automated and tapped into the moon’s underground stores of ice and minerals. After our astronauts repaired its solar power facility, the station created its own air and Gar as well, along with the other creatures we’ve seen.”
“But how do you make a dinosaur?” Kit asked.
“The station has hundreds of machines that use genetic cloning techniques to grow animals in giant glass cylinders. The Kra have been mass-produced, as has every other type of creature from late Cretaceous times. It’s all done with computerized DNA codes and chemicals. The raw materials were stored in vats for sixty-five million years but are still fresh, being simple chemicals. The Watcher automatically mixed them and used computer-stored DNA codes to create increasingly complex molecules and cells that divided until they became whole animals. After hatching from their cylinders they were reared by automatic feeding programs until they matured into adults. In the Kra’s case, that included automated education as well. That’s how the entire invasion force was created in just two years.
“Furthermore,” Ogilvey continued, “the creatures produced in the vats are normal in terms of their behavior and reproductive ability. Henceforward they will live normal lives and reproduce as they did sixty-five million years ago, perpetuating their species by laying eggs and rearing new generations of hatchlings.”
“So that’s why there are two sizes of parasaurolophuses,” said Kit. “Huey, Louie and Dufus are half-gro
wn babies. Yearlings.”
“Precisely,” said Ogilvey. “The adults protect their young over the two-year period until they are fully grown.”
“But what about the climate?” Kit wondered. “Isn’t the modern earth too cold for dinosaurs?”
“Dinosaurs,” said Ogilvey, “don’t require the earth to be any warmer than mankind has already made it through global warming. And, it seems we paleontologists have been under some illusions as to how well dinosaurs dealt with cold weather. One thing not obvious from bones is that most dinosaur babies were born with a coat of feathers. Like modern birds, their feathers served first of all for insulation. The adults of many large species didn’t need insulation, so they shed their feathers and were scaly. But there are some exceptions, like our friend Gar, for whom feathers are a part of adult life as well. Remember, birds evolved from dinosaurs and Gar is, in many ways, the missing link between the two.”
Gar made a cackling laugh and said in pidgin English, “We not missing anymore.”
Ogilvey smiled. “Nice use of the letter ‘M,’ Gar. You’re getting the hang of it despite all those teeth getting in the way.”
Chase asked, “But where do people fit into all this? Are we just supposed to get out of the way?”
They looked at Gar, who blinked as if not understanding the question. The silence was broken only by the sound of another gulp as he forced a second steak down his gullet.
“It’s a safe bet,” Ogilvey resumed, “that humanity will be making some adjustments. Unless our military can work a miracle, we must compromise to survive. The Kra only want sufficient territory to re-establish their homeland and the accustomed ranges of their herbivores. The carnivores, Gar tells me, will take care of themselves.
“Oh?” Chase responded. “And how will they do that?”
“By eating some of the herbivores and by partaking of, well… the ahh… available stock of mammals.”
“What mammals?” Kit asked.
Ogilvey exchanged uncomfortable glances with Gar. “Well, we’re not too clear on that point. He’s not very familiar with modern animals.”
Gar cocked his head, listening to something outside. In the distance, an animal was making a deep roar that repeated over and over.
“Tarrocha,” Gar murmured. “Kesta doo.”
Ogilvey translated. “He says it’s a tyrannosaurus, and it sounds like it’s in pain.”
“Not surprising,” said Chase. “Rufus and Henrietta really smacked it down.”
Kit touched him on the shoulder. “Not to mention a couple of bullet holes in it.”
“Tough times for T rex,” said Ogilvey. “As long as we have Rufus and Henrietta, we’re tyrannosaurus-proof.”
Chase was unconvinced. “I don’t like the idea of living with something that dangerous around here, if we lose this war.”
“Perhaps it’s time,” Ogilvey reflected, “to stop thinking about war; about winners and losers. What Gar is proposing is a truce. Peaceful coexistence.”
Chase frowned. “Maybe we can make a deal with the Kra, but can we really expect people to coexist with a predator like T rex?”
Ogilvey shrugged. “People around here have coexisted with grizzlies. People in the arctic coexist with polar bears. Bangladesh has tigers.”
“But Americans will never stand for dinosaurs in their back yards.”
“Not in their back yards perhaps, but Yellowstone Country may have room for some more big animals.”