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The Adventures
of Rifkin
Rifkin had learned by now that most of the forest
dangers were closest to the water.
It was by the river that they had first seen the giant leaper, and it
was in the water that he was attacked by the dragon. All such creatures fed and drank by the river, so his path
must naturally led him away from the river, since he was now on foot and most
vulnerable as prey. But now he
must head back the same way that he had come, looking for the crawler in the
most dangerous part of the jungle: the river’s edge. What made his goal even more impossible was the fact that the
crawler sat on the opposite side of the water on a sand bar—on the wrong side of the river!
How
could he possibly get on the other side, unless he swam as he had before or
found a log to climb onto and somehow paddled himself safely to the other
side? He needed another miracle,
like the appearance of the giant long-neck that saved his life. As he passed through the forest of
conifers, tree ferns, and newly evolved hardwoods, he felt that at any moment
another monster might attack him on the trail. Each tree trunk that he passed and every limb overhead
harbored potential death for him.
Each chuckhole or crunching limb underfoot and each unfamiliar jungle
sound jarred his spirit and made him want to duck and hide.
Out
of nowhere this time, the most bizarre looking creature he had seen on this
planet hopped out from behind a bush, startling him half out of his wits. The small leaper, which was not much
taller than himself, was a dark, glistening green. A fan-like crest on its back moved constantly as it stood
there surveying him with its large, unblinking eyes. Although quite ugly, the creature struck him as intelligent;
it cocked its reptilian head this way and that, its gaze filled with wonder as
it sized him up. Soon it was
making purring noises as it began to dance around him, each time cocking its
head, a long forked tongue darting in and out rapidly from its narrow
jaws. Totally unnerved by this
strange, effeminate leaper, Rifkin reached down and grabbed the first stick he
could find and took a few swipes at the animal. Instead of standing its ground and fighting him, as Rifkin
hoped he wouldn’t do, the creature immediately ran from him back into the bush
from whence it came. Pumped up
with nervous energy, Rifkin foolishly let out a war whoop, wringing his club in
the air at his vanquished foe.
“You
lowly zabba!” he cried, remembering a strange creature on Beskol that also made
a big show and then ran. Like the
delicate and furtive zabba, who snuck up on its prey, this predator was built
rather flimsily. In stead of
having powerful jaws and teeth, its head was thin, its jaws narrow and its
teeth were quite small. As Rifkin
carried on martially a moment, however, he remembered something else about the
zabba that stopped him cold. The
zabbas hunted in pairs and lured their victims into a trap: one playing a
fawning cowardly role, while a second predator suddenly attacked from
behind. When the small leaper had
disappeared completely into a clump of vegetation and before another fan-headed
predator arrived on the scene, Rifkin took this opportunity to run as fast as
he could down the path and find some form of cover, just to make sure. The sound of footsteps behind him,
whether imaginary or not, caused him the greatest anxiety. He had no weapon, except the makeshift
club he carried. When a tiny
chicken-sized runner passed him on the path, he heaved a great sigh and allowed
himself to slow down to a trot.
As
he approached the river, there were a lot more small flyers in this part of the
forest, many of which had long, colorful, and furry outgrowths and beaks
instead of jaw. He noticed a
greater swarm of segmented creatures at each turn, some of them buzzing around
flowers that sprouted up in the small sunlit clearings in the forest. The sounds of Irignum’s life forms were
also more intense here. The
trumpet of large plant-eaters on the banks, the hiss and movement of countless
snakes and lizards, constant whoop and chatter of flyers, and rustle of small
fury creatures seemed so much louder now.
He realized he was near the river now, closer to danger and the constant
battle for survival at the water’s edge.
But he was also closer to the crawler, his best means of escaping danger
and returning to the ship.
At
the first clearing in which he could look out and see the water, he moved
cautiously to its edge, scanning each way for the crawler, wondering how it
would be possible to cross the river without having to swim to the other
side. He could see the silhouettes
of great denizens in the distance similar to the giant who had protected him
from danger and a pack of duckbills drinking on the other side of the
river. A water dragon moved passed
menacingly. A sudden flapping
sound overhead alerted him to the passage of a giant flyer, the shadow of its
monstrous wings spanning half the river.
With mounting anxiety, he noticed there was no sign of his crawler on
either side of the water.
Moving
cautiously along the bank, he followed it until he was near a small clearing in
which a large club-tail lie basking in the sun. Creeping cautiously around the beast, praying that it was
asleep, he found himself passing through a copse of ferns and stepping onto a
flat rock by the water—a perfect lookout point on which to survey the
scene. A large tree had fallen
across the river only a small distance away. Unfortunately it had fallen short of the other side by
several feet. It’s topmost
branches rested on a boulder jutting up from the swirling water. The closer he came to it, the longer
the distance between the treetop and shoreline seemed to be. He knew that he would have to swim a
small distance to shore, and he still didn’t know where the sandbar and the
crawler might be. It was even
possible that he had overshot his mark and traveled too far up the path.
