DS02 Night of the Dragonstar by Thomas F. Monteleone, David Bischoff
Authors: Thomas F. Monteleone, David Bischoff
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lately, and chances are it will get out, so I want you to prepare a statement — a statement to the effect that this was an abnormal event, and no precursor of things to come. I’m treading a thin line here before I get my presentation special together, and this isn’t the kind of thing I need, so we’re going to play this real low-keyed, nothing special. Hagermann died in a freak accident. Understand? I’m just telling you that in case some media maniac somehow happens to get hold of you and tries to make a big deal of it. “
“Phineas, it might be a big deal,” Mikaela said. “This was no normal dinosaur that attacked us and killed Hagermann. We’re doing some tests now, and we’ve got pictures. Dr. Penovich can attest to all of this.”
Penovich looked over at her as she waited for Kemp’s reply. “He can be terribly stubborn sometimes,” she explained.
Finally, Kemp’s voice erupted through the static. “Mikaela, please. I’m in a delicate situation. I need your support. How can we possibly know a normal dinosaur from an abnormal one? I’m not telling you to cover anything up. I’m just telling you not to make any waves that aren’t necessary. Over and out.”
Mikaela sighed with aggravation. “Very well, Phineas. But please check back with us later on this. I have uneasy feelings about it. Over and out.”
She hung up the phone.
“What’s the trouble?” Penovich wanted to know.
“Oh, our great leader doesn’t want anything to muck up his special documentary,” Mikaela said with exasperation.
“I don’t blame him,” Penovich said thoughtfully. “World attitude will be very vital not only in terms of funds provided for proper maintenance and study of the Dragonstar, but to contain the uneasy religious and political questions it poses.”
“Too true,” Mikaela said. “But a mammoth ego is also on the line, I think.”
“Ah—you mean Colonel Kemp’s ego. Perhaps. But only those with outsized self-images can dare great things.”
“And squash other people on the way. No, wait, I’m being unfair, Dr. Penovich. I’m sure he’s preoccupied and just doesn’t have the time to spare for seemingly small matters. God knows, he’s seen enough deaths on this ship. He’s probably inured to them. Our duty is to see if indeed this represents something to be concerned about in our general attitude toward the Dragonstar.”
“I sincerely hope not,” Dr. Penovich said. “I should like to absorb myself in quiet study. This was my hope for my visit here. Yet already I find myself yearning to return to Prague. This is ironic, no?”
Mikaela sighed, then went back to the electron microscope and adjusted it, fitting her eyes to the viewer.
The image quickly swam into focus, and she adjusted the controls for the clearest presentation possible. It didn’t take long to note that at least half the cells seemed of an aberrant nature. She focused on the nucleus of one and increased the magnification. With this baby, you could get down to the chromosomal level. She gazed for a while at what she saw, disbelievingly, then tried the nucleus of another aberrant cell. The anomaly was consistent in both.
“Dr. Penovich,” she said after taking a deep breath. “Could you come here and look at this, please?”
IN THE BACKYARD of his home in East Acton, London, Ian Coopersmith was trying to teach cricket to his two sons, Geoffrey, ten, and Brian, eight. They seemed less than overwhelmed by the sport.
“You see ...” he said. “You see, Geoff, you hold the bat and guard the wicket. I try to bowl the stick off, and Brian can field, and —”
“Father, I’ve seen this game on telly,” Brian complained, “and it’s ever so boring. Geoff and I like football. Let’s play that.”
“But boys, cricket is my favorite,” said the tall, muscular man, disappointedly gazing at the football by the garden. “And I’d really like to teach it to you. I used to play it at school. Don’t you
“Phineas, it might be a big deal,” Mikaela said. “This was no normal dinosaur that attacked us and killed Hagermann. We’re doing some tests now, and we’ve got pictures. Dr. Penovich can attest to all of this.”
Penovich looked over at her as she waited for Kemp’s reply. “He can be terribly stubborn sometimes,” she explained.
Finally, Kemp’s voice erupted through the static. “Mikaela, please. I’m in a delicate situation. I need your support. How can we possibly know a normal dinosaur from an abnormal one? I’m not telling you to cover anything up. I’m just telling you not to make any waves that aren’t necessary. Over and out.”
Mikaela sighed with aggravation. “Very well, Phineas. But please check back with us later on this. I have uneasy feelings about it. Over and out.”
She hung up the phone.
“What’s the trouble?” Penovich wanted to know.
“Oh, our great leader doesn’t want anything to muck up his special documentary,” Mikaela said with exasperation.
“I don’t blame him,” Penovich said thoughtfully. “World attitude will be very vital not only in terms of funds provided for proper maintenance and study of the Dragonstar, but to contain the uneasy religious and political questions it poses.”
“Too true,” Mikaela said. “But a mammoth ego is also on the line, I think.”
“Ah—you mean Colonel Kemp’s ego. Perhaps. But only those with outsized self-images can dare great things.”
“And squash other people on the way. No, wait, I’m being unfair, Dr. Penovich. I’m sure he’s preoccupied and just doesn’t have the time to spare for seemingly small matters. God knows, he’s seen enough deaths on this ship. He’s probably inured to them. Our duty is to see if indeed this represents something to be concerned about in our general attitude toward the Dragonstar.”
“I sincerely hope not,” Dr. Penovich said. “I should like to absorb myself in quiet study. This was my hope for my visit here. Yet already I find myself yearning to return to Prague. This is ironic, no?”
Mikaela sighed, then went back to the electron microscope and adjusted it, fitting her eyes to the viewer.
The image quickly swam into focus, and she adjusted the controls for the clearest presentation possible. It didn’t take long to note that at least half the cells seemed of an aberrant nature. She focused on the nucleus of one and increased the magnification. With this baby, you could get down to the chromosomal level. She gazed for a while at what she saw, disbelievingly, then tried the nucleus of another aberrant cell. The anomaly was consistent in both.
“Dr. Penovich,” she said after taking a deep breath. “Could you come here and look at this, please?”
IN THE BACKYARD of his home in East Acton, London, Ian Coopersmith was trying to teach cricket to his two sons, Geoffrey, ten, and Brian, eight. They seemed less than overwhelmed by the sport.
“You see ...” he said. “You see, Geoff, you hold the bat and guard the wicket. I try to bowl the stick off, and Brian can field, and —”
“Father, I’ve seen this game on telly,” Brian complained, “and it’s ever so boring. Geoff and I like football. Let’s play that.”
“But boys, cricket is my favorite,” said the tall, muscular man, disappointedly gazing at the football by the garden. “And I’d really like to teach it to you. I used to play it at school. Don’t you
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