When he had walked to the middle of the fallen tree,
shakily holding onto its limbs, he felt as if he had passed the point of no
return. Pulling himself
step-by-step to the tip, he positioned himself above a patch of white water
that seemed closest to the outer bank.
Noting that there were few rocks projecting from the current, he leaped
clear of the lower limbs of the tree and found himself out of control for
several seconds as he tried to scramble ashore. The white water had ended soon enough for him to begin
moving on his own in the river, and yet he had the same problem he had before
as he tried swimming in his bulky suit.
Though buoyant and airtight, the life support system was not intended
for swimming; he moved as would an Irignian water bug across the river. The longer he lie in the water, the
greater were his chances of being eaten by a dragon in the river or by another
predator lurking by the water’s edge.
As he saw movement at the corner of his eyes, he thought another water
dragon was about to attack him, until he discovered that it was merely a log
floating his way. No sooner had
this potential threat vaporized before him than a school of fish began darting
around him, nipping at his life support system as if they had just found themselves
something yummy to eat. The
sensation was quite terrifying. He
thrashed around hysterically in the water until he realized that they couldn’t
damage his suit. He had begun now
to appreciate his bulky life support system, with its apparently invincible and
water tight outer sheath. If he
had been allowed to breath the air as in Revekia or Beskol, he wouldn’t have
been wearing his suit and would have been eaten alive as he swam. What he didn’t know, of course, was
that the material was quite penetrable to spike-toes, who had sharper, more
powerful teeth. Without fear, he
grabbed one of the snapping little fish as he dragged himself up out of the
water and analyzed it as he continued moving down the riverbank. The fish was practically all head, he
noted with a collector’s eye. It
had a mouthful of teeth that were each as large as his thumb and yet it’s body
was not much larger than his fist.
Although the thought seemed foolish at this point, he would have liked
to present it to the professor.
He
waited until he could see one of those large tree lizards scurrying up a limb
by the water and tossed the fish its way.
Instead of landing below the tree, the fish wound up falling into the
water and was soon wriggling its way through the shallows until it could rejoin
the school of killers lurking in the depths. For several moments, he walked slowly and stealthily along
the shore and saw no sign of the crawler.
In the distance the long, graceful necks of giant sauropods could be
seen poking lazily above the trees.
Across the water, a large sail-backed meat eater, similar to the one he
saw by the leaper’s nest, was savagely biting into the neck of a small sauropod
that had been ambushed at the water’s edge, while several juveniles of its kind
hovered at the kill site, waiting for a chance to slip in and tear off a piece
for themselves. In a small
clearing further up the river, a swarm of flyers and an assortment of
carrion-eating lizards were finishing off the carcass of a large unidentifiable
denizen lying in the shallows. Not
far from this carnage, as he moved down the sandy bank, he could see several of
those dreadful pack hunters, the spike-toes, harassing one of those strange
armored dinosaurs that Collection Team Three had caught. The club-tail, as he was nicknamed,
flicked its tail back and forth, knocking the little pests this way and that
without a care, as it drank from the river.
He
didn’t know yet why his side of the river was so peaceful. Everything seemed to be happening on
the opposite bank. Down the
river, just past the comical
action of the club-tail against the spike-toes, a third clearing opened up in
the dense jungle near the water’s edge.
He froze in his tracks, as several species of dinosaurs, including
duckbills, bone-heads, and crested dinosaurs intermingled with other
plant-eaters by the shore. In the
background, peeking through the foliage, waiting for an infirmed adult or
juvenile to separate from their group, were the shadowy shapes of countless
predators. He had never known a
planet so filled with potential death.
A trio of intelligent looking, large-eyed cousins of the dromaeosaurs,
who would someday be given the lengthy title stenonychosaurus, hopped suddenly
out of a thicket. Unlike the
pervasive dromaeosaurs, these illusive predators moved furtively in smaller
groups through the forest. One day
Doctor Arkru would dub this advanced suborder iliops menglum, which
meant “savage-clawed leaper.”
Rifkin, in spite of his dilemma, was momentarily fascinated with these
fierce-looking beasts. Immediately
now, as if on cue, they began that familiar dance of head-bobbing and bodily
gyrations as they surrounded a juvenile duckbill separated from its group,
making the same variety of chirping, mewing, and hissing sounds the spike-toes
had made. Fortunately for the
youngster, several dozen three-horns began nosing their way up to the water’s
edge, every creature in their path, including the duckbills and their
relatives, giving them a wide berth.
The iliops menglum trio darted promptly into the bushes, while
the juvenile duckbill was able, after running across the shallows in front of
the three-horns, to rejoin its herd.
The
honks, bleats, whistles, chirps, whoops, and hisses of hundreds of dinosaur,
reptile, bird, and mammal species now seemed deafening to Rifkin’s overwrought
mind, but the most frightening noise he could hear during his trek was the
flapping of the giant flyer’s wings as it flew back and forth over the river
searching for prey.
He
had never seen anything to even remotely compare with this planet. What he had just seen in such as short
span of time was far greater than all the wonders witnessed on other
worlds. But the excitement of
Irignum had been worn off for the adventurous lad. He wanted nothing better now than to be back on the ship,
heading into deep space away from this dangerous and inhospitable world. Right now the endless deserts of Orm,
green fields of Beskol, and featureless plains of his home planet Revekia
looked rather good to him. He
would not mind whiling away his time as they traveled toward their next
destination, reflecting upon his good fortune just to be alive.
In spite of the fact that he hadn’t been attacked or
chased now that he was on this side of the river, he began to panic when he
considered how far he had walked without spotting his vehicle. What if it had been up the river and
north of the fallen tree rather than down the river and south of it as he had
thought? What if he had marooned
himself needlessly on the opposite bank of the river and he would be caught in
darkness again before he had time to find the crawler? He was hungry and exhausted from his
efforts. His nerves were frazzled and
the grip of terror had never left him since this terrible odyssey began. Just when it seemed that he had gone
too far down river to be anywhere near his episode with the dragon, he looked
up from the ground to see the outline of the crawler straight ahead. Unfortunately, he would have to walk out
to the sandbar, a distance in Revekian measurement equivalent to over one
hundred feet. Though it seemed
logical that it shouldn’t be that deep so close to the shore and the sandbar,
Rifkin felt as if this was just too good to be true. Surely a water dragon, perhaps the same giant that had tried
to get him before, would be lying in wait, a giant flyer would swoop down from
the sky, or a pack of spike-toes would ambush him before he reached his
goal. The distance from the
peaceful stretch of shore he was currently crossing and the crawler ahead was
not great, but there could be any manner of creature lurking nearby. Rifkin tossed his small club aside and
picked up a large rock in each hand, just in case something approached. The closer he came to the crawler, the
more peaceful it looked. He also
noticed how quiet it had become.
It was as if this neck of the woods was suddenly taking a nap. It reminded him of the period right
after their vessel had landed on this planet, a phenomena caused by the
electronic ambience of the ship.
The racket of the forest had lessened greatly now, so that all he heard
was the chirp of insects and buzz of gnats by his helmet…. Something was not
right here, he told himself, as he began wading out to the crawler…. It was too
quiet and too peaceful on this side of the river. He looked across the water and noticed that all of the
creatures he had seen eating and drinking by the water’s edge, except the club
tail and the three-horn herd, had disappeared into the jungle. Nothing could faze those armored
giants. Where was everybody
else? Where were all the
herbivores and carrion-eaters he had seen by the shore?…Why was it so quiet?
And
then it appeared: the largest leaper he had ever seen, perhaps even larger than
the leaper witnessed in his viewing screen when the ship was landing. It was simply moving to the water’s
edge to apparently drink its fill, nothing more, and yet most of the creatures
within a radius of a quarter of a mile had fled. The exceptions did not surprise him. There were a few of the smaller meat-eaters
looking quietly from the shadows on the other side of the river. A giant flyer flew back and forth
overhead. Other than the club-tail
and three-horns now turning their attention to water plants on the opposite
bank, the silence deepened as the ruler of the jungle approached. The great leaper settled down on its
haunches in the shallows to slurp water.
Rifkin moved ever so quietly over to an overhanging bush and waited
breathlessly. It rose up
quizzically, approached within only few feet of the crawler, eyed it passively,
slurped up some more water, then moved, with rumbling strides, back up the bank
and into the jungle beyond.
“Praise
Izmir!” Rifkin whispered, looking up to the sky. “It’s now or never!”
He waded as quickly as he could through the shallow water to the
sandbar and crawler sitting precariously on its top. Climbing up into the vehicle and into the driver’s seat,
Rifkin couldn’t help whooping with joy, though he did so in a subdued fashion,
looking around nervously at the river and nearby trees. He could hear the static in his
communicator and realized he had again sludged it up. Since it was already damaged, it would make little
difference. Nevertheless, praying
for a miracle, Rifkin tried reaching the bridge once more, just in case it
might work.
“Doctor
Arkru, are you there?” He called softly while turning the ignition over several
times. “I’ve found the crawler. I’m coming home!”
A
sick feeling of defeat gripped him as he continued turning the ignition key,
and the engine responded with a sputter and cough. For only the third time in his short career as a collector,
as he listened to both his motor and radio fail him at the same time, Rifkin
found himself weeping. The first
time, he could recall, found him stricken with great pain after being bitten by
a habot, a crab-like creature inhabiting the dry desert of Orm. But that was only physical pain. The second time was of course the moment
he discovered that he had lost his stunner in the water. At that point he had wept out of
frustration for being such a fool.
What Rifkin felt now were emotions he had been shielded against for most
of his life: total helplessness and an uncompromising terror. It was as if he were being punished for
all of his misadventures. He was
finally being paid back for all the trouble he had caused Doctor Arkru and
other members of the ship.
“You’ll
be better off without me!” he cried into his transmitter. “This is all my
fault. I’m going to the Outer
Reaches… or the dark sleep!”
As he continued winding his ignition, he heard the
most beautiful sound in all Revekian creation: the sound of a motor
running. Next, he heard the sound
of traction, as the vehicle’s plates rotated sluggishly on the mud. Making sure the crawler was set to
amphibious operation, he prayed that the rotating plates would break him free
enough of the sandbar so that the propeller would not also be caught in the
sediment. For a moment it appeared
as if he had truly marooned himself on the sandbar after all. His muffled squeals of joy now echoed
hollowly in his skull. He began
screaming aloud in rage at this new turn of fate, until finally the crawler,
now officially an amphibious vehicle, began to break free of the mud. Unfortunately, as an amphibious vehicle,
it moved even more slowly than it had as a land craft when Rifkin gave it full
power. To make matters far worse,
the water dragon appeared directly in front of him, sliding surreptitiously in
a liquid movement across the water and heading his way. At that very moment, as he called upon
Izmir and his angels, his crawler lurched clear of the sandbar. He swung it sharply away from the
advancing dragon. His only hope,
since the remaining force field poles were not close enough to grab, was to
outrun the beast. To do this he
would have to drive up the closest bank and move down river, skirting the
jungle until he could find a safe spot to enter. At this point, the ragged edge of the rain forest looked
virtually impregnable.
As he headed toward the south side of the shore
where Zone Two’s path actually began, the dragon swam swiftly across the water,
leaving a great wake in its path as it glided toward its prey. Quickly shifting to land operation,
Rifkin found the metal plates sliding momentarily in the shallows, gripping the
wet sand then floundering awhile in the sediment as the plates began to bog
down.
“Not
now,” he cried, “I’m almost there!”
Once
more he believed that it was the Outer Reaches for him. He was too exhausted and too hoarse to
even protest as the great dragon came closer and closer to his crawler. Then his plates, having gained traction
on something buried below the sediment, jerked forward just as the crocodile’s
monstrous jaws began snapping at the back of the vehicle. Unfortunately, the plates continued to
stall at various times on the bank.
Too stupid it appeared to figure out how to dislodge him from the
crawler, the crocodile moved along snapping and chewing at the crawler, instead
of the driver, an action that proved futile since the crawler was built of
nearly impregnable material.
Sooner or later, he was quite sure, it would realize its folly and
attack him personally. He could
either jump off now and make his getaway by running safely into the jungle and
hope that he could come back later to reclaim his vehicle, or he could stick it
out until he could drive it out of the shallows into the trees and put this
dreadful fellow behind him once and for all.
The
choice was made for him as he found his plates on solid ground and he finally
broke free of the monster’s grip.
Suddenly, he was moving up the bank away from the deadly jaws of the
crocodile and into an unknown patch of jungle. He knew that other great meat-eaters lurked on this side of
the river, but he believed that he had a fighting chance to get back to the
ship now that he had gone this far.
Blazing a trail into the jungle, his crawler mowed down a swath of ferns
and scouring rushes, until he was virtually stopped by the jungle itself. Without a beaten path created by the
forest denizens, he would have to struggle blindly through the prickly
underbrush and leafy forest. At
this particular turn, a wall of hardwood and conifer trees prevented his
passage. He was, he realized as he
stared up at the trees, at a dead end in this sector of the forest. He knew now that he must wait for the
creature to swim away from that portion of the river he just left, so he could
skirt the shoreline until he found a clear passage through the trees.
“Oh,” he wailed, “I don’t want to go back to the
river’s edge!”
The
sound of splashing and thrashing in back of him could mean that the water
dragon had found other prey, but it could also mean that only one particular
dragon had found prey and that another lie in wait not far away. Backing up and turning around on the
road he had created, Rifkin drove the crawler slowly over the crushed foliage
to avoid entering too abruptly, looking both ways before entering the
water. He could see in the distance
a most amazing sight: to his right, two great water dragons were wrestling with
a carcass, probably a duckbill that had floated down the river, and to his
left, entering the shallows from the south bank was the largest long-neck he
had ever seen on this planet.
Though the sauropod might even be the great beast he had encountered in
the river yesterday, this dinosaur was out of the water and the full extent of
its tremendous size was exhibited.
From the tip of its incredibly long tail to its extraordinarily
long-neck, it waddled ungracefully to the edge of the lake totally oblivious of
the great meat-eater poking its head up suddenly from the other side. For reasons, Rifkin’s tired mind could
easily imagine, the long-neck was unafraid of the meat-eater and the
dragons. Because of its great size
it was either the true ruler of the forest or the great leaper preferred
smaller game than something that was five or six times its size.
While
the long-neck slid into the water, a great wake followed its movements and
caused Rifkin’s crawler to bob in the water as he re-entered the shallows of
the river. For a moment he had
almost decided to wait it out, but now he decided just as suddenly to take
advantage of the passage of this leviathan and move alongside of it, hoping, as
he did so, not to be whacked by its monstrous tail. He had to find an entrance to the forest now.
“Here goes again,” he whispered prayerfully. “May the Celestial Spirits go with me. Please Izmir, Master of the Cosmos and Outer Reaches, give me one more chance!”
The
side of the great beast moved past so slowly this time, its wake caused only a
minor stir for his crawler, but as its tail came in sight, Rifkin swung sharply
to the left again, hoping that another dragon wasn’t lurking just out of range
of the tail. When he spotted a
familiar patch of riverbank, he noted the imprint of the juvenile long-neck and
the discarded net and knew he was heading the right way.
“Oh
thank you, thank you, thank you!” he cried, looking heavenward, convinced he
was being guided by God.
Soon
he was on the same animal-beaten path he had originally traveled to reach the
river’s edge, but this time going the opposite way. If his fuel held out and he wasn’t stopped by another
monster in the forest, he could make it back to the ship before nightfall.
“Please,
just let me make it back to ship!” he kept saying over and over again as he
drove down the trail.
******
Looking
back at his remaining three poles, which were potential bombs, Rifkin continued
to drive south on the beaten path that ultimately led back to the ship. Now that he was no longer hampered by
fears of water dragons or being lost, his alien heart swelled with hope and
excitement. At first, because of
the roar of his vehicle’s engine and rumble of its plates, he could barely hear
the threatening sounds of the forest.
His attention was focused on his destination. His goal was to return to his people and survive. Nothing mattered to him but to live and
return to the cosmos as a collector, as his mentor Doctor Arkru, and leave this
dreadful world behind.
In spite of not having a stunner, Rifkin felt that
he was out of harm’s way. This
period of euphoria, however, lasted for only a few moments on the path. When he had broken free of the bumpy
clearing and gotten used to the rumble of the motor and sound of the metal
plates crunching the ground, he could finally make out the commotion on each
side of him and on the road ahead.
His feeling of well being evaporated with his courage, as the sounds of
mayhem returned to his ears. He
began fumbling with the poles behind the driver’s seat with his free hand while
trying to steer the crawler. He
found himself veering recklessly toward bushes and trees on each side of the
path. A huge flyer zoomed past him
at one point, causing him to jerk instinctively away from its monstrous shadow
on the path. After dodging a
volcanic boulder looming beside the road, he barely missed hitting several tiny
squeaking and jittery bipeds streaking across as he surged ahead. A pair of those big-eyed leapers he had
seen by the river darted in front of him, chasing a young scoop-mouth, and, not
far beyond that, a club-tail lazily crossing the corridor, unconcerned by the
appearance of another giant flyer overhead.
Despite his legendary reckless bravery, he really
didn’t want to confront the horrors lying ahead. He had been through too much in the past twelve hours to act
the part of the hero or bold adventurer anymore. He was both mentally and physically exhausted and consumed
with mounting guilt. Somehow, he promised
both Izmir and himself, he would make it up to his shipmates and convince the
professor to trust him again.
Although he had no knowledge yet of the disaster in Zone Two, he was
certain that he had caused them all great dismay.
He was driving the crawler back to the ship with
little joy and self-esteem when another duckbill clamored passed his vehicle,
nearly colliding with him as it made its escape. A pair of juvenile leapers, each over ten feet high, also
appeared on the beaten path, and Rifkin’s instincts came into play. He was too exhausted now for outright
terror. His common sense, after
his experience in the jungle so far, told him that the single-minded predators
would pass him by as they surged after their prey. It seemed that such predators were unable or unwilling to
focus on two possible victims at the same time. And yet the young explorer found himself turning his wheel
sharply and detouring into the dense jungle, as if by magic a clearing or
beaten path would suddenly appear for his sake. Luckily for him, he was able to find a trail wide enough for
his vehicle to navigate. He found
himself racing through the forest, his helmet and life support system whipped
by ferns and the limbs of bushes and overhanging trees as he sought to distance
himself from the leapers chasing the duckbill down the main path.
Stopping his crawler to gain his bearings, Rifkin
perked up his ears and heard the terrible caterwauling sounds of the leapers as
they evidently found easier prey.
He couldn’t believe the leapers caught the duckbill; it had too great a
lead on its pursuers and had hopefully rejoined its herd in the northern
woods. When several spike-toes
appeared on the path behind him, he stomped the accelerator and began racing
through the trees.
He wondered if his best chance might be to plunge
his crawler into a thicket and crawl underneath the vehicle and wait for the
predators to leave. He could think
of nothing else to do. It seemed
so hopeless. He didn’t expect
another avenue of escape to avail itself as he hurled his crawler toward a
thicket directly ahead. When his
vehicle arrived on the other side of the foliage, he found himself in the midst
of a forest meadow. A herd of
those wondrous three-horns, the professor pointed out during their nature hike
in Zone Three and he had seen by the riverbank in Zone One, stood closely
packed together munching on the ancestors of modern alfalfa and wheat. Juvenile three-horns moved inside the
group, protected from predators lurking on the perimeter of the herd. Even now he could not help marveling at
the possibilities of bringing back an infant three-horn—perhaps several males
and females in order for them to procreate on another world.
But Rifkin was in no position to daydream about
collection. He realized that it
might be a stroke of good fortune that he fell into a herd of these
plant-eating giants or it might be just another way to die. The great beasts were suddenly turned
from docile browsers among the ancient grasses into a defensive circle around
their juveniles and infants. When
the pack of spike-toes, who had been chasing Rifkin, finally broke through the
bushes, they appeared startled that they had stumbled into this formidable
defense. As Rifkin paused in his
crawler on the perimeter of the herd, one of the three horned brutes broke
ranks to charge his vehicle.
Foolishly it seemed, several of the spike-toes charged the solo
triceratops at the same time it was charging the crawler. As its horns engaged the front end of
the crawler, Rifkin found himself sailing into the air and landing on a clump
of ferns nearly a hundred feet away.
He could hear the chirping and mewing of the pack hunters and rose up
shakily, thankful he had not been injured by the fall. Peeking over the ferns, he could see
why predators would not trifle with these strange looking beasts. As soon as the pack began attacking the
triceratops, there were four other giants breaking ranks to assist their
comrade. The dromaeosaurs were no
match for their adversaries this time.
The armor of the three horns and their ability to trample and toss their
attackers into the air by the upward thrust of their horns was enough to stop
two or three dozen of these predators in their tracks. Apparently,
thought the light-headed Rifkin, the
spike-toes are not very smart. Suddenly,
however, in successive waves, dancing and cocking their heads, hissing and
clawing the air, the predators moved toward the first three-horn with the same
persistence demonstrated during the siege in Zone Two, not even pausing to size
up their foe. Watching the
deliberate, almost crafty movements of these predators, Rifkin was reminded of
that trio of big-eyed leapers he had seen by the river earlier in the day. They were, he was convinced, playing
with the three-horn before attempting to bring it down, similar, he recalled,
to the darters and skippers on Tomol who tortured their prey.
With this last thought in mind, Rifkin felt even worse. For all practical purposes, his
crawler, which lie upside-down in the meadow, was out of commission. In addition to the threat of being
trampled by the single-minded three horns, he could be torn to pieces by
playful spike-toes—just for sport.
Although Rifkin was marooned in this dinosaur infested neck of the woods
as Rescue Teams One and Four had been in Zone Two, he wasn’t in danger as they
had been. He would be safe as long
as he made it to the vehicle and kept quiet. He couldn’t risk running back into the forest and
confronting more of the spike-toes.
Seeing that the three-horns were so occupied, he ran back to the
crawler, scrambled beneath it into the seating compartment, and prayed that
they would leave him alone. From
this vantage point, he watched the three-horns make short work of the waves of
spike-toes. Unlike the fate of the
previous spike-toes who had attacked the tyrannosaurus rex, however, they were
not torn to pieces by the triceratops horns or crushed to death beneath their
elephantine feet. Only one of the dromaeosaurs
seemed seriously injured, and even it was able to scramble away from the
butting horns and trampling feet.
Those spike-toes who had been tossed into the air demonstrated to Rifkin
just how agile these predators were.
Almost always they landed on their feet, whereas the ponderous three-horns
moved as armored attack vehicles which were intended for major defense rather
than offense. Brute force and the
ability to work as a team, instead of a snarling horde, was winning the battle. After a feeble effort, the spike-toes
wisely retreated. Rifkin could not
imagine anything, even the big leapers, attacking such immovable and
well-armored beasts. He was, as
they returned to their browsing, surrounded now by these lumbering giants, a
virtual prisoner in their camp.
With his vehicle wrecked, the question for Rifkin
now was “how did he get out of this meadow without being attacked himself?” For
the time being, the three horns were apparently going to ignore him and the
crawler as long as he didn’t move.
No one dared walk freely amongst this herd, unless he was able to creep
out of the clearing soundlessly without being seen. ...This was Rifkin’s plan.
His options were few, and his chances seemed bleak,
but he was alive. He had survived
attacks by a water dragon, giant flyer, spike-toes, and a three-horn, who had
destroyed his crawler. The shadow
of a pterodactyl had crossed his path more than once today. He had climbed a big rock, lived
through a night of terror in a small cave, and managed to find his way at least
half-way back to the ship. All in
all, he thought, after little sleep and no food or water, he hadn’t done too
badly. Perhaps Izmir didn’t want
him to die after all. It would all
be for nothing if he gave up now.
As
Rifkin waited for just the right moment to escape, he reached out slowly and
carefully to grab handfuls of grass to use for camouflage. If he didn’t escape during the
daylight, he would have to wait and attempt his escape at night, which was the
most dangerous time in the forest.
He had to escape soon. He
couldn’t wait for the perfect moment.
In these circumstances there wouldn’t be a perfect moment. There was only a best chance, which
depended upon speed and luck. No
amount of calculations beyond this point would increase his chances. The mere effort and time necessary to
perfect his getaway would only delay his departure. Night was his greatest enemy. Speed was his only salvation.
Rifkin
tried with limited success to camouflage himself by tucking grass in his belt and
around the various tubes and recesses in his suit. When he had done as much as he could, he had no way of
looking at himself, but he was sure that he looked ridiculous. His classmates would have a good laugh
if they saw him now. When it
appeared as if the three horns had all congregated at the far end of the meadow
and he had a clear path ahead, he edged out from under the vehicle. In a crouching position he began
walking toward the trees. He had
walked several yards when a large female, who stood alongside three young
juveniles, spotted him. Lowering
her massive head, she began a terrible charge. Fortunately he was close enough to the trees to scramble
behind the nearest trunk, which was enough to save him from being crushed to
death but not from being pelted by several long yellow objects growing on the
tree as the three horn slammed into its trunk. The foliage also vibrated with the sounds of countless
startled mammals, birds, and insects.
One especially angry lemur-like mammal hissed at him from an overhanging
limb.
“I’m sorry,” he bowed to the little creature. “You
have my sympathies for living on this dreadful planet, but at least you have a
place to hide.”
Moving
as stealthily as an alien wearing a bulky life support system could through the
forest, Rifkin kept his eye peeled for spike-toes and other creepers. He glanced down at his grass skirt and
mantle of vegetation and realized that it could still serve as a camouflage. If he didn’t make very much commotion
and kept to the sidelines he might melt somewhat into the trees. But then again, he thought with a
shudder, it might not make any difference to predators on the prowl. The last time he started out through
the forest he ran directly into two juvenile leapers and a strange, dark green
creature with a sail on its back.
Only moments ago he had been chased into a thicket by a pack of
spike-toes and had been attacked by a three-horn after emerging on the other
side. Without any weapons, he was
in great peril. He was exhausted,
hungry, and more thirsty than he had ever been in his life, which made his wits
that much duller. Far more
important than anything else, was the gauge on his life support system, which
now registered barely half full.
After
detecting several of the spike-toes ahead of him lurking in the shadows of the
trees, Rifkin feared entering the beaten path. This type of predator seemed to be everywhere in the
jungle. Although the beaten path
leading to his ship was only a short distance away, it was also a main highway
for the beasts of the forest. It
seemed foolhardy and even suicidal to attempt to walk back on this path without
a weapon and mode of travel, and yet that was exactly what he must do. His other option, which was even more
unacceptable to him, was to wait in the meadow with the three-horns and hope to
be rescued there. The spike-toes
were not going to leave. They
seemed bound and determined to make him their next meal. He realized, with mounting terror, that
there simply was no safe passage
whatsoever in the forest. He had
only two choices: the three-horn clearing or the beaten path ahead.
Rifkin
again felt trapped in the forest.
Between the two horrors of asphyxiation in the meadow and being eaten by
predators, he chose the lesser of the two dangers. But it gave him little satisfaction to know that he might be
eaten alive by spike-toes instead of being trampled by three horns or
suffocated in his life support suit.
Dead was dead, he reasoned bleakly. There were many paths to the Outer
Reaches or Dark Side. He didn’t
want to die here on this lonely god-forsaken world, especially asphyxiated and
without trying. At least, if he
attempted to cross through the forest and walk down the path, he would be
heading into the right direction and might be found.
With such determination, Rifkin continued through
the forest wearing his grass skirt and mantle, surrounded by danger at every
turn. The spike-toes had
momentarily left the vicinity, but he spied a pair of fan-heads and a large
juvenile sail-back stalking through the trees. Countless smaller predators darted suddenly past, tiptoed
furtively in the foliage, and slithered and crawled everywhere over the leafy
ground. As he swung a large stick
he found on the way, he was able to scare away most of the smaller creatures as
he walked, including several knee-high predators, who he was able to literally
kick out of the way. Yet he knew
there were spike-toes not far ahead.
If it were not for them, he was certain that he would be relatively safe
until he made it to the main path where all the large denizens roamed.
When
he was about half way through the jungle, he could see the shadowy bodies of
the spike-toes moving covertly through the forest and quickly climbed the
nearest tree. There were many
low-hanging trees in the jungle.
Fortunately for him, the spike toes, like many bipedal predators, were
unable to climb trees very well.
They could hop up but, after attempting to use their weak arms and
ungainly spiked claws to hold onto branches, they would lose their grip and
tumble or slide down to the ground.
Rifkin clubbed the head of one of them as it came close to his
limb. He knew that his suit
protected him against the insects, small reptiles, and furry creatures of this
planet, but it might not protect him against the sharp teeth and toes of these
beasts. The only treetop dwellers
he had to fear were the flyers with their sharp beaks, but these fellows were
relatively fragile in the trees when they were unable to fly.
Rifkin climbed as high as he possibly could this
time to put distance between himself and the pack below, until he could peer
out and see the top of the great space ship beyond. He could also see the great volcano in the north, spewing an
ominous funnel of smoke high into the sky. Below him, the raptors congregated, apparently confident he
would come down and become their next meal. Several of the spike-toes attempted to climb up but
continued to be encumbered by their disproportionate arms and legs and that
great, gleaming spike on each foot that continued to get caught up in branches
and leaves. Clearly this was not
their domain, but just as clearly he was trapped.
And then it happened—an event so terrible that even
the forest’s worst killers fled in panic.
No one, not even the professor, could have known that one of the
volcanoes in the vicinity would suddenly erupt. It was the same smoldering northern peak Rifkin had seen
from his rock and just now glimpsed from the tree. He could see it spewing more black smoke and debris now, a great
column rising higher and higher into the darkening sky. The ground shook terribly, his tree
swayed, and, as if the volume had been turned up sharply, a terrible cacophony
of cries, squeals, chirps, and groans filled the canopy and jungle below.
He
had seen such eruptions on other worlds.
He knew that it could be just a sporadic eruption or the main
event. Perhaps the volcano
periodically and even frequently blew its lid
….
Or perhaps this one would be the catastrophic “big one,” destroying aliens and
natives alike. Looking down
through the branches, he could see the spike-toes scattering as cracks appeared
below them and the ground continuing to shake. Rifkin realized that it was his opportunity to escape but,
in many ways, it was a worse disaster for the ship and its mission on this
planet than anything else could be.
The fact that they were not even close to finishing their collections on
Irignum added the element of sorrow to his swirling emotions. What if a lava flow caught the ship in
its path or, at the very least, a hail of lava bombs damaged it beyond
repair? There was no time now to
contemplate on the possibilities.
Rifkin knew that he must somehow make it back to the ship during this
disaster. The thought that his
fellow shipmates might even leave without him filled him with a dread far
greater than what may lie ahead on his path.
When
the shaking ceased and all he felt was an occasional tremor, Rifkin quickly
began his descent to the jungle floor.
Climbing down in a more reckless fashion than he ever demonstrated
before, he ignored the occasional hiss or squeak into his ears or the furtive
bodies and shadows swarming through the tree, until he reached the ground. At that point, he looked around for
another stick to use as a weapon and found a likely club, shaken down by the
commotion, not far away. Moving
quickly yet stealthily through the forest, Rifkin couldn’t see any predators
about, but he couldn’t believe that one volcanic eruption would have any
lasting effect on such single-minded brutes. It might even be a normal occurrence here in this corner of
this world.
As
Rifkin exited the tree line and emerged on the beaten path, he headed in the
direction of the ship. It seemed
foolhardy to be out in the open, especially with no real weapon or means of
transport, but there was no other avenue for him to take. He prayed to Izmir, the great and all
powerful, wondering if his life had been blameless enough to merit celestial
light, the Outer Reaches or eternal darkness in which there was no
consciousness or existence at all after death.
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